[Durelin]

"It was taken care of?" Sevora snarled under her breath as she slashed a tribesman across the face. The man screamed, dropping his weapon and throwing his hands up to cover his face. The blood began to drip through his fingers just as Sevora stabbed him through. For a moment she was safe, which was miraculous, considering they had been caught unawares! The moment was just enough time for her to pick up the dead man's short spear. Lucky. She had used this weapon before and favored it. She lacked strength and made up for it with speed, and, in her mind, this weapon was made for speed on foot, which she preferred. With the short spear she could use one hand or two hands, it was light, and the fact that it was short brought relief to Sevora. She had always had trouble keeping control of a spear butt that seemed so far away. A howling battle cry to her left alerted her of a charging tribesman with a wicked looking moonbeam axe. Sevora held her spear and knife at the ready, standing with knees bent and on the balls of her feet. She was ready to move. Dodging a stroke, especially one so powerful as from an axe, was always her first choice. But the man never reached her. Rahvin's belt knife lay deep in his throat, and the corpse was sprawled in the long grass. Sevora turned round with a grin.

"You would have done well yourself, but I had a clear throw," he said, almost smiling back as he pulled his knife from the corpse's throat. Good. He showed less emotion. Warfare was what had hardened him in the beginning, after all.

"No worries Rahvin, I thank you."

Suddenly Rahvin opened his mouth, apparently to yell, but Sevora had heard the footsteps. Or perhaps it had been instinct. She was not quite sure why, but she turned, and, ducking under a heavy swing from a studded club, Sevora launched herself from a crouch onto the man, her spear and knife hitting him first. She tasted sand and grit and grass, inhaled dust, and felt a warmness running in trickles around her fingers. Her hands were smothered in blood as she pushed herself up off the man. She pulled out her dagger and placed a soft booted foot to pry the spear from within the body's chest. Sevora half noticed Rahvin had just slit open a tribesman's stomach two paces behind her. With bloodied knife and spear, she turned and swept aside the man's bowels with her foot before she took a step forward. Another infidel stood a few paces away from her, and she readied herself to face his charge. This time Rahvin was busy with two enemies of his own. Sevora smiled and called to the man who was cautiously making an approach. It was strange. Why did this man seem hesitant? It was not fear. No, Sevora had seen no fear in the eyes of these men.

Suddenly the man let out a pain filled screech and fell to the ground, writhing and twisting in the dust. As Sevora watched in surprise, something whistled loudly in her ear, and she felt a rush of air pass by her head. Six yards ahead of her, an arrow struck the ground. Sevora ran her hand across her cheek, now seeing the arrow lodged in the man's leg. No scratch. They were poisoned tipped arrows, and not from the archers of the Army of the Eye. Sevora scowled, making a sound deep in her throat much like a growl, and charged a nearby tribesman. "When shall I face a true opponent?" She twisted her spear as she stabbed into the man's back. Would she never face a man in this battle?

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A sharp pain in his left leg brought a reflexive slash of his sword. He was surprised to hit flesh, producing a strange yelp. Looking down by his feet, Sammael found the corpse of a large brown dog, with short, fine rough fur. A long gash ran up from the top of its front leg to across its large head, revealing white skull and its brains, now beginning to fall into the long grass and the dust. Sammael kicked the carcass over so the split side was not visible. He had already lost his horse to a couple of those dogs. He took one step before a man rushed him from the side. Steel crashed against steel, ringing through the air somehow, though it felt so thick, like fog. Throwing all his strength against the tribesman's blade, Sammael was rewarded with a loud crack and a howl of pain. The howl was cut short as Sammael's sword left the tribesmen's and ran him through. Sammael was surprised to find bone sticking out from the man's arm. He had never known you could do that to a man, break a bone so strongly.

Now two men came at him, screaming in battle rage. One swung a long spear with both hands, the other hefted a large axe, seemingly meant for chopping wood. Sammael did not doubt the axe would have no problem cleaving him. He dodged a swing from the wood axe, also dodging away from the other man. Slashing the axe-man in the side, Sammael realized he had made a mistake. The other tribesman's spear tip was too few feet away. With a surprised scream the man fell to the ground with an arrow in his arm. He still managed to hold his spear in one hand, and he jabbed at Sammael. With a powerful swing, Sammael pushed the spear away from him, and, continuing his forward motion, he brought all of his momentum down into his enemy's chest. The spear snapped in two, as the point of Sammael's sword found flesh first. The rest of the blade followed in a spray of blood, flecking Sammael's entire body.

As he drew his blade out, with some difficulty, he saw another enemy rushing toward him, a wooden club held so naturally. The enemy's eyes were filled with as cold and as deep a loathing and anger as any of the others he had looked into. Except that these brown eyes showed Sammael so much more, piercing him to the core of his being, making his blood run cold and his mind weep for the inhumanity of it. He wished to weep. For this enemy was a woman. Sammael's arms hung limp at his sides as he watched the woman charge toward him. His sword was just barely kept within his hand. Why was this woman on the battlefield, killing and in danger of being killed? The blood on her was not all from her enemies, he realized with a stinging jolt of pain pulsing out from his heart to throughout his entire body. Every heart beat brought unmistakable pain. Minutes seemed to pass, though in his mind that now seemed so far away Sammeal knew it was only a second. The club was raised higher, and she came closer. Those brown eyes loathed him. He braced himself for the blow that he would take willingly. From a woman, who could carry and bring new life into the world. Life…he had never thought how precious it was. Even to the Eye. That she should face death was unfathomable. Sevora and Dristi, Jasara and Khashi -- they were different; they were inhuman. They sickened him.

He would receive the blow from the woman, for the woman. But the blow never came.

Sammael's arm hurt and his sword was held only inches away from his face…blocking the woman's club. He could not. Now the tears ran freely down his face, though he flet shamed because of them. But even more because he still held his sword. He forced himself to look her in the eyes.

"I cannot harm you, woman." Or can you, will you, to protect yourself? He let his arm fall, and he fell to his knees before her. One by one, he was able to free his fingers from the grip on his blade. "I will not."

[ August 26, 2003: Message edited by: Durelin ]