#itherai

Fluff - 11. “I’m so proud of you.”

"Well?" Yelkha asks after the second day.

She's not nervous, not at this point, not now that Urtha has warned Bryn, and wrestled her, and grinned at her after. Or at least she's not nervous about Urtha's opinion of Bryn. But this is the first time they've been alone since they met up, Bryn off fetching water while the two of them get wood, and if there's anything Urtha might think it was better to say alone… now's the time to say it.

With her arms full of wood, Urtha can't thump her like she normally does, but she elbows Yelkha hard in the shoulder and grins down at her when Yelkha looks up. "Your own shaman! You did good, little Bull Mother."

"Bryn's great," Yelkha agrees, grinning back up at her. But then she hesitates, the true worry that's been preying on her continuing to stir. "No children with her, though, unless she finds some magic like her mothers did. And I'm not taking a man to bed for them while I'm with her," she adds fiercely, because she's determined on that point.

Urtha comes to a stop, and when Yelkha stops and turns towards her, shifts her load enough to lean in and elbow Yelkha again. This time she leaves her elbow resting there on Yelkha's shoulder and leans forward, bending down so that her long dark grey-streaked-hair falls around her face and brushes against Yelkha's cheek.

"Hey. Bull Mother, listen," she says, low and rumbling and serious, her eyes fixed on Yelkha's. "What Luthic's shamans told us? That was bullshit. Worse. At least you can light fires with what aurochs shit out. Agshru's why I left, but those priestesses are why I didn't come back. Real glad you figured it out in time to make good."

Yelkha sighs, feeling a weight lift off her chest. Then she nods at Urtha, shrugs her elbow off, and ducks out from under her, starting back towards the fireplace again. "I did make good, hey?"

"You did. I always knew you could, Bull Mother. And I'm real proud of you for it."

Her stride stutters at that, at the grin she catches a glimpse of on Urtha's tooth-scarred face when she glances back at it. Yelkha feels her cheeks heating, but she grins, too. She didn't need to know that. But it feels good to hear, all the same.

***

Fluff - 31. “I’m never going to leave you. I promise.”

Almost as soon as the sun has set, the desert grows cold. Saffron Kite is used to this, has been used to this for a very long time. That doesn't mean she likes it. Especially when she's out in it alone.

She'd thought about starting a fire, but then she'd thought about someone coming, strangers or bandits or the giant scorpions that roam the sand, and she hadn't been able to bring herself to do it. Not alone. Maybe once Faush comes. Faush is going to come, they said so. They just have to finish their business in town and then they'll be along.

Except that it's dark, and late, and getting later, and they're still not back. What if something happened to them? What if they were attacked, or hurt, or put in jail again? Or what if- they want a new pack, lots of people. What if they found people they like better than Kite? People they're going to stay with? What if they leave Kite alone out here and never come back?

Kite rises from where she'd been huddled under their blanket, peering out of their tent. She throws the blanket off and begins to pace, nervous energy running through her, making her lash her tail and flex her claws. She wants a tree to scratch against, or a wooden wall, or even a stone, something she can dig into like she can't with sand. She know Faush won't leave her like that, when she thinks about it rationally, but she's cold and she's alone and it's so hard to think with the jitters running through her until all she wants to do is dig her claws into something and-

She sniffs the air and catches a whiff of gnoll-smell, friend-smell. Tailtip twitching with delight, she turns and bounds over the dunes. There's Faush, trudging over the sand towards her, a bag slung over their shoulder that should have their new equipment inside. Kite flings herself at the gnoll with enough force to nearly topple them, purring as loud as her voicebox will allow. Faush yelps, then steadies themself and hugs back, laughing.

"Did you miss me?"

"I did. I got wound up," Kite confesses, shamefaced. "I started thinking maybe something had happened in town, or you were hurt somewhere, or- or you found people you liked better, and you were going to leave with them, without me, and I know you wouldn't, but- you know how I get when I get wound up."

"I know." Faush is patting her on the back, long gentle slow strokes down her spine, in line with the direction of her fur. The shivering anxiety drains out of Kite bit by bit at their touch. "I'd never leave you like that. I promise."

"I know," Kite echoes, rubbing the side of her face against Faush's shoulder, reinforcing her scent-marks from the night before. "Thank you for saying it anyway."

"Any time," Faush promises her.

They let Kite rub her face all over them, and then they push her gently away, and take her hand, and walk hand-in-hand with her back to the camp to light a fire.

***

Fluff - 50. “Stay.”

Yelkha awakens to the sound of rain on the roof. They're on the top floor of the inn, shoved into a tiny room just below the eaves, not by any unkindness on the part of the proprietor but because the inn is full to bursting. She and Bryn had been two of the last to straggle in last night out of the wet, and this is the only inn anywhere along this stretch of road. She's grateful that they had a room at all.

More grateful still that they had a run-in shed--the innkeeper had apologized for not having a stall free for Gurgiu, but he's never been fond of stalls, so it's just as well to have him out in the pasture instead of trapped inside where he might kick his way out. The shed will keep him out of the worst of the weather. And if he wants to frolic in the mud, as he sometimes does, that's a problem for tomorrow. The rain is due to last all through the day.

Somewhere far below Yelkha can hear the intermittent sounds of the staff and other visitors waking up and beginning to fill the taproom. Up here it's almost too far to smell breakfast cooking, but she catches a snatch of bacon and rolls, reluctantly, out of Bryn's arms. She'll collect up food from downstairs and bring it up for Bryn to eat in bed. Even Yelkha doesn't have the heart to bully her out of the sheets in this weather.

Before she can leave the bed entirely, though, Bryn grabs at her, hand settling on her hip, and whines a protest. "Nnnnno. It's too early to get up. Stay."

Yelkha chuckles at her and reaches down to pat her hand. "I'm just getting breakfast. You don't have to get up."

"Stay," Bryn says again, stubbornly, her grip tightening. She tries to pull Yelkha back into bed, but has absolutely no leverage at this angle, so it's just an impatient tug against Yelkha's hip that almost makes her fingers slip off. "It's too early for breakfast."

"Too early for breakfast?"

"If you have to get up for it."

Yelkha doesn't think there is such a thing, but Bryn is peering just far enough out of the nest of blankets for one yellow eye to gleam in the dark, and her pouting mouth to be visible. Looking at her pursed lips makes Yelkha's resolve slip as she imagines what else she might do with themm if Yelkha stays. Her stomach isn't growling, not yet, but perhaps….

"How about I stay a little while longer, then go down and get breakfast once you're more woken up?" Yelkha is already sliding back into the bed and under the covers, reaching out to wrap an arm around Bryn and tug her close.

"Good," Bryn says, sleepily, moving to nestle her head into Yelkha's shoulder.

Yelkha intercepts her, catching those lips with her own and pulling her into a kiss. Bryn makes a startled noise, but leans enthusiastically into it as soon as she's realized what's happening. Yelkha breaks away long enough to grin at her. "I only said I was going to stay, hey? I didn't say I was going to let you go back to sleep."

***

Angst - 15. “What gives you the right to just waltz back into my life after all the pain you’ve caused."

"What gives you the right?" Itherai demands, glaring up at the bugbear towering over her.

There's a broad grin on that shaggy, idiot face, spotted arm reaching down to offer Itherai a hand up. She ignores it, pushing herself slowly and laboriously off the ground, almost falling when she puts weight on her left knee and pain pierces through it. Gritting her teeth, she powers through and rises, swaying, to her feet. A touch against the silver star at her throat sends a belated pulse of power through her, soothing away the worst of the hurt, though there's not enough moonlight left gathered in it to restore her as fully as she needs. At least it's strength enough to glare up at Kolya again without toppling.

Seeing her touch the star, Kolya thumps her hand against her own chest, where the golden star that's twin to Itherai's own still hangs. "You are finally doing as the gods wish, and not what you wish, and so the gods wished me to save you. That makes me right."

"Do you not even understand the words I'm saying? After all the trouble you've caused, after everything you've done, what gives you the right to come back here? You ignited this spark, you reinvigorated the rebellion, you gave them a cause and a name and a champion to unite around, and then you just- just left! Do you know how much pain you've created? How much turmoil? How many have died, because you could neither let the ashes settle nor stay to support what you roused?"

"But I am back now," Kolya says. She doesn't even have the grace to sound wounded; she just grins even more broadly at Itherai, showing all those sharp shining teeth, like that should make up for everything. "We will work together, and my band will help, and the priests will find out what the gods really think of them."

Oh, no. She has more people with her. Just as undisciplined and stupid, Itherai is uncertain, and just as disasterous to the delicate work of shifting society without throwing it further into disarray. Itherai shakes her head and turns on her heel, ignoring how it makes her head spin. Kolya's fingers brush against her shoulder, but don't grip to catch her as she starts to walk away.

"No," she says coldly, not looking back. "You threw away that chance when you left the first time. I will not be working with you."

***

Angst - 29. “You deserve better.” (I, um, forgot that this one was supposed to be angst >>)

The forge is small, and dark, and dusty, and half the tools are broken. Finding it had taken far too long, even with directions, because Ryxtlin hadn't expected it to be tucked so far into the back of an alley in the artisan district, despite what Scrape had said. She stomps inside when she finds it at last, guided by the sound of hammering and a kenku's off-key whistle, and looks around with obstinate displeasure.

"Ugh," she says, and then, when that doesn't feel like expression enough, "Not worth two gold. Not worth two copper. Smith-friend deserves better."

Scrape, who had set her hammer aside when Ryxtlin came banging in, shrugs. "A forge is a forge. Scrape has tools and metal. There is an anvil, and light."

That sentence comes out all in one piece, the same voice all through, something mammalian--human, Ryxtlin thinks, or deep-voiced halfling--and far too condescending. Ryxtlin only bristles more. Especially when she looks at the anvil and sees that the horn is broken off on it. Scrape can fix it, probably. But she shouldn't have to.

"Who rented to Scrape?" she asks. "Ryxtlin is paying them visit."

***

General - 3. “I love you.” “You shouldn’t.” (and then I made this one angsty, so it balances out!)

There are words that Tulkar has been careful not to say. He's aware of the ephemeral nature of their relationship; he's aware, also, that it weighs on Sudryal on a way that it doesn't on him. Someday Tulkar will have to return to his forest and his duties there, and Sudryal will have to return to his own. For Tulkar, it will only be a pleasant interlude in what he very much hopes will be a long and fruitful life, but whether it's because he's an elf, or because of his hermitage's solitude, or because of his own inner nature, he can tell that it weighs on Sudryal far more.

So he tries not to make it worse by saying things that Sudryal will have to remember and regret. It's not easy, especially after a certain point. He's used to being open in his affections. But he keeps the words to himself and expresses his feelings through gesture, instead, which Sudryal seems to appreciate, even if he blushes and squirms and grumbles at him when Tulkar pulls him into a hug or leans down to kiss his forehead or his cheek.

But he forgets himself now and then in the morning, or more often if Sudryal stirs in the middle of the night, when he's still a bit sleep-blurred. Fortunately, he forgets himself in his native language. Sudryal, it seems, doesn't know Orcish. There's no reason why he should. And so if Tulkar murmurs to him, "Shhh, I love you, go back to sleep," it's just noise to him, a comforting sound to go with Tulkar's arm around his chest and a kiss against the tip of his ear or the back of his head. He still stiffens or squirms, because that's what Sudryal does, but it's simply grumpiness and not a more heartfelt complaint.

If Grai is awake, sometimes she'll looks over in recognition, but Tulkar never thinks anything of it. She won't give him away. He doesn't think about Gul, who is never awake for those quiet interludes, or that Tulkar talks to them now and then about things he wouldn't mention to anyone else. Not until the long, restless night when Sudryal wakes screaming into Tulkar's hand and tries to pull out of his arms and Tulkar, unwilling to let go, murmurs calming nonsense into his ear. "No, stay, go back to sleep, I love you and I'll keep you safe…."

Sudryal goes stiff in a way entirely different from the rigidness of embarrassment. He stops fighting, but doesn't relax into Tulkar's grip like usual. "You shouldn't," he mutters, so quietly that Tulkar might think that he wasn't supposed to hear, except that it was in Common, not Elvish.

Tulkar goes still too, holding him, though he doesn't risk letting go. He opens his mouth, then closes it again, churning through all the possible answers. Sudryal likely didn't mean that to sting like rejection, but it does, hurting the way the elf's self-loathing so often does whether he means it to or not. Tulkar wants to argue with that self-loathing, make the case, as always, for why Sudryal deserves his affection and he deserves to be allowed to give it. But he can never win that argument against the implacable black creep of self-hatred flowing through Sudryal, and he's even less likely to do so now, in the dark of night, with Sudryal still shaking from the memory of his dreams.

"Maybe," Tulkar says instead, as much as he hates making even that concession. "But I do, and you can't stop me."

When he tugs Sudryal a little closer, nestling him close to his chest, Sudryal lets him do it. He relaxes only slowly, but eventually the iron goes out of his spine and the tension out of his muscles, and he settles, however annoyed, back into Tulkar's embrace.

***

General - 7. “Is that blood?” “Yes but that doesn’t matter right now, what does matter is-” “You are literally bleeding.”

Isgrac stumbles forward towards the body of the one bandit who hadn't run. She feels absurdly tired for the amount of magic she'd used; she's practiced Mind Spike with Filgrun before, so she knows she has the spellpower for it, but she's weak and shaky nonetheless, an odd chill spreading upward from her fingertips and toes. The woman is dead, now, but her face swims in front of Isgrac's eyes still, white with terror, blood streaming from her nose and trickling from her ears.

Her chin and cheek are streaked with it when Isgrac reaches her body, already darkening as it dries. The flow has slowed to a bare dribble, if that. Right. Once the heart stops beating, blood stops spurting from wounds, it just drains slowly. Isgrac has read about that.

The blood had gotten to her collar before it slowed, though, and there's more blood on her shirt around the arrow-wound where Kanti had gotten her in the chest. Isgrac thinks that might have been the killing blow; it's around where the heart would be for a hobgoblin, and humans aren't built that differently. But she's not sure if it was. Maybe her spell was, instead. In the chaos of the battle, it's hard to be certain of anything. She's only grateful that the rest broke and ran when this one fell.

Doing her best not to touch the bloodied cloth, Isgrac fumbles for the pouches at the woman's belt. She'd seen one that looked like a scroll case. When she opens it up, it's not a magic scroll rolled up inside, but it's something almost as useful. Her hands are strangely shaky as she spreads out the map.

"Is that blood?" Kanti says from behind her, sounding alarmed. Maybe she's in shock. It was the first time Isgrac has killed someone, it's probably Kanti's first time, too, unless something happened at the circle that she hasn't told Isgrac about.

"Um, yes?" Isgrac says, not sure if she should be gentle with her or not. Probably she should. It's Kanti, after all. She tries to stand up with her prize and stumbles as she rises, but Kanti catches her arm from behind and hauls her the rest of the way up. Swaying a little, with her head spinning for some reason, Isgrac turns to show her the map. "That's not important right now. Look what I found, now we can-"

"Isgrac, you're bleeding," Kanti interrupts her. She puts a hand against Isgrac's chest and there's a sudden cool rush much more welcome than the numbing cold in her limbs, a feeling like an autumn breeze through the mountains. Isgrac can almost smell the pines. The world stops spinning quite so badly, and the chill in her limbs fades, replaced by the warmth of Kanti so close.

Then the faint sensation of nausea that Isgrac had been ignoring rolls through with sudden, surprising force. She shoves the map roughly into Kanti's hands and doubles over, emptying the morning's ration onto the dust of the road. Out of the corner of her eye she catches sight of the bandit woman's wide, staring empty eyes, and white face streaked with blood, and a second wrenching wave passes through her as she vomits up more bile. She closes her eyes and takes a few deep breaths, then rises again, shaky but less so.

"We can, um. Find the main road again. With the map," she proposes weakly, not quite looking at Kanti.

"Yeah," Kanti says, sounding a bit faint. She puts an arm around Isgrac's shoulders. "Let's sit down somewhere for a while first though. Off the road."

No one called it that, of course. It was the right of traitors who argued their innocence, and refused to accept the judgements of the Upper House, to defend themselves in a trial of combat. If the gods were truly on their side, if they truly had not done treason in their hearts, then they would win the match. Not that traitors ever actually won.

The woman across from Kolya was armed and armored, though she was clearly uncomfortable in the ill-fitting chainmail they'd put on her, and she held the shield as if she had no idea what to do with it. Her grip on the axe in her other hand was, at least, more comfortable. She would have been allowed to choose her weapon, though she wouldn't have been offered a sword. Only members of the Houses, and their retainers, were permitted that privilege.

And Kolya, now that she was so acclaimed in the arena. The Speaker of the House had handed it to her, the huge two-handed weapon she now held, after he'd put the golden icon of the ancient gods around her neck. He had barely been able to lift it, but she held it easily. She'd spent the whole off-season training with it, so that it was as almost as familiar to her now as the whip and the pike she'd used as a heel.

It would have been nice to test that against a real opponent, and not this grey-faced, middle-aged human with terror and hopeless determination in her eyes. But the horn blew, far overhead, and Kolya leapt forward with a grin regardless as a cheer roared through the arena's stands.

Not as loud a cheer as she'd been hoping for. There was something tremulous and uncertain about it. The strongest voices, though, were chanting: "Kolya! Kolya! Kolya!" Some people were just here for the spectacle, and it was her job to give them a show.

So she pulled her blows as they clashed, the greatsword coming down lightly enough that the woman's shield, however awkwardly wielded, could throw them aside. Kolya put a few rents in her armor, to make it look like she was actually trying, but none that lead to spraying blood, not quite yet. She'd give her fans at least a couple of rounds of entertainment before she went in for the kill.

Her opponent was spirited, too, for all her age and lack of spryness. She seemed to take heart from those glancing blows, as if she thought she'd truly deflected them. Darting forward, she swung at Kolya's sword like she was trying to knock it from her hand, though she couldn't get into the circle of the greatsword's defense to make any moves against Kolya herself. It was pitiful enough that Kolya moved in herself and let her get one chop in just above Kolya's gauntlets, on her bare upper arm. Most of the force was lost penetrating her fur, but it went deep enough for blood to start running, bright red against her golden coat. The crowd rumbled in reaction, and Kolya grinned.

"Good strike, traitor!" she shouted, pitching her voice to carry easily up to the stands. "But that is all the gods will allow! I am their champion, and they will judge you today."

Now, with enough blood spilled that it wouldn't look like the same kind of humiliating overkill that she had sometimes had to perform on new trainees as a heel to give the big names motivation to take her out, Kolya actually went on the offensive.

She split the woman's shield, first, the two sides spinning away to land in the sand, then put a couple more holes in her armor. The axe came last, to make it look like she was still a threat, but finally Kolya hooked it with her blade and split the head from the haft. The wood had been rotten, of course, which made it easier. Traitors were only ever offered flawed weapons.

At that the woman went grey again, all the color she'd regained when she hadn't realized she was being toyed with once more draining away. She stumbled back, her hands up. Kolya frowned. That was usually a sign to make it look like she was knocking someone down hard, without actually leaving more than bruises and superficial cuts. It didn't feel right to close for the kill on someone trying to surrender.

But she was a traitor, Kolya reminded herself, and the gods wanted her dead. Besides, the crowd overhead had gotten over its reservations. She could hear the audience baying for blood. In the midst of it, her fans were still chanting her name, over and over again.

Kolya raised the greatsword high. As she did, she focused her mind on the holy icon around her neck, calling out to the gods to empower her strike and light up her blade. She waited, sword up, for the star to glow, and the blade to be limned in the same holy light. Waited, but didn't see it come.

Instead, in the back of her head where she usually heard something like a far-away singing while her muscles blazed with power, she heard something softer. Still musical, still just distant enough that she couldn't make out notes, or words, but much more subdued. It was very nearly a voice. And if she could have heard it, Kolya was suddenly certain, that not-quite-voice would have said, "No."

"No," Kolya echoed aloud, her voice booming, and brought the greatsword down harmlessly onto the sand. "The gods release you, little traitor."

The cheering crowd fell silent--not all at once, but in little ripples of confusion, quieter and quieter until there was only the hushed hum of spectators exchanging hushed questions with each other. Kolya waited for that to speak again, and now she turned and looked up at the Speaker's box, addressing the man himself.

"The gods say she should not die."

Another ripple of confusion through the crowd, as those who had not heard her words the first time heard them clearly now. Inside the box, the Speaker looked equally astonished. He was too far away to see clearly, but he turned back to speak to someone behind him, quiet and frantic, then vanished out of the back of the box.

Kolya stood there, tip of her greatsword planted in the sand in one of the poses she'd been taught, and waited for him to return. In the meantime, she looked over her shoulder at her frightened near-victim and grinned. "A lucky break for you."

"It's not," the woman said, shaking her head. "He won't let me live, he won't. Not after- I led a rebellion. They can't permit me to live, because that would mean, if the gods didn't think me a traitor, that all I said about the Upper House was right. I appreciate what you're trying to do, but they'll just declare you a traitor for it, too, or say you were paid off, or something."

"No, they can't do that," Kolya said. She tapped the golden star. "I am chosen by the gods. They told me to spare you. The Speaker himself gave me this star. He can't say I am wrong."

She looked up at Kolya, her terrified expression giving way to disbelief. "You really think that's real? That they'll take you at all seriously, the moment you don't go along with the party line?"

"Of course it is real," Kolya growled. "When the gods wish me to strike true, they give me the power. They did not, and so they want me to stay my hand."

Her fur was starting to bristle. She hadn't been projecting her voice, but she spoke even more quietly now, glad that the woman didn't seem to have the trick of it at all. This wasn't the image she wanted to project to the audience, someone who could be doubted, or had to defend her holiness. If someone challenged that this season, the directors had already assured her that it would be someone she would defeat, to prove her righteousness.

The woman still looked doubtful. Before she could open her mouth to argue, though, the door to the right, the one that staff used to enter the arena, swung wide. Kolya turned to see the Speaker rushing through it. One of the black-robed priests who served all gods together was at his heel, as one of their kind always was.

An armed and armored figure followed them both, and a low growl rumbled in Kolya's throat. Itherai had been a gladiator once, and Kolya's least favorite classmate at her school. They'd been pitted against each other the last two seasons, trading on their natural enmity, and Kolya still resented how the storyline had gone--that Itherai had been credited with 'redeeming' her, when they fought together against a pride of lions during the High Week, in the series of games dedicated to the gods. Kolya had been required to go down under the lion, pretending to be overwhelmed, and let Itherai pretend to save her. It had led to her new role, and that only rankled the more.

They had been rewarded together, with these stars that some expedition had pulled out of the ruins of an ancient temple to gods long-lost: the silver for Itherai, to match her pale skin and dark hair, the gold for Kolya, to match her tawny fur. And then they had glowed for both of them. Itherai, though, her story finished, had declared that she was called to more direct service, with a distinct sneer for Kolya when Kolya shrugged and demurred that she'd rather stay in the arena and win glory.

So now Itherai was some kind of warrior for the priests, and, it seemed, a guardian for this one. Or for the Speaker himself; it didn't really matter to Kolya. What mattered was the way she was looking down her nose at Kolya, an impressive feat for any elf, even one as tall among her kind as Itherai. She clearly thought her new position meant that she was better than her old opponent.

"Listen," the Speaker said, trotting right up to Kolya. "You cannot shout such things in the arena! What were you thinking? Did some rebel sympathizer slip you a script?"

"There was no script. Was I supposed to get a script?"

"No, Kolya," Itherai drawled, glaring over the priest's shoulder at her. "They thought that even you would be able to handle something this simple without needing to be coached."

"But I did," Kolya said, bristling again. "I called upon the gods to help me strike this woman down, and they would not give me the light on my blade or the power in my arms. So they do not want her to die."

"Don't be a fool," the priest said, glaring with as much disdain as Itherai, and even more irritation. "Inquisitor Itherai captured this woman herself, with the gods' aid. Clearly they want her to die for her treason. Perhaps we should have had her carry out the execution herself."

"I was trying to do you a favor," Itherai said, and tossed her head the same way she always had before a fight. Her long black hair was shorter now, though, and pulled back into a braid, so it didn't have the same stunning effect. "But maybe the gods have abandoned you, since you weren't willing to give up cheering crowds in order to serve them."

"No, that is not true. It always worked in training." Kolya glared back at her, baring her teeth just a little. She wasn't supposed to do it as much now, since a face should not look too bestial, the directors said, but in the face of Itherai's rudeness, she couldn't help it. "Why would it fail now, when I am supposed to do something the gods want, except that they don't want it at all?"

"The gods support the Upper House!" the Speaker said, his voice going high with indignation. She thought he was trying to project it, except that he couldn't control his pitch enough to keep from going squeakier the louder he got. "They would never spare one who rebelled against it, and against the good order of the state! I made a mistake in giving you that token, gladiator. Some evil god has corrupted it!"

"They have not," Kolya said, insulted.

Light gleamed in the corner of her eye, and she glanced down to see the gold star at her breast glowing, and the edge of her sword with it. They grew brighter and brighter, a warm golden light. The priest took a step back, his eyes widening, and Itherai scowled and stepped in front of him. In the stands above, the crowd was beginning to murmur more loudly, voices rising in excitement and dismay.

"I will take it back, before it poisons you further," the Speaker declared loudly, finally getting the squeak under control. He took another step closer and reached for the star as if to snatch it from her chest.

In the back of her head, Kolya could sense the soft, musical, not-quite voice from before. And she knew, down to her bones, that if she could actually have made it out, she would have heard it command, "Him."

She brought her greatsword up and swung. The Speaker's eyes went wide, but he didn't dodge, didn't try to defend himself, didn't even raise his hands like the woman had. Without armor or the solid bone of a limb in the way, her sword slid, strangely smooth, through his neck, stuttering only briefly as the edge forced two vertebrae apart. His head tumbled to the sand.

For a moment she could only stare, astonished and a little disturbed. Then his body followed his head, toppling unceremoniously. The golden glow faded from the edge of the bloodstained sword.

With a shriek of rage, Itherai drew her own sword and charged forward. The crowd overhead was roaring, and not one of them was triumphantly chanting Kolya's name.

If it had just been Itherai, Kolya wouldn't have hesitated to stay and fight. But the priest was hissing something she couldn't understand, something arcane, and there was purple energy crackling between his hands. Kolya threw herself sideways as he shot it at her, then scrambled to her feet, the instinct to stand and fight her hated rival giving way to the grim knowledge that she didn't know nearly enough of magic to counter it herself.

"Run!" the traitor woman shouted. "Don't try to fight a priest, or they will tell everyone you were taken by a demon!"

Kolya had, in all the fuss over her refusal, forgotten the woman was there. But she was, standing behind Kolya, and while that had been a smart place to be while Kolya was arguing with the Speaker, it wasn't now that the man was dead. She dropped the greatsword, which was too heavy and unwieldy to haul about without a scabbard, and snatched the woman up under her arm. Then she turned and sprinted for the edge of the arena.

In theory, the stone here was sheer white marble, but anyone who'd actually been in the arena knew that most of it was just regular brick, whitewashed and then painted with a gloss that wouldn't absorb blood. The actual marble was saved for the boxes for the various Houses, and some of the more expensive bits of the stands. Kolya hefted the woman over her shoulder and began to climb, her claws catching easily in the hidden mortar.

"Hang on tight!"

The woman was squirming awkwardly, but she at least followed the instruction, grabbing some of the spikier bits of Kolya's armor and hanging on for dear life. She'd gotten a handful of fur, too. Kolya ignored the tug and only hoped that she wouldn't yank so much out as to leave a visible bald patch.

Up over the side of the arena, another burst of purple energy splattering on the stones so close to her foot that Kolya could feel it buzz. Then she was amid the crowd. People scattered out of her way, screaming, as she bounded up the stands towards the edge. The arena was sunken, and while the walls stood up above the ground, they weren't as high on this side as they were the side with all the boxes.

Guards came rushing from either side of the aisles, but they were having more trouble getting through the crowd than Kolya was. Probably they weren't as splendidly frightening, since none of them were bleeding, or snarling, or brandishing claws. Though out of the corner of her eye, Kolya could see one man outright tackle a guard, both of them going down in a tangle as the guard's halberd got caught under a seat. "Go!" someone shouted, and it seemed to be directed at Kolya. "Go, go, go!"

Kolya was going. She plowed through the last of the spectators and all the way up to the wall, scrambling the mere four feet onto its broad top. It was wide enough for guards to patrol, which they did, sometimes, when they expected riots over a match, and the priests even walked up here at times during the High Week games. There was only another, smaller three-foot wall around the broad pathway to keep anyone from tumbling over the edge.

"Halt!" a voice called, right beside her, and Kolya turned about.

There was a guard right beside her, panting, her halberd shaking in her grip. Not so much so that she couldn't jab Kolya with the end of it, though, even if she got her in the gauntlet instead of the arm.

"Why should I?" Kolya couldn't resist asking.

"You are in defiance of the Upper House, and the High Temple," the guard said between ragged breaths. "I am placing you under arrest. Come peacefully, or you will be charged with any harm that comes to bystanders."

Out of the corner of the eye, Kolya could see Itherai coming up the stands, only struggling a little with the crowd. More than Kolya had, but much less than the rest of the guards. Probably it was the sword in her hand, glowing silver. Strange that the gods would want Kolya to kill the Speaker, then want Itherai to strike her down for it, but maybe the gods had different factions. The stars were different colors, after all.

"You are very brave," Kolya told the young woman approvingly, ignoring the way the woman on her shoulder squawked when she said it. "But you are not strong enough to stop me. I do like your weapon. I used to use a pike, you know, until the end of last season. I think a halberd will not be too difficult."

She reached out and grasped the halberd's haft, just below the blade. The guard gasped and tried to yank it away, but, as Kolya had judged, she didn't have the strength for it. Kolya turned, twisting the halberd most of the way out of her hands, and then dragged the end free from the guard's grip as she leapt over the little three-foot wall and into the open air below.

The woman on her back screamed in terror. Kolya decided not to hold that against her. She'd been as brave as she could be in the ring against a superior opponent, and even Kolya, looking down at the swiftly-approaching road below, wasn't entirely sure that she was going to land without injury. With her free hand, she grasped the star around her neck.

As soon as she touched it, it blazed up, warm and bright in her hand. Kolya felt fresh power flow through her, strengthening her body, helping her twist in the air so that she would land and roll. She felt an odd certainty that the woman on her shoulder might be hurt in such a roll, and, though she didn't see how it would help, she shouted to her.

"Be brave!"

Though the wind whipped the words away, and she couldn't be sure the woman heard, a golden glow surrounded the woman as she spoke. Kolya gripped her tighter, digging her elbow into the small of her back and putting her hand over the fragile human skull. Then the ground hit, and they rolled.

Even with the golden warmth suffusing her body, it hurt. Kolya could feel larger bones crack, smaller ones snap, and she would have bruises for days from the impact. But she was able to take the brunt of the force herself, protecting the fragile human in her grasp. When she scrambled to her feet and set her down, the woman swayed and gave a little gasp of pain, but she remained standing.

The gold star pulsed again in Kolya's hand, urgent. She clapped both hands on the woman's shoulders, and warmth ran through her, from her chest into her arms and out of her fingers into the woman's battered body. She took a deep breath and looked a little steadier.

"You really are god-blessed," she said, soft-voiced and astonished.

Kolya couldn't decide if she was more annoyed or more smug, at having to prove herself or at having been so clearly proven. "I told you."

"You did." The woman shook her head, then glanced along the street at the startled passersby all around them. "We have to move quickly. Come. I know people in the city who they didn't manage to make me betray, and who will hide us. You'll be hard to hide, but we can at least get you out of the city, and you'll have plenty of friends in the countryside."

"I will let you lead," Kolya told her. "I had not been sure what I would do beyond this."

"You really didn't, did you," the woman said, throwing her an unreadable glance. Then she smiled and started off down the road, beckoning Kolya after. "Maybe that's what the gods wanted in a hero."