New Blood Bracket Finals: Inkfinger v Wings of Endymion

[Visla Eraclaire]

The round will end in two weeks time, Thursday, November 19th at 11:59 PM. Enjoy the extra hours due to late posting of this thread.

Good luck!

[Wings of Endymion]

Her contact in Underwood was a shifty, grizzled fellow, whose dull brown eyes were always roaming the vicinity in search of profit. He went by the alias "Polecat", and it wasn't difficult to see why: he held his small frame with a sneaky guile that bespoke of his criminal links, his pinched cheeks and five o'clock shadow hid a mind as sharp and cunning as any predator, and his finely tailored woolen suit and black bowler cap were musty with the scent of his underground lair. The first thing he had done when seeing her in had been to invite her to his table, and she had known then and there that he was scheming something.

"'a is our friend Thomas doin', then?" he asked of her in his uniquely accented Common, and she had to visibly concentrate on the words rather than the way they were spoken in order to understand them. Polecat had been Thomas's middleman in Corone, her old friend's point of contact for most of his clandestine business deals that went through the multicultural island nation. Yuka was not deceived by the false facade of respectability the man tried to project; she knew enough of him to see through his delusions of standing and recognise him for the petty crook that he was.

Petty or not, though, he still held the key to the next stage of her journey. She inhaled sharply before replying, ignoring the sharp flickers of the lamp-lit den and the steaming cup of tea that he had set before her. "When I last saw him, he was doing well."

"Na that's good ter 'ear," Polecat leered, allowing his unsettling gaze to fixate on the young woman opposite. It was not often that he entertained ladies in his place of business, and even rarer that they were so out of place as she. Her clean white robes were unsullied by the dirty grime of his possessions; her features were delicate and refined, unlike the brute efficiency of the furniture and the decor. He allowed just a little bit of his appreciation to show, noting that she did not recoil in disgust as he feared she might. Which was good, since it meant that she wanted business. "It takes guts ter deal wif the bleedin' daemons, and even more ter actually set up shop wif them. Our friend Thomas coytanlee has guts ter bee 'ive in Haidia, I'll give 'im that."

"I need to return to him," she interrupted, not wanting to play games and bandy words with the businessman. The longer he stretched out the preamble, the stronger his personal position would be should things get down to haggling... so she had to thrust the meat of the matter into his face to get his attention. "You know enough of Thomas's operation to know where the portal to Haidia is. Help me get there, and I'll ensure that you're handsomely rewarded, with more to come once I arrive safely."

Yuka tossed a small pouch of gold coin onto the battered wooden desk, breathing a quiet sigh of relief when Polecat transferred his beady eyes to the jingling leather sack. His henchmen had confiscated her staff and sword at the door, and she felt naked and defenceless with only her wits to protect her.

Then his gaze returned to her face, accompanied by a knowing smile, and she suddenly felt a chill race down her spine.

"Been a while since you last saw 'im then, wot wif your adventures... the bleedin' Tournament of Champions, was it? After aw, what's a lydy ter do when she's abandoned in Scara Brae, except ter rush home ter 'er geeza?" Polecat watched as Yuka's face flushed bright red, and his smile grew even wider. "Oh, I 'ear things in this life, missy... things that even ya daan't always ken. What's it you're involved in na... the Magus Cup?"

Some in her position might have wondered how Polecat had managed to accumulate that much information. Yuka was more concerned with the dawning realisation that this was all a trap... that Polecat had been compromised.

"Who set me up?" she asked, drawing her powers to her like water on the tide. Her forcible return from the alternate dimension of the Tournament of Champions had robbed her of much of her arcane strength, but still, even without her staff, she knew herself to be a formidable opponent. Perhaps she could stall Polecat and enough of the thugs in his employ for long enough to...

"Na, na, there's sum things that ya daan't need ter kna, missy," Polecat admonished, leaning back in his high-backed throne. The movement caused his suit to part at the waist, just wide enough for Yuka to see the ivory-handled revolver holstered there.

Imported directly from Alerar, no doubt, she grit her teeth in frustration, even as she sensed the door behind her open and fill with the presence of more men. Men who made no attempt whatsoever to hide the fact that they were pointing crossbows at the back of her neck.

"We're not garn ter 'urt ya," the businessman continued to speak, anticipating her next question as he reached out to pocket her bag of coin. "We've only been paid good money ter make sure that you'll be at a particular place at a particular time. You'll even get your weapons back when you're there.. so do be a good lassy and cooperate, will ya? I'd 'ate for things ter get messy... ya do 'ave quite the chuffin' pretty face."

As her face burned in frustrated anger, his smile only grew wider, exposing more of his yellowed teeth. He touched the tip of his hat as his closest henchman indicated for her to stand, prodding her with the butt of his crossbow when she failed to do so in a timely manner.

"Daan't cause us any trubble, darlin'," Polecat turned away, dismissing her with a jaunty backhand wave. "I'm sure Thomas will understand."

***

Midway through the next morning, Yuka stood in the middle of a leaf-strewn clearing, Polecat and half-a-dozen of his thugs arrayed in a discreet semi-circle behind her. They'd been true to their word and had treated her relatively decently, although the overnight wagon ride had been somewhat rough. The fact that she had been stowed away in a secret compartment below the floor of the wagon, trussed up like a dressed chicken, hadn't helped.

Now, though, she stood free once again, breathing deeply of the lingering autumn air. Her pale hands were wrapped around the slender shaft of her staff, and her short sword was sheathed at her willowy waist; her white robes danced with the leaves in the breeze to reveal the tunic and trousers that she wore underneath. The crossbows pointed once again at her back were enough to discourage her from making a move - she knew better than to attempt to outrun a sturdy oaken bolt - but she took heart from the fact that their wielders seemed more concerned with their surroundings than with her.

On second thought, though, it didn't seem quite so comforting. Especially since they were at least an hour's hard hiking from the nearest trail, which was a long way to get lost.

The trees were garlanded in crowns of bright reds and yellows, a festive farewell to the verdant months of summer. Soon their branches would be bare and naked under the gaze of the heavens above, and the thick carpet of foliage that obscured the forest floor from view would turn to mulch, feed for the fresh growth of the next year. What glimpses she caught of the skies were of a thick low-lying grey, a suffocating blanket that threatened to rain on them at any moment. Combined with the damp wind that howled at them from time to time, it was not the most pleasant of days... but even then, her Nipponese upbringing could spot the fleeting fringes of beauty in the scene. Unlike Polecat, who was pacing noisily amongst the fallen leaves behind her, Yuka breathed easily and calmly, her slim frame motionless in the serenity.

"So... when they come for me, should I just hand myself over to them, or is there something else that you've failed to tell me?" Her voice lilted lightly across the clearing, attaching no blame nor anger to his actions. He was a businessman, who lived by a code as different from hers as light was from day. Though she couldn't truly fathom why he'd done what he had, especially with Thomas being such a valued customer, she did not fault him for seizing a possible better business opportunity; it was one of the risks she had run by approaching him in the first place. And he had been true to his word about not harming her and about returning her items to her at the end of their journey... she knew better than to trust him, but he wasn't so bad as far as petty criminals went.

"Ah be quiet," Polecat snapped in reply, the hackles at the base of his neck raised at the teasing note in her tone. "You'll find aht soon enuf."

"So they're late then," she pointed out, smiling to herself in satisfaction. He could only see the back of her head, the wisps of dark hair that played like innocent children in the clutches of the fickle breeze, which made the tiny measure of revenge she had extracted even sweeter. Her momentary exultation, however, quickly dissipated as she caught movement amongst the distant tree-trunks.

"Not that late," Polecat whispered in her ear, having closed the ground between them while she was distracted. She nearly recoiled at the touch of his grimy, calloused fingers upon her shoulder; only firm self-command bred by years and years of harsh training kept her reflexes under her control. "I daan't kna wot they want from ya, but we'll only be stickin' 'round until we get paid. Then you're on your lonesome, sweetheart."

Yuka, however, wasn't paying him any attention by the time he finished his sentence.

"Cael? Caelric Strandssen?"

Six weeks had passed since they had met amongst the Garden of Secrets as participants in the Tournament of Champions, but Yuka Kanamai was not one for forgetting faces.

[Inkfinger]

Cael Strandssen had been glad to leave Radasanth behind. He’d been out of prison for almost a month, but so many people all around still made him uneasy. There were simply too many variables: too many people to try and pay attention to, too many places to disappear. Sometimes, he still wished he could disappear. At least disappearing would leave him in less trouble than he usually found himself in – maybe if he disappeared it’d all be over. With your luck you’d disappear straight to Haida or one of the moons and wind up in even more trouble.

He’d been glad to leave, but not so glad of the circumstances surrounding him. The trouble had, as usual, started with an argument. This time, it was two days after he’d retrieved the map and parted ways with Vespasian…

*

It had started in a bar, also usual. If this continued, he was going to have to find an alternative to stepping foot in any tavern ever again. And Areesha was there, her big, golden, bear-tooth grin leveled at him over a tankard of wine.

“See? That wasn’t so hard. Now you just got one more step before you can hie back to sunny Salvar.” She’d said it sweetly, as if she hadn’t promised the museum would be his last step. He gave her a glare filled with as much annoyance as he could muster, but deep down he wasn’t surprised. He’d been expecting this.

“And what would that step be?” He’d asked as politely as he could manage at the time, given he was having rather vivid daydreams of smacking the strange, bald-bear of a woman across the face. Areesha simply shrugged, taking a big gulp of her wine before offering the tankard to Cael. He took one whiff and flinched away, nose stinging from the strong scent of fermented berries rising off the blood-colored beverage. How’s she drinking that by the blooming tankard? Anyone else would have hit the floor by now.

“There’s…a business associate of mine. I believe he’s a former associate of yours, as well?” She took a delicate sip this time, pretending to think. “Named himself after some nasty vermin or other. Ermine? Civet? Or was it….” She trailed off, hooded golden eyes watching him. He had felt his stomach sink to the floor at that look.

“Polecat?” Polecat owed him money, technically. He’d written an article for the man going on a year ago now, and all he’d seen for his troubles was the inside of the Citadel and an angry mob out for answers to questions. It hadn’t been one of his better business transactions by any stretch of the imagination.

“That’d be the lad!” Areesha crowed, slapping the table with faux remembrance. “And, see, he’s supposed to pick up someone I think you’d find interesting.” Her gaze was implacable, despite the mirth lurking around the corners of her mouth. Cael fought back a shiver. “Someone who you’ll fight, better than you fought the spy-brat.” There was something cold in her tone, and the quiet amusement had faded so entirely, so quickly, that he almost couldn’t believe it had ever been there. “Or I shall simply strip you of your voice, and your clothes, and set you right back on the streets. I’ve put a lot of work into you, Cael. You’ll make it worth my while one way or another.”

There hadn’t been much point in arguing. Areesha meant every word she said; she knew exactly which strings to tug, exactly which strings would turn him right back into a cowed, obedient servant.

“Now,” she had been saying when he dragged his attention out of the hands of several unwanted nightmare daydreams, “You don’t have to actually kill anyone…” She dipped her obsidian claws into the dregs of her wine before inspecting them with a critical eye. “Unless you wish to, of course?” Her next glance was almost hopeful. He just maintained his glare until she sighed. “Your loss. Anyways. She doesn’t have to di-”

“Wait. She?”

“Ooops.” Wicked claws had shot to Areesha’s mouth, but not quickly enough to hold back her strangely dainty giggle. “I’ve said too much!”

“Who?”

Areesha shrugged again dismissively, sucking wine off her claw tips. “It doesn’t matter.”

Cael remembered slapping his hands down on the table, leaning forward to hiss in the woman’s face, his teeth bared in unconscious mimicry of the warrior-turned-slaver. “Areesha, I swear, I won’t fight if you don’t-”

“Really? That’s too bad.” Her gaze turned speculative. “Though I think you’d look hot enough in black leather, all tied up…make me a pretty penny if I turned you loose in Irrakam like that. They’re all over the underfed white boys in certain clubs there…”

He didn’t have a snappy comeback for that. He simply slouched back in his chair, glaring at the empty wine tankard, and almost wishing he’d taken her up on her earlier offer. Areesha smirked and stood, grabbing the tankard as she stretched her muscular arms. “Come to my room in half an hour. I’ll have your map drawn up by then.”

*

He’d obeyed, of course.

The threat was too there and too real to be ignored. He’d followed the stupid map all the way through the woods, though it had definitely veered off from any commonly used path long ago.

Leaves colored like fire incarnate and dried crunched beneath his boots as he walked, running over everyone he knew in his head. It couldn’t be Ida. His sister didn’t fight, unless the fighting could be done in well placed kicks and elbows, to be innocently denied at a later date. He also was pretty certain Areesha wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of finding any of his nieces – or, gods forbid, great-aunts. So who did that leave? Skyler?

He almost stumbled into a dry creek-bed, feet slipping on silk-smooth leaves, but he caught a branch before he hit the edge. She wouldn’t let herself be captured by someone like Polecat, he reassured himself before he continued walking. So, then, who?

One his coat pockets rustled like the leaves underfoot as he walked. A small collection of folded constructs, simply waiting to be called to life with a stroke of the pen, waited there. He’d spent the night before working, uncomfortably aware that Areesha would know if he didn’t fight. Somehow, she would know.

Who are you kidding? She’d just ask Polecat, and the bastard would tell her. His other pocket clinked with the gold Areesha had given him for the man. He rankled at the idea of paying Polecat anything, but that, also, was another thing the slaver would know. He clutched his naginata like a walking stick as he trudged through the bright trees, eyes on the woods before him.

Surely I've gone far enough by now... He still had the map, folded up in a tiny square in his pocket, but he didn't feel like digging it out. His eyes lit on a tree that had, long ago, been hit by lightning. It was sheered off a good twenty feet up, split in two and blackened. Alright, I know that was on the map. He set off towards it, trying to ignore the itch at the back of his head, the one that was telling him this was not a good idea.

He'd grown good at ignoring that one, lately.

It was another half-hour of plodding along - being pricked by bushes and poked by branches, nose assailed by the spicy scent of moldering walnuts and oak leaves every step of the way - before he crossed the last landmark on his map. It was narrow bridge, barely more than a split birch tree, set over a deep ravine. Rusted iron and rough rope served as a makeshift railing, but he didn't touch it as he walked. It looked as if it would collapse at a moment's notice.

The overgrown path curved around a stand of birches and out of sight. He followed, grimacing - and abruptly came out in a clearing. One that, if he bothered to get out his map, was probably marked "x".

There were men there already; six of them, each with a crossbow. Cael almost backed into the trees again when he saw Polecat as well, moving across the clearing. He opened his mouth to speak, and-

"Cael? Caelric Strandssen?"

...oh. Oh. Cael blinked, fighting the urge to rub his eyes, and working very, very hard not to scream.. That's not...She was a dream. That was a dream. That couldn't have happened. Two months ago, he'd been in prison. He'd had a fever, and during that fever he'd...dreamed - strange things about one of Salvar's portals slapping him down right inside another person, and talking with a metal golem, and...

And the girl. There, Polecat's hand on her narrow shoulder, was that very girl from his dreams. Her face was as open and kind as he'd remembered, if somewhat concerned, dark eyes narrowed. She was still wearing white. She still carried a staff.

Yuka.

The girl before him now.

She gave me soap...gods, my head hurts.

He glared at Polecat, pulling the money from his pocket as he shucked off his backpack, discarding it behind one of the trees. He saw the shorter man's eyes light up, fixed on the silken pouch. It was all he could do not to fling it right in his face. He shoved it at him instead, teeth practically grinding together.

"There's your money," he snarled, trying not to look at Yuka. If he looked at her, he probably wouldn't be able to fight. He didn't want to fight. Not her. "Now go the hells home."

If he was going to have to fight someone who could very well be a friend, he wasn't going to do it with an audience.

Any and all bunnying or edits between now and the end of this battle are approved by both parties.

Cael has three blade-cranes, one circle of inkbinding, and three scraps of paper the appropriate size for Wish of a Thousand Cranes premade in his pockets. Anything else will need retrieved from his pack.

[Wings of Endymion]

“'ey na, ya friends wif 'im, sweetie?” Polecat whispered breathily, leaning into the slender lines of Yuka’s shoulder. She turned away from the heavy scent of fish and vinegar that mottled his breath, thoroughly disgusted by his insensitive proximity. Mindful of the fingers he kept poised on the nape of her neck, however, she didn’t make any sudden moves… but shielded from his line of sight, her free hand inched closer to the hilt of her short sword. “I've ‘arf a min’ na ter stay and watch…”

“Get. Lost.”

Cael repeated his injunction with even greater ferocity, almost baring his teeth at the businessman like a cornered stray. For a brief moment the two men sized each other up like a pair of hungry scavengers, the small bag of silk-contained silver held between them neither peace-offering nor tribute. It was very clear that Polecat had all of two choices… and after moments of deliberate consideration, marked by a very prolonged bout of eyeball-to-eyeball staring, he made up his mind.

“Fyne, 'ave it your way,” he smiled falsely, exposing all of his yellowed teeth in a brief expression of conciliation that very quickly reverted back to antagonism. “Daan't expect us ter come back ter save ya from the carrion wen you're done, ‘en.”

In a flash, Polecat removed his hand from Yuka’s shoulder and swiped the bag from Cael's fingers. A jaunty, greedy grin crossed his face as he felt the unexpected weight of his payment; he edged away from the pair with just enough wariness to ensure that they didn’t put an arcane bolt through his back when he wasn’t looking. Polecat was nothing if not a successful businessman, and he hadn’t become one by lowering his guard too soon after a transaction had been completed.

“Good luck ter ya, luv. Thra in a good word ter Thomas for me, will ya?”

“Scram, kuzu.” Yuka dismissed him using the Nipponese word for ‘vermin’, one that she knew Polecat recognised from his Akashiman contacts. The businessman stumbled slightly amongst the treacherous leaf-strewn tree roots, his unflappable composure lost for a brief second along with his footing. Both were regained just as quickly as he realised that Yuka was not turning to face him, and that the clearing would not be erupting in a furious fusillade of spell and crossbow bolt.

He twirled his bowler hat from his head with a flourish and mockingly made a grandiose bow towards the back of her head, aimed at the fine waves of moonless night that garlanded her pretty neck.

He then grinned widely as he straightened once again, pleased with the tidy profit he had just made.

“Thank ya for an ‘onest day’s work!” Polecat called to the unresponsive forms standing in the middle of the clearing, singularly determined to have the last word. Then, with a toothy whistle and a slick hand gesture to indicate the way they had come, he and his henchmen disappeared into the thick trees of Concordia forest.

***

Yuka’s first reaction upon sensing Polecat’s departure was a long sigh that completely sapped the strength from her upper body. Rubbing vigorously at the taut lines of her neck and shoulders to rid them of the taint of his touch, she realised that she had just sworn in Nipponese for the first time since leaving the Academy with Thomas. The knowledge was enough to sober her up immediately.

She’d had enough experience of the criminal underworld to have been genuinely worried at the confrontation between her captor and Cael, knowing that a single wrong move would have been enough to cause the simmering mistrust and tension to erupt in a furore of death-dealing. Her parents, heads of a yakuza syndicate in far-off Nippon, had repeatedly imprinted upon her from a young age not only the fact there was no point in a successful deal if you were too dead to enjoy it, but also that there were many people in the world ready to kill at the drop of a single silver coin.

Her second reaction, close on the heels of the first, was concern at the weariness upon Cael’s features. The limp shadows carved upon them were unchanged from before; worse, perhaps, as she realised that now he seemed reluctant to even meet her eyes. When they had last met, by the forested pond in the Garden of Secrets, he’d been bloodied and scarred in both body and mind. As she appraised him now, she saw that although the physical wounds had healed as best they could, the mental injuries had yet to completely close. But even that didn’t explain his evasiveness… until she remembered what Polecat had said just before restraining her.

The Magus Cup… oh no, please… no…

For a brief moment, Yuka was glad that Cael was not looking at her face. It meant that he most likely missed the instant of horrified dawning comprehension that flitted like a bolt of lightning across her features before she wrestled them back under control.

I don’t want to fight Cael. I don’t want to hurt him any more. Why… why…

The silence hung awkwardly in the autumn air, until it thrummed in her ears almost too loud to bear. Maple foliage of bright red, yellow, and gold floated gently to the ground about them as the trees sighed in a slight breeze, petals of natural splendour that seemed to honour their chance meeting in beautiful salutation.

I have to say something, Yuka belatedly realised, recalling that Cael wasn’t exactly the forthcoming type at the best of times. In that respect, and in many others, he wasn’t unlike one or two of the other friends she’d had back at the Academy at Nippon.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it? How far did you get in the tournament…? I hope they didn’t just dump you back in a random place in the continent like they did to me…”

She smiled at him, but it was a strained smile that held only a fraction of its usual bright cheer. It was not long before she blurted out the matter that was weighing on her mind the most.

“Look, there has to be a way that we can do this without fighting.”

[Inkfinger]

No, they dumped me right back where I came from, and it only got worse from there on out. He left the sentence unspoken, a thin, frustration-edged smile twitching at his lips.

“I’m sure there is,” he said softly, his past dealings with Polecat enough to tell him the rat was probably hovering somewhere nearby, just to get the last word again – especially with Areesha’s promise that she’d know. “The only problem with that is…”

His mind balked. How was he supposed to explain this? Only a handful of people in the world knew all the details, and he’d prefer to keep it that way. But Yuka just stood there, intelligent query visible in her eyes and in every curve of her graceful frame.

“I’m being blackmailed,” he finally blurted, glossing over the finer details. He didn’t want to talk about them, and she would probably not want to hear about them. “I’m not sure why, but if I don’t at least try to fight you things will get…” He paused again, looking for a tactful phrase to sum things up. “…very ugly for me.”

“…I see.” Yuka said it calmly, but he could imagine the concern in her eyes. He was cleaner this time, the network of cuts, burns and bruises faded away, but he still had the uncomfortable sensation that she could see the scars that lurked beneath the surface. He glanced at her for a moment before the shame made him look away, cursing the whole situation.

“I don’t want to hurt you, and I sure as all hells don’t want to fight you. But…I can’t afford not to.” He bit his lip, trying to think things through. “Fight you, that is. She…” He didn’t elaborate on who she was, either. “Only said I had to fight, not kill, so…”

“You’re talking about a duel, rather than an outright brawl?” There wasn’t much of a question in her voice. Cael nodded, looking at her again. She was thinking, he could see the mental gymnastics flickering behind the brightness, and he had to admit he’d much rather see that than her pity.

“None of my magic is really strong enough to hurt,” he said, leaning his still-sheathed naginata against a tree and digging a paper crane from his pocket. “It hurts about…well. Have you ever had a paper cut?” Yuka nodded, still looking contemplative. “That’s about how much it’d hurt you.” This was probably breaking the rules. If he got out of this fight alright (and, he had to admit, there was that very small chance he’d read Yuka all wrong and she’d use this as an opportunity to take him out quickly. But if that was the case, it would still probably be better this way) Areesha would probably simply shove him into something else, one more “last step” on a long, bloody and sore path of last steps. "I promise."

"It could work," Yuka said after a moment of silence, filled only by the rustling of the trees and the far-distant sound of a stream. The birds were strangely silent, no doubt shocked that way by Polecat and his men. "I can live with a paper cut."

"I thought so," Cael said, unable to hide his grin. He hefted his naginata, returning to his discarded backpack to fish his inkwell and his pen from inside. Once he'd reclaimed the items, he returned to the clearing proper, feeling as if a massive weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He crouched down on the ground, setting the naginata on a patch of golden, fan-shaped Ginko leaves. He added the cranes, then set about unscrewing the cap off the inkwell.

"This," he continued, nodded down at the naginata, "will remain sheathed. I had a friend when I was in school who loved dueling, but he, much like myself," he didn't look up as he stuck his finger in the thick ink, staining it obsidian up to the first knuckle. "Was a complete coward. He used to fight with sheathed blades all the time." He ran his finger up the leather sheath, leaving a black trail along the edge. "What's the saying again? Better a live coward than a dead idiot." He was rewarded with a small giggle, and his grin returned. "Or something like that, anyways." Soon, the whole leading edge of the naginata was coated in viscous ink. He set it back down, picking up the pen instead. "There are some people who can duel well enough with a naked blade that they don't need ink." He looked up at her, his grin going just a bit wry as he admitted, "I am not one of those people."

"Then it is appreciated," Yuka returned with teasing gravity. "It would be embarrassing to get skewered on accident."

"That it would." He turned his attention to one of the cranes, tongue between his teeth in concentration. It had been months since he'd been able to create the delicate paper constructs, even longer since he'd used one for a weapon, and it showed: not so much in the paper, the folds were as sharp and precise as they had ever been, but in the sigil he sketched. The first one turned out lopsided, but the edges of the wings glowed blue for a fraction of a second anyways, before the ink soaked into the paper and vanished, leaving snowy white in its wake. The next leaned the opposite direction; the light was fainter, but it was there.

The third, finally, came perfect: neat and tidy and straight. Its light was still glimmering when "Alright, good," he remarked in delight, half to himself, half to the petite woman watching over his shoulder with a fascination that reminded him - in equal parts - of a small child and his old friend Ingwe Halcyon. "I was beginning to think I was losing my touch."

[Wings of Endymion]

Origami! she marvelled, unintentionally mirroring Ingwe’s exact reaction upon witnessing Cael’s abilities for the first time. It was a strange combination to Yuka’s mind, naginata and onmyodo, but not one so esoteric that she could not begin to piece together the rest of his skills. After all, she had come across both components in plenty of abundance in her homeland of Nippon, and even more when she had travelled once to neighbouring Cathay, in her childhood so long ago.

If those are shikigami, then…

She glanced again at the ink-stained leather scabbard, and shuddered. She had no illusions about what the mighty polearm could do; even sheathed, it would hurt to be struck with it, especially if Cael put any strength behind his stroke. But it was better to be bruised and in pain than to be completely sundered atwain. And she trusted the inkmage: enough to believe him when he said that he had to fight, enough not to pry any further into matters that were obviously private, enough to participate in this duel without reservation in the hope that it would help to set him free, enough to believe that he would not be looking to hurt her.

“I’d probably better prepare myself as well,” she told him with a gentle smile, her heart touched when Cael reciprocated it wanly. “But I know you’re wrong on one thing, Cael… you’re not a complete coward. You stood up to Polecat, didn’t you? And besides, if you were one, you wouldn’t be doing this.”

Yuka smiled again when the Salvic inkmage reacted by gaping at her in surprise, the delicate crane under his fingers almost forgotten in his shocked disbelief. Lightly she turned on her feet and walked to the other side of the clearing, her tread making rather less noise on the carpet of dead leaves than the steel shod boots of the others had done. By the time she reached the haversack of her belongings that Polecat and his men had abandoned at the base of the largest oak tree in the vicinity, she had made up her mind on how to duel him.

Her first action was to strip away her outer robes; they were extremely difficult to clean, especially on the road, and she didn’t particularly relish the thought of Cael’s naginata daubing thick black ink all over them. She felt almost vulnerable without them; as she stood amongst the vivid vibrant treescape in light tunic and trousers, the thin white cotton seemed to emphasise just how slender and fragile her body actually was. Yuka shivered slightly as the chill threatened to seep through to her skin, but she knew that she would warm up in a couple of moments whether she liked it or not.

Next, she unbuckled her kodachi from her waist, knowing that it would be little more than a hindrance in the upcoming battle. It was too short and too ceremonial to be of much use against the polearm, and that was saying nothing of her paltry skill with it. Briefly she toyed with the idea of daubing ink on the ornate silk-lined saya and fighting sheathed as Cael did, but she dismissed it just as quickly; the wooden scabbard was not of the sturdiest of craftsmanship, quite likely to shatter upon impact. And she had too much emotional attachment to the artefact to risk it in such a fashion.

This left her exactly two weapons… the supple yew staff she now held with both hands, and her keen mind.

She cast her eye once again over her surroundings, noting the drifts of gold and red that had built up in the lee of the trees, the clusters of thick tree trunks that she could use for cover in times of need, and the undulating wave of damp earth that lay beneath the waning forest. Yuka knew that she would need to keep her distance from Cael, at least while she worked out an opening, and for that it would be easiest if she could stay on the move and keep to the high ground whilst peppering him with long-range projectiles.

That’s my battle plan, she murmured in her mind, committing it to memory as she entered a series of callisthenic stretches to limber up her body. Yuka knew that she was not the most powerful of warriors, but her muscles were toned and supple; she had been renowned back at the Academy for her athleticism. And I have to remember not to use so much power as to be lethal… enough to hurt a little, but not be deadly.

That part of her plan would not be difficult, she knew. Once again she felt a pang of pain strike her heart in recognition of the fact that she had lost a fair amount of her powers since she had returned from the Tournament of Champions; for some reason, the Cabal had seen fit to strip her of much of what she had learnt under Thomas’s supervision deep in the archives of Haidia. She remembered that Cael had deliberately avoided her question about his own return; she wondered if he had experienced the same effect, or if there was another reason entirely for his evasiveness.

In either case, she hoped that he didn’t remember much of what she could do. She wouldn’t be able to face up to the disappointment he might show, so raw was her own pain at her loss.

“Done!” she finally heard Cael call to her through the quiet – too quiet, in fact – autumn air. She wondered momentarily if there were any others watching them, and if Cael’s paranoia was not as much of an over-reaction as it had first seemed. The inkmage seemed to scrabble in the dirt for the moment, furtively covering his tracks with a pile of dead foliage as he gathered up the tools of his trade.

“Ready when you are!” Yuka shouted back, her voice crisp and clear. Her opponent acknowledged with a wave and a nod, presumably indicating his assent.

She settled into a neutral stance with her staff held before her, watching as Cael released his origami constructs into the sky. A deep breath filled her lungs, followed by a series of light, quick exhalations that her body was conditioned to interpret as a signal for danger. Adrenaline began to pump through her system, bringing with it the all-important rush of energy.

As she exhaled for the last time, she kicked off in a burst of speed towards a clump of trees to her right. Her right arm drew back across her chest, and in its wake wove an arrow formed from the very winds of magic, aimed squarely in Cael’s direction.

[Inkfinger]

Her insistence that he wasn’t a coward had left him feeling warmer than he had in awhile, left him uncomfortable in his heavy woolen coat. He did his best to ignore the physical discomfort as he watched Yuka move, hands working at the last bandaged-sized scrap of paper.

The biggest problem with her is speed, he thought in the small part of his brain that wasn’t concentrating on keeping the cranes aloft and inking the correct signs in the corners of the paper. She’s quicker than you are, and she doesn’t have a bum leg to fret about…but at least she lost the sword.

His experiences in fighting - actual fighting, not ill-advised guerilla attacks or one-sided brawls – were few and far between, with rather mixed results. The spar with the cat-like bartender before this had all started had been viewed through a haze of alcohol. Vespasian had been more than willing to talk instead of fight – though that wasn’t much of a help. That was why he was in this mess in the first place. Yuka was going to be a tad different, he could tell already.

He’d never had a chance to prepare, before. He wiped the excess ink off on the heel of his hand before he shoved the pen down the side of his boot, his other hand digging in his pocket for the last folded square of paper. There was an intricate circle-within-a-circle-within-a-circle drawn on it, touching all edges. He smoothed the wrinkles out of the middle, and surreptitiously pressed it to the ground, wiping the ink from his fingers into the center of the middlemost circle to form a rough approximation of the sign for human. The blood-and-ink markings flared once, muted against the moldering leaves, and then faded; leaving what looked like a mere blank, crumpled paper against the leaves in its wake.

“Done!” He called, shuffling leaves over the paper so it would be less obvious. He forced himself to look up, waiting her response – be it verbal or action – without looking at his would-be trap. He still wasn’t entirely sure how this was going to go, but at least this time there was a very small chance of actually getting hurt.

Her response was almost -but not quite- cheery, and he tried to let the stress ease out of his body as he stood, naginata poised and ready, the cranes orbiting him like tiny, bird-shaped moons.

Worse comes to worse, Areesha sees something she doesn’t like and….then what?

No. He couldn’t afford to think like that. Hells, he couldn’t afford to think at all right now. He caught the motion at the last moment, half a second before one of the cranes let out an undefined mental screel of warning. The feeling sent Cael half-leaping, half-sprawling to the side, just in time to feel solidified wind gust overhead.

The constructs were scolding in his head, already. Cael darted behind a tree, trying to send hush thoughts at the cranes (who, as typical) didn’t listen. He couldn’t see Yuka from behind the tree, but he was going to stay there and…

No. This requires actually thought, and actual aggression on your part. For once.

He took a deep breath, and lunged from behind the tree, sending a full set of the cranes’ blades flying through the air; long, narrow lances of translucent blue light that danced like a stone skipped across a creek. He set them towards where he’d last seen Yuka even before his eyes focused on her new position, trying to compensate for the motion. It worked, to an extent, though two of the light-blades veered miserably off course, slicing into completely harmless leaves when they hit the ground.

See? Fast.

He didn’t notice if any actually hit her; he just felt one of the cranes winking from existence and hoped he had. She wasn’t standing still, though; she was weaving in and out of the trees circling the clearing, and he couldn’t help but wonder if, perhaps, following her was the best idea…

But at the moment, he didn’t have much of a choice.

[Wings of Endymion]

Ow.

Yuka pulled a face at the thin red line that the crane had sliced across her lower arm, a tic in her cheek starting up at the stinging pain. It wasn’t going to bleed, though; Cael had been telling the truth when he’d compared the wounds caused by his magic to paper cuts. She almost had to admire the precision with which the crane had traced its path upon her body, a stroke of crimson against the alabaster paleness of her skin.

At the very least, that should teach me not to be over-confident.

She’d been prepared, of course, to take one or two hits during the battle in order to give Cael ammunition against his employer, whoever he or she was. Now, however, Yuka's mind was suffused with the overwhelming desire not to be sliced again; her imagination had just conjured up the vision of her whole body in stinging pain due to the lacerations of Cael’s cranes, and it had not been a pleasant thought. She smiled wryly to herself despite it all, knee-deep in a drift of dry leaves and her next arrow unwaveringly trained upon the tree that the inkmage was hiding behind.

Behind!

Her panicked reaction caused the projectile sped from her hands, harmlessly hammering into hard bark. Cael had directed two more of his cranes in a flanking movement behind her, and she only just detected them as they swooped in on an attack run. Instinctively she dropped to her knees and traced a sigil into her palm.

“Shu-no-in… Tenshujin!”

The arcane ward shimmered into existence just in time; Yuka could literally feel the impacts of the cranes upon her defensive spell. Before she could react any further, though, Cael had leapt out from behind his own cover and made a mad dash for a closer clump of trees… too close for her liking.

Now that was nicely played… she had to grudgingly admit. If Ingwe hadn’t been fond of using the same trick on her in their mandatory duelling sessions back at the Academy, she might not have noticed the cranes in time.

And there was something else that niggled at her brain, something that her subconscious was trying to remind her of. The forest provided her with cover and hampered Cael’s attempts to get close, and it also gave the inkmage enough protection from her magical projectiles that he could avoid the worst of what she could not adequately control. She’d noticed that Cael had a bad leg which restricted his movement somewhat, which was another advantage she held… not to mention that the effort required in maintaining so many constructs was no doubt quite immense, while she could concentrate on one thing at a time. And yet there was something… something from the past few minutes that wasn’t quite right…

Her brows knit in focused thought as she darted away from her present cover, sprinting in a swift weave towards her next vantage. A slight hum above her head warned her instinctively to duck, and she barely managed to avoid the attentions of a crane trying to nip at her cheek; the origami life form veered off course before crashing into the unyielding solidity of an elm branch overhead, disoriented by her sudden reaction. Her heart pounding in her chest at the close call, Yuka rolled into yet another soft bank of leaves beneath the protection of a great oak, gracefully regaining her feet with a third arcane arrow now entrained upon Cael’s position. She had to squint slightly to pick out his woollen longcoat from the drab tree trunk; if it was not for the sheer brilliance of the leaves on the forest floor, she might have missed him entirely.

Keep your head down, Cael, she urged him mentally, before unleashing the first of a sustained barrage of arrows upon his position.

[Inkfinger]

Cael had just poked his head around the too-slender tree when something hit the trunk with a dull thump that sent him back behind its meager cover. It was the first of many such sounds, and he slumped against the tree. He could feel the unspoken frustration of his constructs as they, too, hit tree and shield instead of their target.

Well, you didn’t think this was going to be easy, did you?

Eventually, though, the constant sensation – the sounds and the almost-constant breezes that came with - of the invisible projectiles ceased. Cael peered around again, didn’t see Yuka, and took the chance to scamper for the nearest largest tree, naginata still clutched in his inky fingers.

He’d almost made it when he heard the rushing whistle of displaced air. He threw himself flat, but not before catching a glancing impact on his left shoulder.

Oh, Sway’s sake, that actually hurts.

It felt like a bruise. He wasn’t bleeding, his clothes weren’t torn, but his whole shoulder throbbed as if he’d been given one hell of a shiner there. He tried to ignore it as he slid behind the tree, but his arm tingled all the way down to his fingers. He added the analogy of him hitting his funny bone, since that’s how the tingle felt. He flexed his hand around the naginata, and his fingers twitched slightly.

…That may become a problem.

The forest fell silent again, Cael’s breath and the sounds of the breeze – the natural breeze, not Yuka’s controlled zephyrs - were the only things he heard; broken every now and again by the paper rustle of the two surviving blade cranes.

How many blades do I even have left? He’d lost track already. There were reasons – big reasons, lists of reasons – he wasn’t a full-time warrior-mage. Lack of concentration was towards the top of those lists. He stayed hunched behind the tree, poised to move at a single crunch of leaf beneath boot, and let his thoughts shuffle through all the possibilities.

First out in that shuffle was the realization that he still had the circle of binding waiting in the clearing. If he could get her to it, he could probably buy himself some more time, maybe enough time to get in a decent strike or two…

He peered around his much wider tree, didn’t see Yuka, and again took the chance, heading back towards the clearing - by way of any nice, wide trees he could find.

This time, he made it halfway there before the sound came again. This time, he dropped to all fours and scuttled, almost like a crab, to the safe harbor of bark and loam. Across the clearing, in the corner of his eye, he could see his opponent doing the same, a flash of white against the firelight shades of autumn.

They were mirroring each other. Somehow, and without planning, they both had the same idea.

Well! He thought, directing another pair of ethereal blades to lash out from the constructs he couldn’t see. That’s not going to get either of us anywhere… That thought, and the cranes, gave him enough confidence to stand and sprint back to the other side of the clearing. He almost forgot exactly where he’d left the circle, and wound up missing it at the last moment by using the naginata to pole-vault over its pile of loam –

-just as another solidified breeze divested a thin branch above his head of the rest of its golden leaves, sending dust and shredded leaves through the air. He hit the ground hard, and kept moving.

So let’s play a different type of follow the leader…

[Wings of Endymion]

He’s changed tactics?

She’d just about figured out the trick to detecting the cranes in time: whenever they activated the thin blue blades that were their trademark, they emitted a faint hum that carried like a soft vibrato through the air to her vigilant senses. It was only thanks to this knowledge that she was able to evade the latest pair that swept in on her, one from above and the other from below, with a dextrous twist of her body. Her peripheral vision watched safely as they spiralled out of control and joined the crinkled fallen foliage at her feet.

Cael was still using them to cover his movements… but now he was not quite going for the throat with his attacks. She frowned as she reasserted her gaze upon his thin back, loosing another arrow in his general direction to keep him moving. Her mind buzzed with the questions she had to ask of his intentions… had he inadvertently stumbled there as he crossed the clearing? Was his leg catching up with him at last? Or was he trying to lull her into a false sense of security? How many of his origami constructs did he have left?

No matter, Yuka thought to herself, tearing her mind away from dwelling too much on details. She knew that she had to focus on the big picture: that at long last… I have you where I want you.

The inkmage had ducked down behind a cluster of sturdy maple trees, not far from where he had begun their duel. No doubt he expected her to be on overwatch, looking out for any sign of movement, which meant that she had a few seconds before he would react to her inaction. The direct path between them took her straight across the clearing and directly into any ambush that he might have planned, but it was the deep drifts of dead leaves that encircled the open ground like a moat of bright fire that she intended to take advantage of.

Kami forbid that he sees this coming...

Abandoning her archery stance in favour of simply holding out her staff before her, she closed her eyes and concentrated on the flow of magic in the lay of the land about her. In a sensation that was remarkably akin to moulding water, she crafted five spells in rapid succession, their essences floating above her head in a halo of translucent spheres that awaited her command for their release. Each was identical to the rest, a swirling ball of arcane power that held the dormant energy necessary for a basic wind spell.

Renkuha!

She opened her eyes with a start, irises gleaming dark brown in the wan autumn light. With a whispered command she sent her spells on their way, each aimed towards a different point in the banks around the clearing. As if in slow motion they arced in purposeful trajectory towards their targets, giving her a brief moment of respite in which to take a deep breath to prepare herself for the storm that would come.

The gusts impacted roughly simultaneously, explosively casting piles of fiery red and glittering gold, five-pointed maple and fan-shaped ginkgo, into the air. A whirling dervish of dead foliage obscured the ground from view, caught up at eye-level as it covered the entirety of the open arena in a blanket of leafy cover.

Into this hurricane she fearlessly plunged, bracing herself for the inevitable confrontation: close combat, but on her own terms. Whatever trap lay in wait for her, he would have to be on his toes indeed to catch her in it… like an intangible breath of wind she intended to slip through the tempest and strike true at her opponent.

Brace yourself, Cael…

Yuka whispered one last phrase out loud, soft and gentle as she sped swiftly through the leaves. The palm of her free hand glowed briefly in the power of one of her sigils, but that particular spell was a decoy... it was the faint static that crackled about the fingers that gripped her staff that she intended to use to trap the inkmage once and for all.

“Here I come.”