SciFi and Fantasy Stories: Warrior's Honor

War is the crucible of leadership. Amshir recited the ancient proverb to herself as she reversed her blade in a crescent to block her sparring partner.

The sun burned her eyes from its lofty perch as sweat dripped down her face, searing in the cracks of her dry skin. The crunch of gravel as Amshir and her opponent danced and parried about the practice ring punctuated the stagnant air, joined by the heavy puffs escaping their lips.

Amshir’s quads were beginning to burn and her forearms shook, but she refused to let the weight of her sword slow her down. She lunged into a butterfly sweep designed to disarm her sparring partner, throwing all of her weight behind it.

She had it, could see the alarm register on his face as he scrambled to counter her blow. Their swords met in a screech of metallic fury and tiny sparks. Amshir waited until the crucial moment before stepping forward to deliver the disarming twist.

As her foot landed, she heard the gravel skid and felt herself slide toward the ground. Though she fought desperately to maintain her balance, the pressure of her adversary’s sword at the pulse in her neck told her she had lost the fight. Letting out a huff of defeat, she dropped her sword and glared up at Raesheik from behind wisps of mahogany hair.

Reaching down, he hauled Amshir to her feet. “Not bad, you have improved … some,” he conceded as he bent to retrieve his sheath.

“Not bad?” she scoffed. “I didn’t win, did I?”

“Not everything comes down to winning Amshir, you should know that.” He gave her a sardonic look.

Oh, he just wouldn’t leave it alone! He knew how to incite instant rage. Why couldn’t he just let the past die; she had. She had watched it: in one quick rush of blood and pain her entire future had been washed away. Now all she had was fighting, her sword, and the lessons she beat into her muscles day upon day. At least that was a pain she could control.

Her heart gave a great squeeze, trying to make her remember and relive the pain; it tried to make her care. A little sob escaped her lips and she attempted to cover it up by bending to retrieve her sword but Raesheik heard it and wrapped his fingers around her upper arm.

Amshir hadn’t felt this close to breaking in ages, not since that night two years ago. If she faced him, faced what was once between them, she knew she’d shatter into millions of tiny, mirror-sharp shards.

“Amshir I–”

Wrenching her arm from his grasp she glared at him for a moment, her heart squeezing so hard it threatened to stop beating. Turning, she marched off.

Raesheik dropped his outstretched arm as she stalked away. He had seen the flare in her eyes and knew what it meant. Amshir hated magic. The iron control she closed off her gift with had slipped enough to allow the color of her magic to shine in her eyes, telling him that she still had not grieved for that night. She also had not forgiven herself for being unable to use her gift when it had counted the most.

Reaching into the pouch that always hung from his belt, he withdrew four rings. Staring down at them as they glittered with reflected sunlight, Raesheik sighed. Up until two years ago, those rings had been situated on the four fingers of Amshir’s left hand as the five rings marking his own magical abilities had encircled his. Each ring was a mark of magical tests completed, specific abilities proclaimed, and all those who were found to have a gift were given rings suited to their magical capabilities. It was a symbol of rank and honor among their tribe. That Amshir refused to wear hers and had gone so far as to throw them away in hatred showed just how deep her wounds went.

Shaking his head, he exited the arena through the opposite door. How he regretted that night. He had relived it over and over in his dreams, tormented. He knew he shouldn’t have argued with her that afternoon, that he should have stayed to beg her forgiveness. Instead, he’d let his temper get the best of him and said things he hadn’t meant before storming off.

If only she had come after him right away, instead of leaving him to wallow in his anger. He had surpassed the point of rational thought as he drank himself into such a stupor that he’d been persuaded to accompany a village woman to her room. He should have remembered that Amshir was never one to remain angry.

She had never forgiven him after that night. When he managed to dress himself and stumble back to their cabin, he found her clothes missing and Amshir nowhere in sight. There hadn’t even been a note, and not a single soul he asked had seen where she had gone. He had made his second mistake when he decided to let her cool down while he slept off the affects of the ale before tracking her down.

He woke the next morning with a pounding headache that didn’t cease as he got dressed and set out to look for Amshir. He gathered men and they searched for hours in the pouring rain but had no luck. It wasn’t until the fifth day, when he rode back into town for a fresh horse that he received news they had found her.

He had raced to the cabin where they’d taken her only to be greeted with stony, fevered eyes and silence. He’d stayed there for five nights as she wavered in and out of consciousness and fought for her life. Even then, he hadn’t known how much his indiscretion had cost him; not until the fever had broken and she looked him directly in the eyes and told him it was over. Two years had passed and she was still unable to forgive him.

Amshir stalked down the lane, trying to use her anger to ignore the stares from behind door flaps and the whispers hidden by raised hands. So she dressed differently than the other women; it wasn’t as if it were improper or immodest. She’d purposefully gone to the most conservative of designers and asked for an outfit the women would approve of. So she fought like a man, did it do any of them harm, her being able to defend herself? She did not understand these women. How had the heroines of legend been diluted to these watered down doormats?

Pulling aside the door flap to the cabin at the far end of the lane, she stepped in and let it swing silently into place behind her. Lushin had her back to the door as she bent over the hearth, but Amshir didn’t need her sight to tell her what was happening. She felt the pressure on her skin an instant before it was replaced by a sharp stinging sensation as the logs in the grate burst into flame. The thump of her sword hitting the dirt as it fell from her numb fingers had Lushin whirling with a look of surprise on her face.

“Oh, Amshir, you startled me!” Lushin’s hand flew to her throat and she hurried over to lead Amshir to a chair as she swayed where she stood. “Darling, I’m so sorry. If I’d known you were standing there I wouldn’t have used magic. I know how you hate it.” Moving back to the hearth, she grabbed a ladle from the pot suspended above the merrily burning fire and poured a cup full of the liquid before putting it on the table in front of Amshir.

Blinking several times, Amshir stared up into Lushin’s kind eyes. Her own were bottomless pits of pain. “I hate the stares more.”

Lushin’s faded green eyes studied her for a minute or two, something akin to empathy swimming in their depths. “You are the first woman to challenge what has been for a hundred years. You frighten them.” Noticing Amshir’s puzzled expression, she elaborated, “You may not be personally forcing them to change, but it may eventually lead to it. In their eyes it only takes one rotten apple to ruin the entire bushel. There will always be those that are afraid of change and if you want to be different, you’re going to have to be prepared to deal with that.”

Amshir scowled. “The men don’t take offence.”

Lushin, a sixty-year-old widow, often found she had to hold her tongue around those of the younger generations; there was so much they didn’t understand. But she couldn’t refrain from raising her eyebrows and giving Amshir a sly look that had her eyes sparkling.

“I know, I know; men are easy to please.”

Lushin barked in laughter. “They figure they can stand to let you play with your toy until you get tired of it,” she gestured to the sword Amshir had left by the door.

A frown creased Amshir’s face and darkened her eyes as she stared thoughtfully into the depths of her cup. “I’m not going to get tired of it.”

Glancing at Amshir’s seated figure, Lushin folded her hands across her stomach and dared to declare, “I guess they just believe that Raesheik will eventually put an end to this.”

“Don’t talk to me about him.”

If Lushin had been hoping for more of a response, she was sorely disappointed. The narrowing of Amshir’s eyes was her only reaction; she didn’t even deign to lift her eyes from her cup.

Still, Lushin pushed on, “You have hardly spoken to him in three years except while sparring and that in itself is also a rarity. You can’t know everything that happened.”

“I know that he cost me my child, what more do I need to know? Lushin, if you value our friendship, you will drop this subject and bury it like the decaying corpse it is. The past is done and nothing will change it.” Amshir got up and gave Lushin a kiss on the cheek before seeking the solace of the bedroom they shared together.

Behind the safety of the door flap, she allowed her shoulders to slump in weariness. Maybe she would just take a small nap to try and restore the energy that always seemed to be lacking.

Looking down at her clothes she shrugged; they probably wouldn’t get too wrinkled. Not that she cared. Curling up on her bed, back to the wall, she sighed as her tense muscles relaxed. Just a few minutes were all she needed.

“Etés please, you are the only one who isn’t competing and doesn’t have a trainee,” Amshir pleaded as she hurried to keep pace with his lanky frame. He walked briskly amongst the sheep, inspecting their hooves and the bellies of a few ewes.

“It’s just not feasible Amshir. Even if you weren’t a girl, masters took their apprentices weeks ago. The trials are only two weeks away. You’ve got to have a death wish to be starting this late.”

Amshir studiously ignored the slight to her gender and worked to keep a rein on her impatience. If she pushed too hard here, she could very well destroy her last real chance at the trials.

“I know it’s late and you were going to retire this year, but I’ve been sparring for months now. I’m not as far behind as you think. I have the quick wit to learn fast and the determination to see it through. Besides, Tendaal has his son as a trainee this year and you’ve never been beaten by him.”

Etés glared at her from the corner of his vision. He knew she was exploiting his weakness. In all his thirty years of training, he’d never had any of Tendaal’s trainees do better than his own in the trials. It was a well-known record that Etés was proud of.

Looking doubtful, he knelt to examine a recent scar on the leg of a buck. “If I take you on, you follow all of my instructions explicitly with no questions asked.”

Amshir nodded emphatically, eyes sparkling.

Eyeing her up and down, Etés frowned. “First, we’ll need to get you new clothes. Traditional trial garments with a few modifications should do quite nicely.”

“But I-”

“No questions,” he dismissed. “You can’t expect to compete all day in those layers. You need something with flow that breathes. Does Senay still have your measurements?”

Amshir nodded.

“Good.” He marched off in the direction of the seamstress, leaving Amshir standing dumbstruck, mouth agape.

After that, they trained every day. Etés left a boy to watch the sheep, and they made camp a day’s ride from the village. It was a quiet little grove at the base of the mountain where they harvested trees for their cabins. It was lush, beautiful, and, most importantly, undisturbed.

Amshir’s first task had been learning to set up camp quickly. After that it was learning to fight on horseback, how to mount from the ground, and riding without reins. Her first lesson had been a rather painful one when Etés had heaved her from her saddle into the dirt with the poles they’d used in place of swords. The two weeks before the trials were full from dawn to dusk with sparring, horsemanship, battle tactics, and using the advantages of the land in combat.

When it became too hot during the midday hours and both were saddle weary, they would seek the shelter of an oak tree and pour over maps riddled with history. Amshir learned more about her people than she ever thought possible: wars, traditions, ancestry, and lost languages. Everything was covered and exhausted.

On the morning of the fourteenth day, Amshir, in a fit of frustrated rage, unseated Etés from his horse. Grinning up at her from his perch in the scrub, he nodded. “You are ready.”

They quickly dismantled the camp that had been their home for the past couple of weeks. The ride back was long, hot, and dusty. Zaire, who could feel his rider’s jitters, took every opportunity to bounce about like a newborn foal. Amshir had to thump him on the shoulder several times to make him behave.

Every so often the packhorse they had brought along would voice a complaint at the speed of their travel. He’d had it easy the past few days while he’d grown fat on grass. Periodically he would stop, lay his ears flat along his skull and refuse to take another step. That lasted until they moved far enough out of his comfort zone that he would whinny and race after them as fast as his tubby barrel of a body would allow.

That gave Etés a chuckle and helped to settle some of the butterflies fluttering about in Amshir’s midsection. Zaire, who could feel his rider’s jitters, would take the opportunity to bounce about like a newborn foal until Amshir thumped him on the shoulder.

They passed the village just before sunset and set up their tents on the outskirts of the camp that tomorrow would surround the competition ring. Dusk settled in as Etés lit a fire while Amshir rubbed Zaire down, conscious of the drifting shadows of other men and women about her. One such shadow was waiting for her at the campfire, a cup of coffee clasped between her hands. Amshir crinkled her eyes in a greeting and saw Lushin smile in response as she got up and enveloped Amshir in a hug.

“You didn’t think I’d let you come out here and face these wolves all on your own, did you?”

Amshir sat down next to her, clasping her hand nervously as Etés retrieved a cup for her. “I don’t know what I got myself into. These are real warriors I’ll be fighting.”

“Here, drink this,” Etés interrupted as he bent over, holding a cup out in front of Amshir. Taking it she swallowed two huge gulps before coming up coughing and spluttering for air.

“What did you give me?” She managed to croak out.

“Something to calm your nerves and settle your mind so you can sleep.”

Amshir turned over on her pallet, kicking at the blanket as it crept up her legs and left her toes exposed to the chill night air. She was sure that at least an hour had passed since they’d all sought the comfort of their beds but her mind refused to quiet.

What would tomorrow hold for her? Counting back from one hundred, Amshir sighed and threw her covers off when she reached thirty and still remained as wide awake as ever. Climbing from the tent’s enshrouding embrace, she was pounced on and welcomed by the starry night sky. She crept quietly over to where their fire’s embers spluttered and sat, curling her knees up to her chest as she stared at the heavens spread out above her.

A crunch from behind alerted her to the presence of someone in the dark with her. The subtle scent carried by the wind made her shoulders stiffen and her arms tense. The figure knelt by the dying embers and, with some well-placed kindling, proceeded to revive the fire to its former glory. The blaze sent out tongues to eat up the fresh wood. As it grew, the surrounding night surrendered ground, illuminating Raesheik’s face.

“What are you doing here?” Amshir asked, her eyes stony.

“I couldn’t sleep. I came to see you compete.”

“You mean you came to–” Her voice abruptly died as Raesheik hastily placed his fingers over her mouth to stop her angry words.

“Don’t, please. Do you not think,” he hesitated, “for just this once we could come to some sort of peace?”

Suspiciously, she studied his face, eyes wavering back and forth, looking for some hidden insult, some way he might be using this to hurt her further. When she found nothing there but a sorrow that welled from deep within his eyes, she gave a single nod as her heart began to thump painfully. When had that happened? The Raesheik she’d known since childhood always looked as if he were laughing at some joke that he wished to share with you; now that laughter was gone. Nervously, she returned her gaze to the stars, unsure how to react to this new transformation. Did Raesheik still grieve for their baby, as she herself had tried so many times to do?

“Amshir, I cannot tell you how I loathe myself for what I put you through.”

She nodded, face averted as she fought for composure. The Raesheik of her childhood would never have apologized and she didn’t know how to handle this new change.

Tentatively, as though afraid she would reject him, he rested his hand over hers and she let him, unsure of what was happening. The numbness she had felt for so long when she thought of his betrayal and the loss of their child was dissipating, leaving behind all the pain she had bottled up, unable to deal with.

Clutching at her chest with her free hand, Amshir gasped as her throat swelled, choking her. It was a little girl, so tiny and beautiful; her skin so fragile with its blue veins coursing beneath the downy softness. She hadn’t known that she was dead, that the cord that was supposed to nourish and sustain her had strangled her within her mother’s womb as she struggled to come into the world.

Lifting her arms, she clutched at Raesheik’s tunic as he caught her against his chest. She’d had a little girl. His hand cradled the back of her head where it lay on his shoulder, offering empty comfort. Nothing could bring her daughter back. Burrowing her face into his tunic, she clenched her teeth as she tried to stifle the scream welling within her. Why? What had she done that her child should be punished by death? She pummeled her fists against his chest, trying to beat back the pain.

Raesheik couldn’t sit by and watch helplessly as Amshir struggled within his embrace. He had allowed her to lock her grief away once before, believing that she needed time, and she had not only banished her grief, but her very soul. He wouldn’t allow that to happen a second time.

Praying he was doing the right thing, he grabbed her head. Staring into her lost gaze, he gave her a sharp shake as the tears he’d been holding slipped down his cheeks. She had been his daughter too.

“You have to face this!” He whispered fiercely. “She is gone, she can’t ever come back and no amount of punishing yourself for her death will fix it. I love you and I won’t sit by and watch you torment yourself. You–must–grieve.” He punctuated his words by shaking her shoulders until her teeth chattered.

For a moment she seemed to stare past him, and Raesheik feared he had pushed her beyond all endurance. But as he continued to watch, fear and hope warring within him, it was as though the clouds in her eyes lifted, dissipating like a morning fog, and he was left staring into eyes that were clear for the first time in years. A dawning loss welled up along with her tears, and as they spilled over Amshir’s cheeks, a keen rose in her throat that tore at his heart and compelled him to wrap his arms around her.

Amshir was sweating beneath the heavy leather pads as she peered out at the entrance to the ring. She had watched as warrior after warrior went in; some doing well enough to walk back out, others having to be carried out on a stretcher. She was one of the last to go into the final combat ring, having passed her previous evaluations at the top of her class. She had fought all morning in individual combat rings much like the one outside her tent, each time managing to do well enough to pass to the next round. Now she stood here, at the final ring, where those whose scores were slightly below her own fought for third.

The match before her was just finishing up and she could hear the crowd outside gasp as a daring move was performed. When the bell to signal the match sounded, she pushed thoughts of last night’s conversation with Raesheik from her mind. Her heart began to pound and sweat broke out on her palms. This was it. Turning to Etés, she took the towel he offered, carefully wiping her hands before taking a handful of grit and rubbing it to improve her grip.

“Remember, concentrate; don’t rush in blindly. Stay on the defensive and let him wear himself out first. You can use that time to analyze his style and find a weakness.”

Amshir nodded faintly, her limbs trembling as the sound of a second bell rang out and her name was called. Etés gave her a quick hug before shoving her out the tent flap and into the ring. All along the edges people held torches as the sun slowly sank behind the hills, casting leaping shadows. Drawing her sword from its sheath, she bowed to the figure in black across from her as they were instructed before taking up her position. The bell rang out through the clear night sky for a third time. The match had begun.

Amshir didn’t know if it lasted a long or short time. She knew as their swords met in the first blow, that this opponent with his face obscured by a scarf could have dismembered her whenever he liked. Instead, he drew her attacks, opening his defense to attract each of the many moves Etés had taught her, like a teacher hearing her lessons. It was so easy for him that Amshir began to feel angry, and cleared a little space in her mind to think up of a plan of her own. That was when the real attack began.

Her hair stood on end as a tingle raced its way along her skin, a split second warning before the dirt in front of her shot up, spraying her as she whirled to protect her eyes. Growling, she barely had time to lift her sword in a block as he charged through the cloud of dust, delivering a series of swift blows that left her arms aching and her sword ringing. Careful to keep her distance, she looked to his hands but could not tell through the black gloves how many rings he wore. So, he expected he could goad her into using magic? Her gift railed at the constraints she had caged it in but Amshir tamped it down. She would not use magic.

Blocking his next blow, she slid her sword at an angle, deflecting his strike to the side and throwing him off balance. He regained his footing in time to block her next attack, and now she saw surprise as well as a challenge glittering in the eyes behind his scarf.

Again, the tingling sensation warned her just as the ground behind her foot dipped and she was thrown to the ground. Rolling as she hit, she scrambled to her feet to meet his next attack, her anger flashing. Advancing, their swords danced and parried, a veritable feast to the eyes of those watching. Amshir was oblivious to the murmurs, exclamations, and cheers of the crowd as she concentrated on her opponent.

Her arms were beginning to tire and her legs burned fiercely. They were coming to a time in the battle that Amshir was all too familiar with: the time when lesser swordsmen began to gasp for air and make mistakes.

As she dodged back from a particularly hefty swing, she stumbled, feeling the magic generating even as she slid on her back. Instinct took over and she threw up her left arm over her face as the walls that she had constructed around her gift crumbled and it sprang forth. A blinding flash of blue penetrated her closed lids and she scrambled to her feet as it dissipated, searching for the man in black.

He stood a few feet away breathing heavily as his eyes crinkled in a grin that confounded Amshir. What was there to grin about? Seeing his distraction, she used the advantage of her speed and agility to slice the fabric covering his face with the tip of her sword. She misjudged by a fraction of an inch and a drop of blood beaded upon the point of his chin as the two halves fluttered to the ground. Amshir stared at the welling drop of blood, mouth agape, as her sword was knocked from her grasp and skittered away on the gravel. The hood had concealed the face of Raesheik.

She felt trapped, caught by the vice-like stares of the spectators, by the wavering shadows, by the very grass and stones she stood upon. Like the sun breaking from the clouds, Raesheik gave a great grin and grabbing her hand, raised it over their heads, giving a roar that resounded through the crowd as they joined in the cheer.

Then there were faces everywhere as people rushed forward and Amshir stood dazed with wonder as they crowded around her. She had won the trials. Amidst all the handshakes, smiles, and congratulations, one face in the group caught her gaze and she stood staring into his blue eyes as bodies milled about her. As he moved closer, she felt something pressed into the palm of her hand, and looked down to see her rings sparkling in the torchlight.

“But…”

“I asked to be your final opponent. I had to draw you out. You’ve been denying your magic for so long; I couldn’t stand to see you continue to live half a life.” Closing her hand around the rings, he smiled down into her upturned face. “I love you and I don’t care how long it takes you to forgive me, I’ll wait.”

Amshir was swept from the ring as if by a gale and brought to her campfire. Everyone joined her and Raesheik in celebration; even the King was present. As she stared around the campfire at all the smiling faces, a tiny flicker of hope flared to life in Amshir. Maybe this day didn’t mark the end of all her strivings. Glancing at Raesheik who was talking with Etés on his left, a smile tugged the corners of her lips. This day would be talked of for generations; the day a woman had won a warrior’s honor.