Last two for now

Seth yanwed, a flick of his wrist parrying another attack. The training yard was filled with spectators, infantrymen and knights both filling in along the walls to watch the sparring match. Many of these men had gone up against Seth’s current match, and every one of them had lost miserably – and painfully. And yet Seth barely took a step. He leaned to the side to avoid another strike. His supple wrist twirled the saber up to snap the flat of the blade against Rhia’s cheek.
 The slap angered Rhia as it was, but the cheer from the crowd, and the faint twinkle in Seth’s eye, pissed her off. Everyone had seen the fight between them during the summer’s competition, and she knew they were now going to see that he could have defeated her, could have taken her place. Would he have faired better against the wraith she had then faced? Seth knew the answer, and it wasn’t what everyone else would think.
 Rhia struck out again; her anger sped up her attacks, but decreased their accuracy and deadliness. Seth caught the practice sword between his arm and ribs. The flat of his saber smacked Rhia’s wrist, and she released the sword. He furthered the insult by once again slapping her cheek with the flat of the blade. She scowled at him, but the lack of a sword far from diminished her fighting spirit. The bout wasn’t over yet.
 Seth took up her practice sword in his spare hand. It didn’t necessarily give him better odds – it wouldn’t have helped any of the soldiers watching. But it made for a better show. “Focus,” he said softly. Rhia met his eyes, realizing he was talking to her. She looked insulted; who was he to coach his mother, the little whelp? But, to spite him, she took the advice.
 Seth didn’t attack, giving Rhia the first move. He hated her guts, but he loved her too much not to try to make her better. It would make his life easier if he didn’t have to keep saving her. He wasn’t sure she’d ever get over her emotions leading her actions, and maybe that was part of the secret to her skill, but it was certainly the key to her downfall against Seth, every time.
 She was still angry, but she wasn’t blinded by it. Her vision may well still have been tainted red, but Seth noted an immediate change in her stance. She charged in two swift steps, bringing her up to face him. He took a half step back and arched his saber up to meet her. She ducked, pivoting with the momentum to strike his shoulder with her elbow. She struck with the other hand like a knife at his ribs. He managed to step back to absorb the second blow, but she was quick, and the sharp pain even from the minimized force caused him to drop the saber.
 When she ducked down for the sword, Seth sighed a bit inside. He’d been impressed with the maneuver, and thought maybe he’d unlocked a little bit of her genius, but now he saw the effect of suppressing her emotions. Her anger would have led her on in the attack, pressing him until there was another opening. It may have never come, but luck seemed always on her side in those situations. But, logic said get the weapon. Unfortunately it left her vulnerable. As she dropped down for the saber, Seth leveled the practice sword at her throat.
 “Checkmate.”
 She scowled at the boredom in his voice, but yielded, the match lost.


The ringing of boot heels on cold stone filled the old corridors. The lack of carpet or decoration left nothing to swallow the echoes that trailed down the empty halls they passed. Rhia would have to inform someone that the castle guards’ shoes were better off with a soft sole. Even without her fine hearing, she’d have plenty of notice to duck and hide as they passed. And that’s precisely what she did.
 She wasn’t a spy; no traitor, conspirator, or assassin, at least not anymore. The guards would probably pause to give her a salute if they saw her. Unfortunately, she wasn’t entirely innocent on this outing, either. Time and again she’d been warned, scolded even, for doing what she was about to do, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. They could fix the problem themselves if they got around to finding and sealing up all of the secret passages, and yet Rhia continued to find them.
 The guards passed and Rhia stepped out of the room she’d hidden in. If she remembered right, it was six paces forward, and the fourth stone up on the North wall. Her fingers glided over the rough wall, a memory sparked by the feel of the stone’s grain. A stormy night, screaming, the smell of burning hair mixed with a hint of desert flower – her own hair singed by the brutal flames. Panic, desperation, so little time, she must hurry.
 A loud click broke the spell of that memory, and once more the day came back to her. Winter, snow, lavender from her bath soap, mold and must from the passage she’d just unsealed. She shook off the bad memories and stepped through the small portal. So many memories; times like these, she hated Damascus. She hated it with a passion. She hated it for being the home of so much she cared about. Not just Ramirez; not just the people. People came and went. For as much as she would fight to save the people she cared about, she’d just as soon pick them up and move them someplace safer if their city was in danger. Lord knew she’d done that well enough before.
 No, she cared about more than the people. She cared for the kingdom. She’d helped, as foolish as it may have been, to build that kingdom. A century ago, she’d seen the potential in that kingdom to become everything Babylon should have been. She paused in the dark corridor and closed her eyes. Oh, Babylon. She rested her head back against the wall and swallowed the lamentations that rose in her chest. It wouldn’t do to be discovered over sorrow for a long-dead empire.
 She let out a long breath and resumed her silent march through the dark. The path wound for quite a ways through the castle, up and down stairs, some of which had crumbled over time and disrepair. Despite the winding way, she knew precisely where in the castle she was at all times. There were few secrets in that building that she had not uncovered, and many of them remained with her alone. The passage was one of them.
 She came upon yet another set of stairs, but these led no where. Once, many years ago, a trap door had been positioned at the top of the stairs, but after that one, stormy night, it had been sealed over. Why the other end had never been secured, she didn’t know. Perhaps they’d figured one side was enough. For whatever reason, she was glad. She moved to the steps, and sat so that her back rested against the sealed ceiling.
 Ten feet above her, sitting on his dais, was the king, listening to the endless audience, performing his mundane, kingly duties.
 Rhia didn’t think of Janos as her king. Only three men in her life had ever earned that recognition from her. She often wondered if Janos ever truly thought of her as his subject. Others had done so, though most of them learned the hard way that she was nothing of the sort. One does not subject a typhoon, or a volcano. One could learn to survive their outbursts, or even make use of them to some degree, but the forces of nature are unpredictable and do as they please.
 And yet the people of that city thought of her as something besides a force of nature, more than a monster, as she often called herself. They chose not to see her as someone different, someone who existed in many ways outside of time. Maybe it was because she acted human. She’d lived so long among them that she thought and acted much as they did, in ways other Elves never had. They saw her as one of them, as a friend, colleague, comrade, and more. Sometimes those feelings extended to a fault, or set them up for surprise and disappointment. She often felt stifled by it, as though mortal boundaries were being strapped around her, like a saddle on a wild horse. More than once, she’d wanted to run, to escape it. She’d stood many a night on the city wall, Killian at her side, warring with herself. Stay; go. Fight for happiness, for their happiness; run, return to her ways, her life, and leave the humans to their own mortal problems.
 Her face lowered to her knees. She could hear Janos’ calm, commanding voice as he responded to one of the many requests being brought before him. How many kings had she known? How many had she raised, taught, befriended, and bowed before? Hundreds. Thousands, maybe. A few of them stood out to her. Constantine, Richard, Xerxes. Oh, Babylon… Would she remember Janos? Maybe. He befuddled her at times. So easily did he swing from stern, proper, kingly behavior to that of friendship, and just as quickly back again that she didn’t know just how to approach him. It was good that he didn’t hold her close as a friend. She was a threat to his kingdom: she’d assassinated the king before his father, had hopes of doing the same to his father, and made an attempt to do it to Janos himself, even though that was a slight misunderstanding. The fact that she made it clear a few times that she didn’t quite swear allegiance to him as king made her untrustworthy, despite all of her efforts to protect and rebuild the city.
 It was when he was friendly that she didn’t quite know what to do with herself. Many a king she had befriended and counseled, been close to and frank with, even loved. Those moments of care from Janos kindled memories of those times, causing her to wish she could feel that same closeness to him. He was quite the king in her eyes, after all. He reminded her of certain kings that she chose to remember. If she ever found peace with Janos, she was sure she would remember him as well.
 She sighed and did her best to still her thoughts. She focused on the voices above her, listening to Janos work. She resolved to tell him of this passage, so he could have it closed off. Perhaps he would thank her for it. Perhaps.