--What happened? She remembers being angry. So, so very angry. She was certain that Venceslav was lying to her. Was he? He must have been lying. He was surely just trying to manipulate her. And then… then Ranulf went for his sword. Yes, that’s what happened. And then she head-butted him! She grabbed the hilt with both hands, pulled the blade out of his scabbard and made a quick slash across Ranulf’s throat. It… it was instinct. And he deserved it. But it was instinct.

--But why did she stab Venceslav?

--She heard a whistling in the distance. It was becoming louder. Her face was warm. She touched it… and then looked at her hand. There was blood on it. Her face was warm with their blood. The whistling was very loud now. She turned towards the sound. There was a palace guard on the wall, behind her, above the arches she came through. He was blowing his whistle so hard that his face was turning blue.

--This night isn’t over yet, is it?

--Think Isla, think. Where does she go from here? To trial, to get sentenced to the breaking wheel? That was the punishment for treason in Fanelia. To get tied up to a wheel and get your limbs crushed by a large hammer, one by one, with the crowd cheering on. No… not that. Anything but that! Maybe, perhaps, she should jump over the terrace… “Woah. The drop is insane!” She thought to herself. Peeking over the edge made her feel dizzy, as she saw a thirty meter drop. She did not know it was thirty of course, but suffice to say that the river below her seemed kind of narrow, when one compared it to what it looks like when you’re standing on its banks. What if she doesn’t jump far enough and lands on the rocky ground? And not only that, but how deep is it around here? What is the bottom like? What if there’s rocks just under the murky surface, rocks which she can’t see all the way from up here, in the darkness? A few gory images of her body breaking as she hits the rocks flashed in her mind and caused her nausea to intensify. Perhaps jumping over would be no better than the breaking wheel.

--She turned, sabre in hand, and rushed towards the curtains, trying to recall the layout of this floor, planning an escape route. As she approached it, a figure emerged before her. It was the prancing, elderly Nightling sword master, Orin Farin. One of Tristan’s teachers. The one Tristan hated. He was, as always, dressed in white, frilly clothes, from head to toe, which were contrasted by his tan-coloured skin. This time though, he was also wearing a light breastplate and bracers. As he spotted Isla, covered in blood, his head jerked in disgust, causing the short braid at the back of his curly, white greasy looking hair to flail about.

-It was self-defence! – Isla protested, involuntarily hinting at the desperation she could feel like some sort of ball stuck in her throat.

-From an unarmed man? – Orin looked past her, at the two fallen figures. – I know that dark cloak. Venceslav never held a sword in his life.

-They were planning to kill my master! And they kidnapped the prince!

-I find it a bit hard to consider the erratic thoughts of one draped in the blood of an unarmed, old man, still clutching the weapon with murderous intent.

--Isla looked at the sabre, then back at Orin. She adjusted her grip on the sabre. She had considered dropping it. She didn’t want to swing it at anyone else. Even more so when it comes to Orin, for the title of “sword master” was not attained easily in Fanelia. But he didn’t seem to be too understanding of her circumstances, which was of no surprise to her.

-Perhaps, before you spurt this… story at me, you should lower that hefty sabre, no? – Orin continued.

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--His hands were now gently resting upon the white hilts of the two sheathed, short sabres at his belt. As he and Isla stared each other down, several more guards appeared on the walkway above the arches, and about a dozen of them emerged from the drapes. Isla glanced at them, not daring to turn her attention away from Orin for too long. All of them had light armour, swords and crossbows. Their weapons were drawn, but lowered. They seemed to be following Orin’s lead.

-Well then. It seems we’re at an impasse here. – Orin said.

--Isla was silent. She was trying to summon words, but her thoughts were scrambled.

-I see you have finished your argument. Allow me to present mine.

--Orin drew his sabres. His blades flashed before Isla’s eyes as she swiftly jumped back, severing a few strands of her red hair. His sabres were thin, curved and engraved along the blunt side. The hilts were ivory white, but the cross guards bore pearl black. Orin circled around her, with his guard lowered, like a wolf circling its prey.

-Nice footwork. I’ve never seen you hold a sword either, but I always had my suspicions about you. Something about the way you move…

--He lunged forward with a left-handed stab; his offhand. He was trying to surprise Isla, but she saw it coming. She spun around her axis and used the momentum to slice at his face, but his main hand was ready to parry the blow with the second sabre. The force of her blow caught him off-guard however, and he stumbled slightly. Her blade nicked his right cheek, as a result of this, and blood trickled down from the cut. He seemed displeased, as he licked it.

-I always thought your shoulders are a bit too wide for a girl.

--Why was he always full of this blasted commentary? Does he ever shut up? Isla engaged him with a fury, launching strike after strike. She changed the angle every time, but Orin moved out of the way, effortlessly. Finally, he jabbed at her with his right hand, in-between two of her swings. His blade cut her left side, and her dress became red and wet where the gash was. For a moment, her sense of balance felt hazy. Orin immediately moved in and sliced at her again.

SLICE

--His right hand made a shallow, horizontal wound on her stomach.

SLICE

--His left hand cut her right arm, just below the shoulder.

SLICE

--This time it was his right sabre slicing up her left thigh diagonally.

--That was enough, he felt that he had made his point. Finally, he spun around clockwise, to get in closer. He launched both of his blades, aiming to either cut up her main hand so badly that she can’t hold a sword anymore, or to knock it out of her hands if she tries to block.

--And yet again, her strength caught him off guard. Even with the wound on her right arm, she caught his blades firmly, with a two-handed parry. Sparks flew from the blades grinding against each other, as she pushed him away. He lost his balance and stumbled backwards. This was the opening! She sliced forward and downwards, her blade aiming to strike his head. It didn’t matter where exactly, as long as it’s close to the center. And her aim was pretty good, as she had attested many times in her duels with Tristan.

--Her sword sang, but it met with nothing but air. Orin nimbly dropped and rolled backwards, landing upright on his feet. He was so graceful that one never would have thought that he had just had his arse planted on the floor.

-Are you not feeling well, Isla? You seem a little bit woozy. – His injured pride launched forth words as if they were his blades.

-Will you... shut up… already? – If eyes could kill, her look would have been fatal to him.

--Surprisingly enough, she was still standing with strength in her limbs. But she felt the strength was waning… and the pain from the cuts made it hard to focus on anything else. And she had to. This was the time to focus. To find a weakness in his defences!

--If she strikes from the left, he will block with that hand and strike her with his right sword. The opposite happens if she goes for the right flank. When she sliced to catch him off-balance, he showed agility which suggested that low blows weren’t likely to land either. She was afraid to try feinting because he was likely the better swordsman, and he wielded weapons lighter than her own. She could try to absorb an attack with another parry, but she only managed to parry two of his seven attacks. So, the odds were he’ll cut her three or four more times before she can get a good parry again. A steep, possibly fatal, price. And perhaps, this time, he would account for the fact that she appears to be stronger than him.

--So… what was her move? What does she do here? How does she punish him? She sees no openings. He’s grinning. It’s like he knows. And suppose she cuts him down. What about the dozen soldiers on either side of them, watching the fight? They weren’t very likely to say “Congratulations! You won, here’s the keys to the palace; off you go then.” No, they weren’t… As she was thinking, her eyes paced about. Finally, she remembered the ledge, which was behind her. The drop. And the rocks below.

-Don’t worry, little Isla. It will be quiet soon. Soon, you won’t have to hear another thing. Ever again.

--Orin pounced at her. She dashed backwards. She turned towards the ledge. She sprinted. She jumped over the fence, over the ledge.

-COWWWWWWWWWAAAAAAAAAAARDDDDDDDDDDD!!!!!!!....

--She could hear Orin’s voice fading in the distance, behind her, as she plummeted down.