The woman stalked towards Isao. As she approached, Isao felt a pit in the bottom of his stomach. Death's beginning embrace, he imagined. Was his father still alive? If not, had he felt this way before he died too?
The harder Isao struggled to right himself, the more he fell. Finally, the woman stood just out of arms’ reach, her palms held out. Time itself slowed down. The thudding of his heart slowed as well.
This was it.
The air distorted, rippling again. The razor-sharp edge appeared, speeding right toward him.
Isao sucked in a sharp breath. It would be a quick death. At least he would have died fighting.
A warrior's bellow came out of the glade.
Like a tigress, Celty barreling forward towards the woman, her club held high over her head. She brought the club down and threw herself on top of the woman, tackling her.
The deathly air dissipated. A fresh surge of hope streaked through Isao as he clambered to his feet. On the ground, Celty pulled out clumps of the assassin's hair as the two rolled. The woman escaped her embrace, darting to her feet. So did Celty.
"Sheng!" Khalem screamed. "Keep fighting!"
Celty dodged the thrust of the woman's knife, and attacked in return with a swing of her club.
Khalem was upright now. Ranbelt fought the male assassin with surprising ease, parrying, ducking, and moving at one with his hunting knife.
The woman and Celty faced each other, panting. Celty bared her teeth and snarled. "I was a slave!" She gripped the cudgel with white knuckles. "I will never, ever submit again!"
Celty attacked, swinging the club.
"Yes!" Ranbelt shouted as he ducked another swing from the male, who showed signs of tiring. "Go, tiger girl!"
Khalem pounced into the fray against the male as well.
In the midst of Celty’s flurry of swings, the woman hesitated for just a moment. The span of a breath was all that it took to give Celty the advantage.
She swung to the right, missed, and then swung the club back in the opposite direction. The heavy end of the club caught the female assassin in the jaw. She fell to one knee in the grass.
Celty advanced, swinging again. The club caught the woman in the ribs. A sharp crack broke the air. Isao dodged forward, stepping on the woman’s hand as she reached for her sword. Her eyes connected with his.
Celty screamed, brought the club up over her head, and then pounded it down on the woman's exposed neck. Bones cracked, and the woman went limp. Celty hit her again and again.
"Celty!"
Isao reached out, putting a hand on her shoulder. She stopped, breathing heavily. He squeezed hard, forcing her to look into his eyes. "Celty, it's me."
She blinked, sucked in a long breath, looked at the woman, and then nodded. She stepped back, club swinging at her side.
"She's dead. You've saved me. You . . . I can't believe it. You saved me, Celty."
Celty's eyes widened. "But not Khalem!"
The two spun to find both Ranbelt and Khalem still engaged with the male, who bled from the face. Just then he staggered, falling to the grass as well. Ranbelt slashed at his sword wrist. The man released his weapon with a deep cry of pain just as Khalem swung his sword. It lodged in the man's throat.
The remaining assassin gurgled as blood bubbled up around the weapon. Khalem slid the sword free, and stepped back.
Blood spurted from the wound in a reddish spray. The man slumped over, his blood pumping onto the soil.
For a long moment, no one spoke. They stared at the two bodies, still in death.
Ranbelt blinked. Isao reached over, feeling his injured shoulder. A series of thoughts brimming with gratitude and disbelief slipped through the prince at unusual speed.
If Celty hadn't come, he'd be on the ground with them. He'd be dead.
He forced his spinning mind to slow.
Later. He'd think about all of this later. Right now they were injured and vulnerable. There could be more assassins hiding in the trees. There could be more . . . anywhere.
Isao swallowed, staggering forward. "We must move," he said, rasping. "Leave. In case there are more. We must bandage what we can and get out of here."
Ranbelt looked up, blinking. His bright garments were torn in several places, stained with blood. Sweat dropped down his weary face. He nodded once. "Yes. You're right."
Khalem opened his mouth to reply, but collapsed, dropping to the grasses with a heavy thud.
"Khalem!" Isao bellowed.
He darted over, falling to his knees. The general grimaced before his expression grew slack.
"Don't you pass out on me, Khalem!"
"Sheng, I – "
"Where are you hurting?" Isao asked, glancing over his body. Blood stained everything – all of Khalem's clothes. Much of his visible skin. His sword. "Khalem, this blood. Is it all yours?"
"His," he muttered, gasping. "Some of it . . . is his."
"Where does it hurt?"
"Everywhere."
"You have to do better than that, Khalem."
Isao moaned, motioning to his shoulder with a weak jerk of his head. "There. Arm. At the . . . at the top."
Isao peeled away the tattered shirt to find a deep black wound deep. He gulped. This was Khalem's sword arm. He'd almost had his arm cut off, yet he'd still managed to fight like a true Hiwan soldier.
Isao quickly stuffed some cloth over it. "Bleeding. A lot," he murmured.
Isao glanced up, right into Celty's violet eyes. "The bandages," he said. "They're in your bag. Get them for me. And as much water as you can."
She nodded once and whirled around. Isao ripped his jacket off, tossing it to Ranbelt.
"Tear that in strips. We have to stop the bleeding. Khalem, keep talking to me. I need you to stay conscious."
"Thirst," Khalem whispered. "Thirsty."
Celty appeared again and Isao pulled the water pouch from the top of her bag as she hastily rummaged through it for the bandages. With Isao’s help, Khalem took a long, slow draw of water. Then he leaned back, his eyes closed.
Isao removed the cloth, then poured the rest of the water over the wound in Khalem’s arm. The general winced, but Isao ignored it.
Celty passed him the bandages and a bunch of herbs. "Here, Sheng. These will help numb the pain. Pack them around the wound. The blood will seep through the skin."
Isao met her eyes for a brief moment, pausing only a breath, feeling as if he saw the entire expanse of eternity in her endless violet eyes. “Celty, I am so happy to see you again. But . . . why did you come back?”
She swallowed, seeming uncomfortable. “I just . . . I felt something bad.”
“You felt it?”
She gestured with a hand. “In the air. A smell or . . . I don’t know. I just…I know when bad things are about to happen.”
“Yes,” Isao murmured. “You mentioned that before.”
“I don’t always know what they are, I just know when they’re coming. I felt that when I was leaving. At first, I ignored it. But it’s like it is…pushed on me. Mind and soul. I had to come back. And then I saw what was happening.” She shrugged. “I had to help.”
Isao reached over and squeezed her hand, wishing he could tell her how much she'd done for them. Without their fierce tiger girl, they all would have met their deaths. He smiled.
“Thank you for what you did.”
Isao turned back to his work of dressing the wound.
"Well," Ranbelt said with a sigh, "I, for one, am glad you came back, tiger girl. It’s been a long time since I’ve been so surprised and seen someone fight with such a fierce spirit.” His eyes sparkled. “Tiger girl, indeed! Not so bad for facing death yet again. Although, between us, I'd prefer our first attackers."
Celty snorted with a weak laugh, but Khalem chuckled. "Yet again," he murmured, holding up a fist with his other arm, "we stand strong."
Isao worked on Khalem, temporarily bandaging every bleeding spot he could find. As soon as it was possible, the group slipped deeper into the trees, near the stream. Blood continued to bubble from Khalem's wounds, staining the bandages. Meanwhile, Celty dragged the two dead bodies together, then remained at their backs, watching the forest with a wary eye.
Ranbelt cared for himself, cleaning his wounds with cool water.