Round 2: Christina Bredith Vs Inkfinger

[Silence Sei]

You have 2 weeks to complete your battle, may the best man win!

[Christina Bredith]

From her seat in the anteroom beneath the stands of the Invitational Arena, “Rosalyn” listened to the murmur of the crowd drifting down from above through the dark tunnels all around her. None of it was intelligible from this distance, but she imagined that she could hear the words of the imperial viceroys. Maybe they were discussing the outcome of the battles they had watched today. Perhaps they were even discussing her battle against the monstrous Dan Lagh’ratham, over whom she had been declared victor by spectatorial decree. Why that was, she would never know, but in these tournaments the will of the masses was stronger than law, however fickle it might be.

She could have been reflecting back on that battle at that moment, over the missteps and successes she’d made. She could even have been thinking forward to the next battle, still more challenging than the last. Indeed, one of the warriors in this very chamber, circling all around the mighty arena, might be her next mountain. Her next Red Beast.

But at that moment, none of those men sharpening their axes or hammering studs into their cudgels, none of the women balancing daggers on their fingers or practicing their "needlework" with thin steel foils, none of them existed. There were only the viceroys, and Christina lurking in the deep dark beneath them. A serpent in the rushes, too low to affect their notice. A lioness in the coat of a housecat, draped in grace to mask the sharpness of her claws.

Yes, they would die today. It was only necessary to focus on that goal. An arrow sailing toward a target need not pay any mind to the obstacles between them; it need only soar over them.

The anticipation of it was difficult to bear, though. Christina's muscles were like springs, tensing and uncoiling, and she became aware of her fingers clenching into fists and loosening over and over like the beat of her own heart. Perhaps that was supposed to be a sign of some quintessential oneness with herself or with the universe, but there was no place in her mind for that kind of thinking just then.

She rose smoothly, spreading out her dark half-cloak behind her, and began to take a turn about the chamber. Here two warriors were boasting loudly about their victories, while there a young boy looked nervous enough to spill his lunch onto the straw-lined floor. She saw all of these things as she moved through the darkness between the dull glow of the anteroom’s torches, but she couldn’t bring herself to focus on them. She just wanted the next battle to start. The sooner it did, the sooner this would all be over.

The crowd answered her prayer with a roaring chorus, and Christina froze in her tracks. A balding old herald with a round belly and a crown of gray hair above his ears shuffled into the room bearing a crisp parchment inked with the Crowned Walls, the official sigil of the Corone Empire. It was difficult not to spit every time she saw it, but before the last round someone had done just that and been bloodied within an inch of unrecognizability by three loyalists. She had no interest in picking useless fights.

“Rosalyn de Havlan,” the herald called out in his thick voice. She stepped forward, drawing back the long strands of her hair, normally golden but now dyed nearly the colour of strawberries, and nodded her readiness. He nodded, too, and she followed him as he waddled down long, gated tunnel that opened onto the battlefield itself. The Monks of Ai’Bron had no doubt worked their magic and concocted a dreamscape of ever more dazzling specifications, but to Christina it was all a barely relevant obstacle.

This arrow had already taken flight, and she needed only to stay true.

[Inkfinger]

"Solike. I lost. Last round, I mean.”

“You did.”

“So why am I still in the brackets?”

“Damned if I know.”

“…you’re losing money on these, I know you are. Why in the name of all nine hells do you keep putting me in? For that matter, who did you have to bribe to let me back in?”

“Bribe? I don’t-”

“And I’m the crown prince of Fallien.”

“…Fallien only has queens, Cael.”

“That’s my point.”

---

The early spring sun shone warm and gentle through the puffy white clouds scudding across the expanse of blue sky. Its light sank into Cael’s narrow shoulders, soothing away the residual, imaginary soreness from his last tournament bout.

Well, the inkmage thought sardonically, It’s not a palace, but it’s definitely a step in the right direction.

He stood on a bench on the side of a square, watching the ever-flowing motions of the fountain in the middle. The red shades of the bricks that paved the square contrasted boldly with the short green grass that lined it. Flowering bushes - groomed into quaint animal shapes - broke the flowing rhythm of the knolls that stretched on three sides nearly to the horizon, perfuming the air just enough to mask the scents from the cages.

But, of course, they did nothing to hide the sounds: the cacophony of bird song; the deep, throaty roars of the lions; the trumpeting bellow of the Empire’s prized Fallien elephants. Their varied calls broken the silence periodically, mingled with cries Cael had never before heard: chatters, wails, shrieks and croaks from every exotic land on the surface of the world.

With my luck, half of them will be free range, hungry, and poisonous.

He turned on his heel to regard the fourth side of the square. Instead of meadows, paths and cages, it was a huge wall, constructed of the same brick as the path and the square. It stretched to nearly twice his height, and its surface was broken only twice: first by a massive banner, the ornate two-foot tall letters declaring Welcome to the Radasanth Zoological Gardens, second by the narrow gate set in the middle. It was blocked off by a heavy iron portcullis, effectively destroying any chance of escape. The one time Cael had ventured near it, he couldn’t see the other end of the passage. He could only see the swirling miasma of unrealized magic, the monks deeming the land beyond the gate too inconsequential to describe to the combatants’ eyes.

As if I should expect anything different.

The inkmage let out a sigh, easing his way off the bench. Once on the ground, he paced, feeling the bumps and cracks in the stonework through the thinning soles of his too-big boots. His fingers shifted on the repaired shaft of his naginata. The polearm was whole once again. He could see no traces of splintered and scorched wood, no evidence of impossible heat on its razor-edged blade. Whatever wild magic could heal shredded skin, broken bone and mangled muscle could surely knit simple fibers of oak and steel back together, but that didn’t make the sensation of holding something one witnessed being destroyed any less disconcerting.

Cael tapped the naginata’s butt end against the path beneath his feet. The sound echoed back, dully, and for a moment the birds in the nearest enclosure fell silent, leaving the silence broken only by the trickle of the fountain. For a moment, all was peaceful. He could almost forget that he was expected to fight again. Almost. Until then the sound of the fountain was buried beneath the deep, metal-grind screel of the portcullis’s chains shifting. There was a tinny fanfare of invisible trumpets, a herald’s loud cry barely audible between their strangled notes and the renewed fervor of the caged beasts: “-lyn de Havlan!”

He took a wary, weary step back, pale eyes fixed on the now-gaping gate in the wall.

He didn't really feel like dying today, no matter how temporary.

---

“Alright, alright. You remember Areesha Gallowsgate?”

“…the slaver out of Irrakam.”

“Ah! You do remember. That’d be the one.”

“Of course I remember her. She’s kind of hard to forget. She hates-”

“Yes, yes, well, I, uh. I owe her a lot of money. She wanted you in, wanted you fighting. She, um, she places bets on all your battles. Artemis Eburi, Ruby Winchester....I coax you into the arenas, she forgives another portion of what I owe.”

“…why would she bet on me? What part of she hates me did you mi…Wait. That's it, isn't it? She’s not betting on me, is she? What a sadistic old bat-”

“I always knew you caught on quick.”

[Christina Bredith]

Christina had visited these very gardens many times in her childhood. Growing up near Radasanth as she had, the Radasanth Zoological Gardens served as the locale for some of her favourite adventures, filled with exotic environs and fantastical beasts from corners of the world she had never even read about in books. There were a number of entrances arrayed around the circular gardens, each with a great banner hoisted overhead to welcome visitors, and parchments nailed up to the walls to tell them about the unusual and terrifying beasts gathered for their enjoyment this season.

The walls and plants all looked as she remembered them, that was for certain. But if this was something from her childhood memories, it was tainted with the characteristic dark twists of nightmare. The bricks had crumbled had fallen to the ground, overgrown tendrils of ivy taking up residence in their place. There were no people anywhere, obvious in the deafening silence: no laughter of children, no pleased cooing of naïve girls, no amazed sounds of the adults who had been here a thousand times and were nevertheless always surprised by what they found. Even the tattered sign hanging overhead mocked her, its red paint drooling down off the thick banner, which was itself torn and full of holes.

ENJOY YOUR STAY

Christina suppressed a shiver and pushed on. Suddenly the crowing of foreign birds and the growls of fierce predators had taken on a different meaning. In her childhood they had been exhilarating and wonderful because she had known nothing could harm her. Here, she did not feel safe making the same assumption, and when a new animal growled in the distance, she spun with Rosebite in a firm, pointed grasp.

She chided herself for that. This was no time to be acting like a frightened girl clinging to her father’s pant-leg in fear and exhilaration. She needed to remember why she was here! A deep breath, and she was the arrow again, moving effortlessly toward its target. She nudged aside some underbrush that had long since overgrown the pathway and pressed deeper into the thickly forested gardens.

The sharp, sudden sound of something clacking against the paving stones made her spin to her left. There was only a wall of finely-carved topiaries there, but something had made a sound behind them. One of the garden’s permanent residents, or its other visitor, she wondered? It was strange that that was when she calmed down. Rosebite once more felt like a part of her hand. She could feel the sword twitching with anticipation.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” she said to the trees in an even, soothing tone. “I don’t have time to play games.”

Nothing. Christina smirked slightly, and took aim at the tree directly ahead, carved into the shape of an elephant with its trunk raised high.

“Scream, Rosebite!”

The air shattered with a burst of sound, and leaves filled the air as the elephant’s midsection exploded outward. The crushing blue pulse of Rosebite’s Sonic Sable had opened a hole large enough for a man to crawl through, and Christina peered through the focus of her destruction to see whether she had landed her target.

[Inkfinger]

Any bunnying from here on out is considered approved!

The uneasy peace evaporated in a cloud of leaves and sound, a wave of brilliant blue that hit Cael with the strength of a bull, swept the ground from beneath him and sent him head over heels into the fountain with bruising force. For a moment, the world was a wash of white foam and wetness, freezing cold water squeezing the already-short breath from his lungs. He couldn't tell which was was up, which way was down, and his chest screamed as he swallowed a mouthful of chemical-tainted liquid.

His head broke the surface, then, and he came up spitting; sputtering desperately and clawing for the edge. Dust motes and leaf fragments floated down to hit the foaming surface of the fountain as he found a foothold in the thigh-deep water, scrabbled his shaky way out. His coat and trousers stuck to him like a second skin, slapping against his legs, but the fountain had probably saved his life, kept him from slamming his head against one of the cages with their walls of iron bars, or into the paving stones.

The inkmage dropped to the tiles in a pile of sopping fabric, water-spiked hair and a dull, instinctive panic. He stayed down, stayed low, and tried to regain his breath. His sides ached and throbbed from that impact, and something burned up the side of his cheek. He took a couple quick breaths that panged in his ribs as he touched his cheek.

His fingers came away bloodied.

I must have scraped it on the fountain's wall, he thought, dimly as he pushed his hair out of his eyes, clearing some of his hazy field of vision. At least things are starting to feel familiar. He sucked in another breath and ducked his head around the fountain’s wall, peering in the direction from which the blast of cerulean magic had emanated.

The massive elephant topiary was gutted. He could see the bent and broken branches of its skeleton sticking out into the tunnel bored through its belly. He could also just see a shape, a figure peering through its verdant innards. A...blonde woman, clutching a sword the likes he had never seen before. She moved with an easy grace, searching, and he ducked back behind the base of the fountain before her shadowed eyes turned his way.

Alright, this time it's not a race. It's hide and go seek.

He knelt balanced on his heels, back against the base of the fountain, staring at his naginata. The polearm had fallen to the ground three feet from where he'd landed. It was well within reach - if he wanted his opponent to see him. He folded his hands for a second, thinking; keenly aware that all of his paper had been in his pockets.

If he’d had any chance to use magic, to fight using something other than the naginata, it was probably now ruined...

He reached up anyways, fumbling the pockets of his coat open hurriedly. His hands shook as he emptied the various papers out onto the pavement, dropping them away from the puddles of water dripping from his sleeves. The long strips he used to fashion bandages and splits were soaked entirely. The larger pieces he used for his traps had fared worse, the thin folded sheets torn when he'd landed. The thick sheaf of origami paper from his breast pocket, however, looked potentially salvageable: the innermost layer of brightly colored sheets were only damp around the edges. He peeled the ruined outer layers off, dropping them next to the other soaked papers.

Maybe, if he stayed alive long enough, the sun would dry them enough to be useable, so he'd have something to rely on other than his constructs.

Maybe.

And maybe that elephant will come to life and stomp on your enemy for you. The little nagging voice in his head sounded an awful lot like It, his familiar, and he shuddered at the idea of having It here, offering Its advice. There was a good reason he never summoned his only intelligent construct before these fights. It never forgot, and It never let him live it down when he let It die.

He shook off the thoughts and clutched the few useable pieces of paper in one hand, listening for footsteps through the catcalls and jeers of the caged birds. If his attacker was coming, he couldn't hear her over their chatter and the gentle trickle of the calming fountain. He drew in another hitching breath and lunged for the naginata. His varicolored fingers barely closed around it as he sprinted for the relative safety of the nearest animal cage, leaving a path of wet bootprints behind. The woman saw him in the process, of course - he was neither that quick, nor that graceful - and he was absolutely certain he heard her yell something, but the words were lost to the roaring in his ears.

[Christina Bredith]

She had hit something. That much was obvious. The man’s cry of shock and the subsequent splash of water made that obvious. But by the time the storm of leaves had settled, there was only a crumbling fountain in the center of the next courtyard with a menagerie of stone-carved birds bursting into flight from every tier. Her Sonic Sable had blasted an unsightly gouge in one of the upper levels of the fountain. Had that caused the splash, or was her opponent drowning somewhere in the main basin?

Christina held Rosebite before her and peered through the opening. She could have gotten through if she’d wanted, but the attempt would leave her vulnerable if her opponent was hiding somewhere nearby. On the other hand, she could make a reasonable guess that she had now disarmed him—his weapon was lying on the ground near the fountain, several feet of sturdy wood tipped with a wicked curve-blade of steel. Akashiman design, if she did not miss her guess.

Suddenly there was a flash of movement. A hand darted out from behind the fountain and a blonde-haired man scrambled across the wet grass over the weapon, snatching it up clumsily and darting away. Christina cursed and hoisted herself through the hole in the elephant’s stomach, shouting a command on the way through: “Shatter, Rosebite!”

By the time her feet touched the ground, the blade of her sword was gone, and a cloud of glittering shards buzzed angrily in the air above her. They fell like wasps after the man as he crossed the impressive length of the courtyard, one after another, and then the shards in the back of the line would rise back up and circle around for another attack.

Her foe bolted for a large pavilion of cages at the foot of the lawn, taking cover behind another topiary in the process. It had been shaped like a swan, with neck held high and wings outstretched as if to protect the man from his aggressor, but her relentless blade-shards sheared through the poor green creature’s neck and reduced the guardian veil of its wings to ragged tatters.

“You can move, I’ll give you that much,” Christina called across the lawn as she made her own slow advance. He was already beyond her range, so she released her concentration and the cloud reformed her sword. She always felt better when that familiar weight was back in her hand.

The pavilion loomed ahead of her like something out of a child’s nightmare. In life, she had always felt that the mighty beasts contained by these cages could never escape. In this crumbling reflection of reality, however, she was not so sure. A pair of lions welcomed her into the tent, their cages flanking the entrance; in their faces, she imagined she could see the knowledge that it would take no more to break free than the desire to do so. She would have to be careful not to make it any easier for them.

Holding Rosebite in front of her, Christina advanced slowly between the rows of cages, where bears lay sleeping, tigers sat on their haunches, and wolverines turned about restlessly. It was difficult to keep an eye on them while also searching for her opponent; she would need to flush him out into the open.

“What’s your name?” Christina asked. She kept her voice as smooth and inviting as possible, but received no answer. Understandable. He would only give away his position that way. “Why are you here? In this tournament, I mean. You don’t think you can win by running, do you? The crowd doesn’t like that.” She couldn’t hear the crowd’s reactions right now to tell if that was true, however; in this particular arena, the Monks of Ai’Bron had chosen to seclude them completely. “Don’t you have something to fight for?”

Christina heard a sound from her left, and thought she saw the shadow of movement. She hopped back as the tiger in front of her leapt suddenly at its cage with a snarl, rattling the bars much more loosely than she felt comfortable with. A number of animals growled their discontent.

She took a deep breath to bring her nerves under control, and returned to scanning the room. “Why don’t you come out and make an end to this?” she said in that same even, sweet voice. But that dropped suddenly and took on a sharp edge:

“I already told you, I don’t have time for games.”

[Inkfinger]

Words.

He was good with words, used to twisting them, making them do what he wished. He was better with them than with fighting or magic, by far, as they had been his life since adolescence. But in these circumstances, surely words would only give him away.

The inkmage worked his way around the perimeter of the canvas pavilion, slipping through the patches of sunlight where the panels no longer met. The glowing eyes of a myriad hungry beasts – some of which he couldn’t even name – followed him, bright in the dimness. His naginata rested on his back in its scabbard, freeing his fingers to work at the twisted, damp paper between them. He kept his eyes on it instead of his intimidating surroundings as he paced, the wrinkled sheet slowly taking the shape of a crane.

The woman continued to talk, her voice soothingly low after the unholy howling of her peculiar sword, and he tried not to listen to the words – just her tone. Knew that if he listened to the words, he would fight back in his way, and his opponent would instantly have his position.

He stayed still, stayed silent, watching the woman from his vantage place behind the caged tiger. The beast again lunged at the bars holding it in, and they juddered in their place with a clash of metal before the great cat paced around the very edges of its prison, claws extended and gashing rents in the straw-covered earth.

He extricated his pen from its pocket, lightly sketched the symbols on one misshapen wing, and let the crane take flight. The sudden simulation of life flooded his brain with perceptions from outside his own skull, scratchy lineart of cages and creatures within them.

The woman was prowling further along the path that wound through the pavilion. The crane sketched her stalking form in a warning orange, and Cael sighed at her last, harshly spoken words.

“If y’ don’t ‘ave time for games, love, why d’ya play them? This is the world’s biggest chess board outside the ones th’ gods use, and the youngest child in the whole damned city knows it.”

He moved as he talked, knowing that the words would bring his would-be enemy closer to striking, guide her to him, and yet unable to hold them back. He worked at the second crane, eyes flicking back to the tiger’s cage .The creature glared at him, balefully, as he inked the blade sign on the fresh paper. He slid it into his pocket, replaced his pen, and unsnapped the naginata from its holster.

The glowing light of the crane’s small blades shot from the curved steel as he swung, aiming the slashing attack at the latch on the tiger's cage.

[Christina Bredith]

Christina could only smile. Could this man so truly lack ambition as to think of the Serenti as a mere game?

“The stakes are much too high for me to call it that,” she replied. “Besides, in chess, even the lowest pawn can become a queen.”

His voice had come from her left, somewhere on the other side of a row of cages that made up the outer wall of the pavilion. She crept along just beneath the shade of the canopy, keeping as close to the iron bars as she dared; in one of them, an orange tiger paced restlessly, its yellow gaze never leaving her; in the next, a speckled hyena giggled stupidly, though she saw hunger in the way its tongue ran across its lips. It would be best if she could lead her opponent away from here. These creatures were too dangerous, their restraints too shoddy.

Rather than baiting him into speech, she slowed her movements and allowed silence to fill the room. The dull rumblings of the pavilion’s beasts were familiar to her now, a background annoyance she could easily ignore. But beyond that, the silence was total. She was tiring of this game of cat-and-mouse; the next time she spotted her foe, she would need to strike decisively and take the mouse’s head.

There was a sudden flutter behind her and she spun as quickly as reflex. Metal screamed and snapped, and the hinges of the tiger’s cage groaned their disappointment as the door began to swing open. Taking immediate advantage of the opportunity, the great beast barreled through the opening, letting out a roar of triumph that was soon echoed in its neighbours’ howls and cheers and shrieking laughter.

Christina saw the tiger leap at something near the next row of cages, and then she saw her foe dashing along the hallway there, blinking across the gaps between the hulking animals within. She took off after him too, running parallel along the outer row, and when she rounded the corner to cut him off, Christina knew she had him. She was faster than he was. There was no escape now.

But a sudden roar from her left announced the arrival of the tiger as it threw itself between them. Its large head swung from the man to her and back again; her foe cleverly stood his ground, and the tiger must have decided that her perfume was much sweeter, for it turned its attention on her once more. That was when she saw the light-haired trickster sneak away deeper into the pavilion.

Christina didn’t hesitate. “Rumble, Rosebite!” she screamed, and thrust the sword’s blade into the earth. An amber gemstone shone and the ground rumbled, startling the birds perched atop the pavilion tent. They took to the skies screaming their protests, but the tiger would never get that chance: a twisted spire of hard, thorny vines blossomed through earth and tiger-flesh together, holding the helpless beast up as evidence for the world of the failure of her opponent’s plan.

Guilt slammed into her gut like a hammer as she saw the tiger’s pained expression and heard its final throes, but the death was quick, and she reminded herself that this was all just a grand illusion concocted by the monks. There was still time to catch her adversary and bring this silly game to its end.

“Dance, Rosebite!” Christina called, and a storm of rose petals flew up around her, propelled by an unseen wind. That same magical wind hastened her own movements as effortlessly as a bird, and propelled to new speeds, she took off like a bolt of lightning down the hallway into which he had vanished. Finally, she saw him! “You can’t run forever!” she shouted, pumping her legs all the harder to close the gap between them. She could feel Rosebite’s hunger coursing between them, flowing like her own blood.

It was time to end this.

[Inkfinger]

Cael didn’t wait to see how many – if any – of the crane’s ethereal blades hit the tiger’s prison. He just ran, feet still leaving damp tracks on the dusty paved floor. Old scars already exacerbated by his impromptu fountain-bath and the earlier running pulled and twinged in funny ways, limiting his flight to a half-speed shuffle that felt too slow in the aftermath of the woman’s taunting words.

A pawn might become a queen, true, but it often has to destroy other pawns before it reaches that point. If she sees herself a pawn, it’s not likely she views you any better.

The words still echoed in his ears as he skidded around a corner too quickly, shoulder and clutched polearm impacting with the nearest cage in a rattle of oak on steel. The elephant within trumpeted its displeasure so loud that it sounded in Cael’s bad ear almost as loudly as it rang in his good one. Its heavy feet stamped the earth and straw within, one red-rimmed eye rolling at Cael when it snorted, though the beast didn’t charge the bars. It just watched him, tusks as long as Cael’s ready beneath its raised trunk.

Perhaps its anger is at the tiger…

The thought spurred him on again, damp clothes hanging heavy on his scrawny frame. If he looked straight ahead, he could see the far side of the pavilion, and – beyond that – a row of flowering hedges that promised less hostile cover than this pavilion of captivity-maddened creatures.

Cael looked over his shoulder only once, hearing the tiger’s bellowing roar incite the cacophony of its fellow beasts; almost convinced he could feel its hot breath on the back of his neck, its dripping teeth bared and prepared for the base of his skull. He saw nothing in that moment. The tiger wasn’t there. The pavement behind him was devoid of pursuit. The inkmage put on a reluctant burst of speed, scarred tissue and ruined muscle screaming at the sudden increased pace. The bars were a blur on either side of him, the animals within turned to undefined smears, all spots and stripes, patches and scales, claws and fangs and jeering wails as he scrambled out of the aisle of cages.

Panic thrilled through him, washing him with a new wave of adrenaline. He had nearly forgotten in his mindless run that the jungle cat wasn’t the only one stalking him. She was there, too, a look of righteous impatience on her beautiful features, snapping like flames in her quicksilver stare. He started to backpedal, naginata’s blade scraping against the last tiles behind him in a horrible rasp.

And then the tiger sprang between them, its readiness to pounce broadcast from every inch of its gloriously bright sinuous form. Its heavy, bared claws mimicked the sound of his blade as it paced forward. The beast turned its citrine eyes from the inkmage to the woman and back again, as if gauging which would taste better, which would be more likely to put up less of a fight in an animal’s instinctive opportunity cost.

The tiger chose the wrong combatant, gleaming yellow eyes latching onto his opponent as readily as its claws went for her flesh. The inkmage took a disbelieving step backwards into the shadow, half-certain that any quick movements would draw the mighty hunter’s eyes back to him Then, disregarding the pain in his hip, he ran as fast as he could force his body to go back down the aisle.

The ground trembled behind him in a groan of displaced earth that was soon drowned out by the tiger’s gurgling last breaths. His overactive imagination teamed up with his rabbity heartbeat and fear clogging his throat.

It was no longer teeth he was imagining in his spine, now.

It was that sword.

He heard her call forth again, smelled the sudden cloyingly sweet scent of wild roses. His thighs ached, burning at his pace as he sprinted for something resembling safety, a limping mess of missing motor skills and fear.

Can’t run forever – how about can’t run at all?

The scent of roses was growing stronger as he rounded the corner back to the entrance – and ran, face-first, into the open door of the tiger’s empty cage. The iron clashed as the door slammed shut, dragging the sleeve of his coat with it, caught on the latches his own attack had torn asunder. His naginata clattered to the pavement as he yanked on the damp fabric desperately, keenly aware that the woman was getting closer, but the thick wool refused to budge.

Damnit, damnit damnit.

He didn’t have time for origami; his arm was pinioned in such a way that he doubted he could even reach his pen or paper anyway. He only had his naginata and his wits to work with, and thus far…

Thus far you’ve not done an excellent job with either. You just have a brain and a too-sharp blade… his breath caught in his throat. Blade!

He fell to his knees, fingers reaching out to snatch his fallen weapon. He moved it so he could grasp the polearm near its wickedly sharp blade, lifting it to draw it across his sleeve. The wool parted before its keen edge; one more cut would free his arm, but it was far too little, far too late. She was already upon him, her hair a golden halo interspersed with delicate pink petals around her head as he lashed the naginata out in a shallow arc.

She was more than fast enough to avoid his frantic slash, dancing on the edge of his range, her blade impacting his and knocking it harmlessly to the side where it rang against the bars of the tiger’s cage. He tugged at his sleeve again, feeling the sliced fabric give another few inches, but it stubbornly didn’t tear entirely. He was still trapped – and she, he somehow sensed, was thoroughly and completely through with talking.

Which is why he had to at least attempt it.

He managed a weak, shaky grin, trying to look as pitiful, harmless and ineffective as he felt, letting the naginata’s blade fall to trace fragile lines on the dusty pavement. A mouse, before the rose-wreathed cat, begging mercy from her silver-stained claws. Maybe she would give it.

Or, maybe, she would step back into his naginata's arc, drawn off guard...

Yeah, right.

“Well." The words came out breathless and pained, smaller than he would prefer, trick or no trick. "This is…thoroughly embarassin’.”

[Christina Bredith]

Adrenaline coursed through Christina’s veins as she ran after her prey. She understood now how that tiger must have felt, caught up in the thrill of the chase, until nothing else in the worldly sphere could possibly matter more. It was adrenaline, but not pure—adrenaline and something else. Something that a part of her did not like… but that part was smothered by her own excitement, and the knowledge that she would soon be one step closer to victory.

Far ahead, her opponent stumbled into the late tiger’s cage, his sleeve catching on one of the pieces of metal he must have shredded with some sort of magic earlier. Under normal circumstances, he might have been able to free himself and continue the chase. With the wind of magic at her back, however, these circumstances were far from normal. She crossed the room in leaps and bounds, her muscles pulling as strongly and furiously as those of any of the caged predators now blurring past her on both sides.

He was attempting to saw himself free when she finally fell upon him. He lashed out with his naginata, but enchanted with speed as Christina was, the attack could not possibly have been slower to her. She danced around the central arc and harmlessly deflected the blade from one side, sparks sent flying by the high-speed metallic clash. She could feel the magic leaving her, then: the pacing of the hyena in the adjacent cage seemed to be speeding up, and the rest of the world was accelerating to match.

But it didn’t matter. Her foe was prone. Open. Vulnerable. He dropped his weapon and grinned up at her weakly, those icy eyes shimmering from exertion or fear or both. Whatever he said next fell on deaf ears. Christina lifted Rosebite high above her, and in place of a strawberry-blonde head filled with innocent naïveté she saw the dark, grizzled one of high-and-mighty Lord Emien Harthworth.

And yet, why was a viceroy of the Corone Empire wincing like that? Could they truly be that craven? They had signed away enough death in their own names, warrants writ on human flesh with human blood—they should face it themselves like men!

Then Christina realized what that “something else” had been: bloodlust. Her doe-eyed opponent reappeared and she stumbled backward, her argent eyes frozen wide and her jaw trembling. She realized Rosebite was still above her head, poised like the hungry axe of a headsman, but its lust was subsiding as well and she let the weapon fall to her side. Whatever hunger it had felt would remain unsated.

“No,” she corrected, distant and ethereal. “Only I have a reason for embarrassment here. I’m the one who should be in that cage, not you… I am no better than…”

Christina glanced to her left. The hyena was staring at her with its vacant goggling eyes, tongue lolling to one side, laughing stupidly. It knew. This simple creature knew exactly what she had become, and it seemed as amused by the transformation as she was horrified. She couldn’t even bring herself to feel anger at the mockery. The beast sat on its haunches and began licking itself, giggling only occasionally as it remembered the amusements of human fragility.

There was a sudden flash of light to her right, and instinct as keen as Rosebite’s edge took over. She deflected her opponent’s strike just in time; he had intended to take advantage of her moment of weakness, and nearly succeeded. She could not fault him for that. She had been a fool twice today, but he would not be lucky enough to find a third. Whatever she had almost become a moment ago, she was still a Deputy-Marshal of the Corone Rangers.

“Don’t mistake me,” she warned him. Her voice had lost most of its hardness, but only most. “You may have helped me realize something valuable—for that I thank you—but you have lost this battle. Snare, Rosebite.”

A verdant emerald gem on one side of the blade flashed, and vines sprouted from the ground all around her opponent, rising like hungry snakes and then falling across him. They tied themselves around the other bars of the cage and some sank back into the earth to bind him there until the tournament’s facilitators declared the battle’s victor.

Only when she was satisfied that her wily foe was no longer a threat did she step away. “I realize we haven’t introduced ourselves. My name is—Rosalyn.” That near-slip had been too close. Just because she couldn’t hear the crowd didn’t mean they weren't there, listening keenly.

“Cael,” came her opponent’s reply. She nodded.

“Maybe we’ll meet again someday, Cael,” she said as she turned for the pavilion’s exit. “Under kinder circumstances, I hope.”

The sunlight was warm against Christina’s skin as she stepped back out onto the zoo’s great lawn. Everything seemed friendlier somehow, as if a veil had been lifted from her vision. She let Rosebite return to its sheath and began to cross the grass, wondering at the power a single decision could contain. The sun would not be shining as brightly had she allowed that bloodlust to control her, she somehow knew.

And yet, her entire reason for being here in Serenti… was that bloodlust, too? Or was it justice?

The illusion fell around her fell away like a curtain, but she could not even hear the roar of the crowd above the turmoil of her own thoughts.