Fell Champions

Kir straightened her shirt, and double-checked it for stains. None of that… filth… had gotten on it, but she was paranoid that some had escaped her notice. Or worse, that some still lingered on her face or hair, that Rua hadn’t gotten it all. That maybe she’d purposely left some, so that everyone could see. See that she’d been marked, claimed like an animal. 

Some part of her buzzed at that, a growing warm wetness at her core that was impossible to ignore. She tried to push it to the back of her mind. Just because a perverse part of her had enjoyed what had happened didn’t mean she wanted to repeat the experience.

She sought out Yurgen in the crowd. She needed to learn what he’d discovered while Rua had been playing games. She had to focus on her objective. She was here to save lives.

It didn’t matter how much she wanted to go look for Rua, to see if she was okay. 

The large bald man stood near a Silayan fellow with long blonde hair who was playing a fiddle. The musician seemed wholly caught up in his own act, the notes of his piece coming off as strong and angry, and was barely aware of his surroundings so devoted he was to his composition.

“Report,” she said.

Yurgen watched the musician, something in his eye, and then said, “Sureya’s trying to gather an army against us. She’s spoken to every ranking official before we arrived. Some she got to days ago.”

Of course she had. Probably the main reason the funeral had been delayed as long as it had.

“And what’s the consensus?”

“About a third of them agree with her. Another third will go along with an attack if they’re ordered, but won’t be happy about it. The remainders still remember what Old Grey did for the Islands and will refuse.”

“Admiral Soorong?”

“She’s one of the ones leading the dissidents. They won’t take up arms in our defense, but they won’t attack us.”

“Well, that’s better than nothing. Did you happen to look into Otter’s mind while you were scouting?”

“The one with the pink hair? Yes. She intends to take Rua back, but I couldn’t get any information on how. Her mind is… chaotic. Constantly distracted. And I sensed damage. Something in her brain is broken or diseased. It makes any probes… difficult.”

“How are you for Will?”

“About half. Maybe ten or so minds, so long as they’re surface checks. Nothing deep.”

“Try her allies then. She would’ve brought the four allotted to her, and they may know something.”

“I saw Reyna, did you want me to–”

“Ice Lord cometh, no. She’s been drinking, despite her attempts not to. I’d rather not have you as pickled as she is. Look for the Crio Fleshcrafter. I want to know more about….” She trailed off, spotting an oddity approaching.

A woman in what looked like the garb of a Salasian nomad. Tied back glossy black hair, choppy bangs, and a mouth set in a hard line. It was hard to tell much else, as she wore a torn strip of cloth over her eyes. Blind, or a Crio half-breed? Silayans were ridiculous about that kind of thing. Not that Mikovians were quick to interbreed with other races, but they at least accepted it sometimes happened. 

One more thing to look forward to once Sureya was removed from power. An end to all this ridiculous prejudice. 

Kir dismissed Yurgen, who gave a deep bow that she hated seeing. The proper form of address was a salute, but Yurgen’s fanaticism always took it three steps too far. 

The woman approached, tilting her head forward in an acknowledged greeting, and said, “So, you’re Kir. I’ve heard so much about you.”

“And I nothing of you. Should we be acquainted?”

“My name is Samishii Yamamoto. Most call me Sami.” The woman dropped a hand down to a sword belted to her waist, one with a hilt of a design Kir hadn’t seen before. “And I challenge you to a duel.”

Kir’s heart slammed in her chest, beating an excited tempo. Just the thought of experiencing the Bliss, the moment of victory after winning a fight, made her fingertips hum with excitement and spurred her to draw her sword.

She maintained control, keeping her face neutral despite how much it wanted to form a mad grin, and kept her sword where it belonged.

“Most people get to know one another before deciding on drawing steel on one another.”

“I’m not most people. You’re my objective. I defeat you, I free Rua.”

Kir studied that blindfold. It’d been improvised. The tear along its edge was too uneven. This Sami had likely made it only just now. Probably as a way to circumvent Kir’s Pact, which she evidently knew about.

Clever. Most attractions were based on sight. The majority of people who’d come for her in the past hadn’t bothered to do the proper intelligence gathering before trying against her. Fewer still thought of a method that stood a chance of working.

Some guilty part of Kir, a part that she hated, really wanted to go forward with the fight just for that fact alone. Her operatives, her so-called ‘Ice Watch’, were effective, but not the most intelligent of people. Other than Rua, those she controlled were brought under heel as punishment for crimes they’d committed, and not selected for mental acumen. Even Yurgen, with his gifts, wasn’t particularly smart. 

The idea that she could get a soldier that had a trait she longed for, one that was hand-delivering herself to Kir, was tempting. Too tempting.

But that was her desire for the Bliss talking. She knew it. She wanted nothing more than to feel it again. She balled her hands into fists, digging her nails into the flesh of her palms, and focused on the pain.

She would not use her Pact this way. She was better than this. 

“I decline,” Kir said. “Perhaps another time.”

She moved to turn away, and suddenly her cheek was stinging. Her head rocked to the side, and it took a moment for her to register what had happened. Had Sami just slapped her?

Kir stared at Sami, rubbing her hand across her jaw. Her blood beat hotter, demanding violence, demanding battle.

That was her heritage talking. Always demanding action. She wasn’t a slave to it, any more than she was a slave to her own Pact. She could fight it. 

She breathed out. Sami had struck her, through her Tenacity. It hadn’t been intended to do damage. It was just an insult. And Kir didn’t have to rise to meet insults. She could just ignore them.

“My sister is lucky,” she found herself saying, “to have such a passionate friend.”

“A passionate lover,” Sami said coolly. 

Ah. Well, Rua had certainly been busy in the last year apparently. Silayans. Well, who was Kir to judge? Still, a part of her felt jealous.

That was odd. Why would she feel jealous? She put it out of her mind. A problem for another time. 

“Then my sister is doubly lucky. I wasn’t aware that there was a pool of serviceable women available to her on Ashborne’s Island. The year away was good for her.”

“Mostly because she was away from you.”

That stung, more than the slap. 

“A fair point. But for reasons I can’t disclose, I can’t return her to Ri Oa on a permanent basis. Not yet anyway. In a month or two, you’ll be reunited. My word on it.”

Sami cocked her head to the side and smiled. “So, there’s a time table.”

Kir bowed her head in acknowledgement. “You didn’t come here for a fight, did you?”

“I multitask very well. I wanted to get an assessment of your character, and fish around for any other information you might drop. This was a profitable exchange. My thanks.”

“My sister chose one of her lovers well, I see. I’m still not sure about the other one.”

“Otter?” Sami laughed. “If you think I’m clever, wait until you see her at work.”

“Everything I have on her indicates she’s impulsive and chaotic. Barely worth paying attention to.”

“Now who’s fishing for information?”

Kir spread her hands innocently, even though she knew Sami couldn’t see the gesture. Although she was increasingly certain that this Sami had soul power. A lot of it. And had invested it mostly into her Awareness. She wouldn’t be able to see Kir’s hands, but if she was empowered the way Kir thought, she’d be able to sense the disturbed air flow, heard the sound of the gesture, maybe even scented skin particles as her hands had moved.

“I’m just a pretty face,” Kir said.

“So everyone keeps saying.”

“It’s a pity you can’t see it.”

“Oh, I will. After I beat you. I’m curious. You gain control of a person after defeating them in a fight. Does it work in reverse? Will you become my chained and collared slave when I beat you?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Kir said quickly.

“Hmm, lie. Your heart skipped a beat there. Someone has beaten you before.”

This woman was good. Annoyingly so. 

“You’re giving away your advantage. From that comment alone, I now know your strength is in your Awareness.”

“You probably already deduced it. Unless you really are just a pretty face.”

“Is that all you can think about? Your imagination must be working hard.”

“I’ve already worked out the first five exchanges for once we draw steel on each other.”

That was interesting. Salassians weren’t known for their swordplay. They were great at ambush tactics and raiding, but since their civilization had fallen apart, their land crushed by the Dreamers, all generational knowledge that would normally have been passed on was interrupted. Only a few Salassians were good with a sword. Kir could probably count the number of masters they possessed on the fingers of one hand. 

Was this Sami suggesting she was one such? Or… no. It clicked in Kir’s head. She was one of the travellers, the otherworlders, like Il-Su. 

“Oh?” Kir said. “And tell me how the fight would look.”

“I’m a master at quick draw techniques. I would start with one sword, unsheathing and slashing at the same time.”

“Ah, like a Dereshi blademaster. I’ve seen such tactics before. I would step into the attack, blocking as it comes at me, and limiting the reach of your sword. My blade is shorter than yours…”

“... So getting closer favours you. Yes, I’ve already anticipated that to be your reaction. From there, I would stomp downwards with my foot, attempting to crush your toes.”

“My Tenacity would block it, I’d ignore such an attack.”

“And by doing so, allow me to disrupt your footwork, putting you off balance and allowing me to regain distance.”

Sami looked proud of that. She had good reason. It was a good line of attack, not one Kir had anticipated. But she knew how to play this game. And knew how to win at it.

They bandied words, outlining attacks and counterattacks, defense patterns and style switches. They fought in an arena of the mind, where imagination was the sole determinant of their bout. 

At some point, Sami drew a second sword. In response, one of Kir’s allies threw her a shield. They exchanged make-believe blows in a display very close to heresy, and Kir’s heart thumped in her chest. Sami was good. Better than good. She was amazing. 

But Kir also knew how she could win.

“You’re off-balance again,” Sami said after another exchange. “I take advantage, and move in, catching your blade between both of mine. I twist–”

“--and you disarm me,” Kir said, nodding along as if that was the most logical conclusion. “I panic, trying to bash you with my shield.”

“But I’ve seen you try that exact tactic the last time I had you on your backfoot. You always try to lash out with brute strength to create distance when you need it. I’ve anticipated this, and I–”

“I surrender,” Kir said.

“--and I… I… what?”

“I surrender. You’ve beaten me in this duel. I kneel at your feet, my head lowered. I know I am beaten. You are the better with a sword this day, but more importantly, my Pact knows it. It triggers. My body writhes in agony, and I find myself facefirst in the sand, beneath you as is my place now. You have won, and you are free to claim your prize.”

“I… huh. It really ends there?” She sounded disbelieving. And for good reason.

“My Pact runs through your veins as well. You feel it, the Bliss, the happiest sensation in your life. You are lightning made manifest. Nothing can conquer you. Nothing can harm you. And you know. You know that you are the victor. Not just of any incidental battle, but of life itself. Nothing can take this feeling from you. But more importantly, nothing can take me from you. I am yours now. Your devoted slave. I will do anything you wish of me.”

“This is getting a little out of hand,” Sami stammered, and began to turn away.

“You’ve freed Rua. You know she will always be grateful. That you’ve given her freedom. But now you have something else, something you didn’t anticipate. You have me. And you think, you imagine, because who wouldn’t. Many think I am the most beautiful sight they’ve ever laid eyes on. Hair so white it glows. Skin so pale you can trace all the major veins in my body with your finger. Lips made just for kissing, but you think, no, there’s a better use for those lips.”

Kir tried to keep her words slow, measured, but found it difficult. They came out in what felt like a rush, matching the tempo of her throbbing pulse. 

Sami paused, and Kir knew she had her. She continued.

“I would eat you as you command. Messily and greedily, for all to see. The unbeatable Kirhaela, burying her tongue in your cunt for all to see. No one would really blame you. Not after all the pain I’ve inflicted. Not after I’ve enslaved others. After all, many want me for themselves, their own personal whore, and I would be that for you. I would not deny you. Not in any request. My mind itself would be your plaything. Why, you could probably even tell me to enjoy it, and I would.”

Sami hissed out a breath, and her shoulders sagged. “You’re a better fencer than I expected.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Kir said innocently.

“The blindfold won’t work anymore, will it?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me? Are you attracted yet?”

Sami pulled the strip of cloth from her eyes, and sighed as she discarded it into the wind. Her dark eyes glittered, something of a mix of pain and warmth in them.

“It’s not even the slave fantasy,” Sami admitted. “It’s that you were clever enough to maneuver it that way. You have a mind as beautiful as your face, it seems.”

“It’s a pity I don’t enjoy women that way,” Kir said. “Or I’d be tempted to take you to my bed for that compliment alone.”

Sami stared at her and then burst out laughing. She turned away, walking back towards the gathering, mirth cloaking her every movement. 

“She thinks she’s straight,” Sami said ruefully, and then laughed all the harder. "Oh, I hope I'm the one who gets to disabuse her of that."

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