Medalon

“Or what?” He brought the handle of the whip up under her chin, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to force her head back. With his other hand he reached out and touched her face with surprising gentleness, running his thumb lightly over her lips. His scar was dark against his skin.

R’shiel bit him with all the force she could muster.

“Bitch!” he yelled, snatching his hand away. He backhanded her across the face, throwing her back onto the desk. Too stunned to move out of the way, her mouth filled with the salty warm taste of her own blood mingled with his, she struggled to a half-sit. With a wordless cry he punched her again. She toppled off the desk to the floor, taking several stacks of parchment and an inkwell with her. The cut-crystal well shattered as it hit the floor, the ink pooling darkly beside her. Shards of broken glass glittered in the dim light of the single candle.

As he came at her again, something inside of R’shiel snapped. Her fear and pain vanished, replaced by an unfamiliar feeling of invincibility. She climbed to her feet as the strange feeling engulfed her. Unaware of the change in his quarry, Loclon grabbed her arm and pulled her to him. An inexplicable wellspring of power surged through her.

Instead of fighting him, R’shiel slid her arms around Loclon’s neck and kissed him deeply, open mouthed, making him gasp. Stunned by her sudden capitulation, he fumbled at her clothes, tearing the wet shirt easily from her shoulders. She threw her head back as he buried his face between her breasts. Lightning and thunder crashed in unison with her sudden power surge. She could feel Loclon trembling, shaking from the need to possess and humiliate her. She wanted to cry out as the strength welled up in her. She wanted to feel him trembling, needed to see him quivering at her feet. She ran her hands through his hair as he fell to his knees. She grabbed a handful, jerking his head back savagely. In her right hand the thin paring knife flashed in the jagged glare of the lightning.

Loclon came to his senses with astounding speed. She stood over him, her long hair hung damply over her breasts. Her eyes blazed with power, burning black, even the whites of her eyes consumed by the unfamiliar power. She did not understand the feeling or try to. The paring knife she held to his throat was rock steady. He had the sense to remain absolutely still. It was possible that he had never been so afraid in his life.

“Don’t be... s... stupid,” he gasped. “P... put it down.”

In reply she pressed the point into his neck and a warm trickle of blood slid down the blade.

“No!” Loclon sobbed.

She slid the knife sideways. Not enough to kill him, but enough to make him think she was cutting his throat. She drew the thin blade across his exposed neck, the terror in his eyes thoroughly intoxicating her. The blood oozed out of the thin cut, running down his neck and over her hand. The sharp smell of urine suddenly mingled with the sweet-smelling blood, and R’shiel smirked at the dark spreading stain on the front of Loclon’s trousers.

He thought he was dying. Before she was through with him, he would beg for death. Lifting the blade to his face, she pressed it into his cheek with the intention of carving a matching scar along the right side of his face. Tarja had given him that scar. For killing Georj. It was time to give him another one. For killing a part of her.

Loclon suddenly threw himself backward, jerking her off her feet as they tumbled to the floor. The blade was slick with blood, and it slipped from her grasp. With strength born of desperation and fear, he pushed her off him and lunged for the knife. She landed against the desk and cracked her head against the solid carved wood. The power surged again. Without warning, a faggot detached itself from the fire and hurled itself at Loclon. It caught him a glancing blow on the shoulder, but it was enough to deflect him from the blade. He spun around, looking for his new, invisible assailant as another log hurtled across the room toward him. He ducked it as R’shiel dragged herself into the corner. He looked at her in horror, truly seeing her eyes for the first time. He moved toward her, barely avoiding the small three-legged stool that barreled toward him. Her head throbbed with pain from the blow against the desk. She felt the potent strength fading. Whatever strange power had filled her it was losing its strength.

Loclon saw her eyes change. On his hands and knees he scooped up the paring knife and threw it out of reach, never taking his eyes off her. Struggling upright he retrieved the Tiger’s Tail from near the hearth. R’shiel lay unmoving, as weak as a newborn, lacking the strength to defend herself. As if time had slowed almost to a standstill, she watched him raise the barbed whip above his shoulder. Still on his knees he moved toward her.

Suddenly a booted foot kicked the Tiger’s Tail from his hand. The boot swung up again and caught the captain squarely in the face, throwing him backward in an unconscious heap against the hearth. R’shiel’s eyes rolled back as a wave of blackness engulfed her and she fainted.

“R’shiel!” She opened her eyes slowly and looked up, surprised to find Mahina bending over her. Next to the old woman was a man who looked like Tarja, only it couldn’t be Tarja because this man was wearing a uniform and Tarja wasn’t a Defender anymore. She felt as feeble as an old woman.

“Bloody hell,” Tarja muttered. Mahina studied the somnambulant girl for a moment before slapping her face. R’shiel jerked back at the pain and her vision began to clear, but she still felt as though she was swimming through molasses. She looked at Loclon and began to tremble violently.

“R’shiel! We have to get out of here! Now!”

Loclon lay unmoving beside her. His face was a bloodied pulp where the boot had landed. Blood streamed from his mouth and broken nose, mingling with the blood that still dripped from his slashed throat. He looked dead.

“R’shiel, we have to get out of here,” Mahina told her again, more urgently. “Do you understand me?” The old woman looked at Tarja. “She’s in some sort of shock. Can you carry her?”

Tarja nodded and scooped her easily into his arms. With Mahina leading the way, they headed for the door. R’shiel glanced up and noticed that his hair was damp.

“It’s raining,” she told him.

“I know it’s raining,” he said. They had only taken a few steps when he stopped. Then she realized that Sunny was there, too.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know, and we’re not hanging around to find out.”

“You can’t take her outside like that. Let me get something to cover her.”

Sunny disappeared into the hall, while R’shiel was still trying to wade through the molasses of her mind. Sunny came back with a warm Defender’s cloak. R’shiel hadn’t realized how cold she was until the warm wool of the cloak touched her clammy skin.

“How are we going to get through the gates?” Sunny asked as she tucked the cloak around R’shiel.

“I’ll take care of it,” Mahina announced.

Tarja looked as if he might argue the point, but Sunny laid a hand on his arm. “You can’t do this alone. Not with her like this.”

“All right, but only because we don’t have time to argue about it. Check the yard is clear.”

Tarja carried her at a run out of the office and down the long hall to the back of the building. When they emerged into the yard the rain pelted down on them, and R’shiel’s trembling grew worse. Tarja held her close as Sunny led three horses toward them. Lightning crashed overhead as Tarja lifted her onto the horse and then swung up easily behind her. She snuggled into him trustingly as he urged the horse into a canter.

R’shiel had her eyes closed, so she didn’t see the reason that Tarja suddenly hauled on the reins and dragged their mount to a halt. She opened her eyes and squirmed a little in her seat to see what the problem was. Dace was standing beside the horse, holding the bridle.

“Hello, Dace,”

Dace didn’t answer her but looked up at Tarja. “Did she kill him?”

“Let me past, boy.”

Another flash of lightning lit the rain-drenched road, and R’shiel caught sight of Brak. She pressed back into Tarja’s solid and reassuring chest. He has come for me, she suddenly knew.

R’shiel tried to pull away as Brak reached up and gently touched her face. A wave of calm swept through her; a gentle peace seemed to flow through her body and she relaxed. Her mind was still foggy but her trembling stopped. She could hear everything that was going on, but it no longer seemed to matter.

“Come with me. I can help you,” Brak said.

“Like the last time I needed your help?” Tarja asked.

“You’re in no danger from me. But you will never get out of the Grimfield without me. I can help you in ways you cannot possibly imagine.”