Alana gasped, staring at the two approaching riders whose hands grasped recurve bows and long arrows. She ducked again, ignoring the pain on her sides, and quickly reached for her dragon blade and unsheathed it. She used it to support herself and stood up with a groan.

One of the riders guided his horse with his knees, slowing down and circling around her. The other had an arrow aimed at her body. Alana felt her heart pound fast. She would not give up that easily. Alana held the blade forward, ready to engage.

But they put their arrows away, storing them back in their quivers. They surely did not want to kill and rob her. No, they wanted a slave they could sell.

They dismounted quickly, like expert acrobats. One of them took rusty shackles from his saddle, the other unsheathed a fine bronze sword and descended confidently. The man's hair was brown and tied into dreadlocks, his beard long and greasy.

Alana held her position, her feet in a battle stance.

The sword bearer jumped at her. She stepped back and parried the blow, following the blade, feeling it, and ready to counter if he attempted an attack. When he pulled back his sword, Alana sprung forward, letting out a roar from within, aiming at her enemy's stomach.

But the enemy's body stopped short, his knees failed, and he fell down, gasping for air. Alana braced herself. A long arrow had pierced the man's neck, coming out from his Adam's apple, and dark blood flowed out, like aged wine from a broken barrel.

Another thud burst on her side; she looked around. The man holding the shackles had an arrow going right through his skull, his eyes turned white as he tumbled down.

Alana looked around. Ira was riding fast toward her, with her bow in one hand. She stopped and climbed down swiftly.

Alana straightened and sheathed her sword.

"Ira... I was ready to take them on!" she complained. "Why did you have to do that?"

"Alana, are you hurt?"

Alana realized a dull pain covered all over her back. She took a step forward and groaned.

"Are you okay?" Ira came to her aid.

"Ouch," Alana growled, squeezing one eye.

"I don't think... Ouch... I broke anything. It just hurts."

A painful neigh sounded nearby. Alana noticed her horse was on the ground, bobbing its head in a frenzy and waving its back legs, trying to stand. It had an arrow through the neck, and a rivet of blood stained its white hair.

"Oh gods above," she said, running toward it. She held the reins and pulled to the side, trying to help it to its feet, but she noticed its front leg had been twisted. It tried to get it on the floor, but it did not move like the rest.

She knelt by it and realized its shape was not right.

"Ira, I think there's something wrong with him?"Ira knelt next to her, extending her hand to examine it, and touched its white lower left gently. Alana could see the tension in her eyes. Ira sighed, shutting her eyes for a moment. "Alana, his leg shattered. Even if he survives the arrow, he won't survive that. There's no way for him to keep going."

"What?" Alana said. "And we cannot leave him, can we?" Alana raised her face. She felt her skin tense.

"Little guy, please be still," Ira said, rubbing its stomach. The horse moved its limbs and head in pain.

Ira stood up, her head down.

"Please shut your eyes, Alana."

"Is there no other way?"

Ira pulled an arrow and sunk it through the horse's brain.

Alana held her eyes shut and felt tears filter through her eyelashes.

"Let's go," Ira said, mounting her horse and calling Alana to her side.

***

Alana clung to Ira's body, her gaze low, lost in the endless sea of grass and earth, as Tistriya's hooves galloped in the great wide plains. She kept telling herself it was nothing, but she felt endlessly sorry for the horse. For a moment, she thought it was ironic. She had already killed more than half a dozen men and felt little remorse, yet they were overshadowed by the horse. What had she become? Was she even a good person? She was convinced that her cause was good, but why did it have to come to this?

Part of her said they had it coming.

But the men of her village did not deserve what happened to them, nor did the horse. The road went on. They rested under the stars for another night, and after a copious dinner, they slept.

Alana dreamed she had killed the horse. Guilt overwhelmed her, and she woke up before sunrise, her heart pounding fast, her breath short and shallow. Ira was by her side, snoring with her mouth open. Alana sighed and buried her face between her knees, circling her forearms around her legs. The happiness she had felt the previous days vanished. She felt alone, she missed Kassius and her father. How could she be the one to answer for so many people? She was not even strong enough. She was thankful for Ira's help. She wanted to believe she could have taken on the bandits by herself, but she did not, and could not, forgive herself.

She knew she could be a great warrior one day. She was happy with her progress, but to be herself, the one who had been called upon by the gods to liberate the people of Adachia, she had to be much better. She was not living up to what people expected of her. What she expected of herself.

The night was long, and she did not sleep. Ira awoke with the sunrise. She jumped to her feet, eyeing Alana, who stared at the blue and pink heavens as if begging for an answer.

"Good morning," Ira muttered. Her hair was more disheveled than ever. She then stretched her arms and yawned, then blinked and wiped the sleep from her eyes. She furrowed her brow.

"Alana, are you feeling fine?"

Alana tensed her lips. If Ira knew how she was feeling, she would probably think she was unfit. Or did she already think that? She was being treated like a little girl once again. What was she, anyway, a brave and powerful leader or a girl who didn't get the life she wanted?

But no, she had to let it go, no matter what. She needed someone to understand her before people thought of her as something grand and powerful that she never was.

"I am sad," Alana said.

"Is it because of the horse?"

"It's everything."

Ira sighed. She did not say anything, only held her tight. She then understood. There was something about Ira. She, also, felt a little different. She did not know what was in her mind, but the way she had winked at her, invited her, and supported her like nobody else had showed Alana that she was different. Strangely connected.

During that tight hug, with Ira's black hair against her cheeks and a slight aroma of cheese, she remembered all the people who supported her. How she had not given up even through times harder than those.

"Why can you understand me so well?" Alana said.

"Who says I do?" Ira whispered.

"Why did you decide to help me?"

Ira let go and leaned back.

"Maybe I saw something in your eyes that I cannot describe with words." She took a deep breath. "I heard what you went through, and I know what it feels like to lose and to have the world put their weight upon you."

"Tell me more about yourself, Ira, please." Alana doubted that Ira had ever held any responsibility higher than hers.

"I do not think my experiences compare to yours, believe me. And I hate war with all my heart. I hated it fifteen years ago, and I will hate it forever. But our people were born for war."

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Alana was silent, her gaze low.

"I was born in the East, in Parzia. My mother was Gadalian, and my original father. I did not meet my father, like you, but the other way around." She cleared her throat and curled her lips. "She was pregnant with me when the Itruschians first attacked her village and killed him in front of her. It was an awful time. But it passed. I grew to ten years, milking cows and goats, and when I thought life was getting better, my village was taken again. They caught my mother and me, burned the house while we hid in the barn. She was holding me, whispering in my ear. Telling me to be as silent as a lamb. I was soaked in my own tears. I thought it couldn't get worse, I thought it couldn't, but it did. They broke down the doors, and the fire was all around. They pulled her out, did what they wanted to do quickly, not to get trapped in the fire, and they beat her so badly that she stopped reacting before the whole horrible thing was done. I was paralyzed. They pulled my hair and dragged me out, and then I had fears. So many fears... And I can't remember... And..."

"I am sorry to hear that, Ira." Alana swallowed, her eyes moistening."I did not want to fight. The famous Virnas, the Parzian horse master, took me. He was one of my mother's customers; he liked the cheese she sold. He thought he could make a great warrior out of me and raised me as his daughter. I think he thought I would like to avenge them, but I only liked to train because my mind could fly away and forget it all. He made me the fastest, the one with the best reflexes, the best connection with my horse, and yet, I only wanted to ride and eat cheese. I wish I could ever taste goat cheese as good as the one my mother made. I only wish."

"Life was not fair to you, but you are strong." Alana hugged her tight, but Ira didn't move. "I am proud to meet you. Really."

"It's not about who suffers the most, Alana. Now, let's get ready. We have to get going."

They rode on, further from her loved ones. The existential pain had subsided.

After hours of galloping and short breaks for the horses and themselves, the yurts of the Hunatians appeared on the plains. Triangular flags of red and yellow fluttered, and Alana could hear the chattering of men and beasts.

Three sentinels rode toward them. Their manner of dress was different from that of the Gadalians, as their clothes were simpler and practical. Leather trousers covered their strong legs, and their feet were covered with high leather boots. Their helmets were of bronze, with a brown crest made of horsehair emerging from on top. Their armor looked heavy, made of many segmented plates, each seemingly made of bronze, attached to a long shirt of blue silk or hemp, and thick fur covered their shoulder pads. Their horses were also armored with fish-scale type armor. Long arrows stuck out from the quiver on their backs. Their shields were round, adorned with a sigil-like design.

"Who goes there?" asked the first. Alana noticed a golden ribbon tied to his arm, perhaps a sign of leadership.

"Gadalian allies," Ira said, bracing her horse. The three Hunatians kept riding, then the two who rode on the sides surrounded them. The one with the ribbon stopped in front of them.

"Huntress Ira," the Hunatian said. "I did not recognize you from afar. Come with us." He continued, pulling the reins and spurring toward the camp."They're nice," Ira simply said, winking at Alana and followed the man on her horse. When they reached the camp, Ira dismounted and helped Alana down. Alana threw a glance around the place. The yurts were colorful and tall, ornamented with flowing patterns and flowery symbols. A tall menhir stood in the middle, carved partly in the shape of an unknown ancestor or god. A few women walked about carrying vases of water, their long black hair tied in parallel braids and kept in place with colorful brooches. Their clothes were also of fine linen, colorful and filled with floral motifs, their hips covered by wide laces of silk. Some, especially elder women, walked around with headdresses as long as half their bodies. The men wore clothes similar in shape to the Gadalian open jackets, but favoring silk instead of hemp. The men wore their black hair long and untied. Their skulls were rounder, their eyes small, and their skin colors ranged from pale like milk to dark like copper.

Ira greeted the men and women with a warm smile as she led her horse to their shared stable.

"How come they all know you so well?" Alana muttered.

"I buy cheese here every once in a while," she whispered, as if safeguarding a deadly secret.

As Ira tied Tistriya and petted it goodbye, the initial sentinel stood behind her, holding a small lance. She turned and faced him again.

"What are you looking for here, Ira?"

"This time it's urgent, Kharkai. I need an audience with Chief Mundzuch."

"An audience?" the man asked. "So rapidly?"

"Believe me when I tell you it is an urgent matter," she said.

Kharkai cleared his throat and turned around, signaling one of the young sentinels to go, and the man trotted away into the yurts.

"What is it?" Kharkai asked, narrowing his eyes.

"The Adachians were decimated. Our people downstream, my tribe, are suffering illness and disease, and we need to find some help to reclaim the Adachian lands."

Kharkai cleared his throat.

"Help? Is it to fight the Itruschians?"

Ira nodded.

"Are you implying we should go and battle again?" Kharkai asked. "I doubt they will do it, considering the truce and—"

"The Adachians need help. Their people are suffering under Itruschian rule."

"Well, I've never seen you this committed to a conflict."

Ira took a deep breath.

"Well, it's because our friends have been unfortunate. Betrayed by the Empire that promised protection. We can't leave them to their fate after what happened to them." Ira signaled Alana to come. She approached shyly, and Ira circled an arm around her.

"This is Alana."

"Hello, there," Kharkai said with a silly smile, as if addressing a small child.

"Hello, sir, it's nice meeting you."

"She is the leader of the Gadalian people," Ira declared.

"Leader?" Kharkai asked, raising an eyebrow."Yes, she's young, but very brave, and you'll see what she has achieved," Ira explained, as horses' hooves echoed behind them. It was not the young sentinel; instead, a man with a silk robe with folds on the shoulder.

Ira turned around and bowed her neck in front of the mounted man.

"Head Eunuch Harmann, may the Sky Father give you strength," she said.

"May the Sky Father protect you." The eunuch saluted. "The Chieftain may meet you before noon; you may take rest under this pleasant sun while we prepare."

"Thank you," Ira said with a slight bow.

Before they walked out of the stable, two women with yellow robes approached carrying straw baskets and wineskins.

Ira elbowed Alana softly and winked her eyes at her. The woman opened the basket and revealed square pieces of cheese.

"Cheese again?" Alana asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Special mare cheese," Ira said, and Alana reached out her hand to try it. It was salty, a bit musky and strong, but it immediately filled her with energy. Then she drank a mouthful from the wineskin. It was kumis, fermented horse milk, one of her favorites.

"Thank you," she said. Then she wiped her face with the sleeve of her coat.

The welcoming party led them to the chieftain's yurt. Its outer panels were blue and almost twenty-five feet in diameter. Dragons of gold were set on top, their expressions fiery, flashing golden fangs.

They sat cross-legged in front of the yurt, below a wide canopy. The Sword of Ares hung from her back and weighed on her strained spine. Men and women kept coming, placing small baskets in front of them. Alana kept looking around; the welcoming she had received made her smile and forget her worries. She liked those Hunatians. She loved it when people were welcoming and kind.

Soon, when the sun was almost at its highest point, a eunuch with braided hair and a funny-looking headdress stepped out from the yurt and invited them to come in.

Alana cleared her throat. So far, Ira had done the talking and even explained what Alana was expecting. It was obvious that those people knew her and appreciated her. But in case Ira gave her time to speak, she did not feel prepared.

The inner walls of the yurt were adorned with beads of gold and silver, depicting sacred flowers and serpent-like dragons. Long flower-patterned mats covered the ground, and the chieftain sat in the center. He was old; his gray beard and mustache were long but disconnected, his beard flowed down only from below his chin, skin wrinkled, his gray hair pulled back, and a red headdress on his head.

The chieftain held a small staff with a dragon motif in hand. He pointed at Ira.

"Chieftain Mundzuch, thank you for your audience."

"It is always a pleasure to have you," the man answered with a pleasant voice and a thick accent. "How are your people doing? Is there anything I may do to help them now?"Our families have seen much struggle, Chief Mundzuch; however, now I do not come to you to speak of the Varalkians, but of our sisters beyond the river.

"Do you speak of the Gadalians in the Empire? I have heard of what happened to them - very gruesome and sad. Many of my friends have been lost, and of their families, I know nothing."

"To that end, I wish to introduce you to this young woman, her name is Alana of Adachia, daughter of Head Artisan Alan. You've met him before."

"I have, indeed," the old chieftain said.

"As you know, the Gadalians were decimated; only their women remained. This young lady here led a revolt and killed the Itruschian governor, then led a small troop out of the borders of the Empire and searched for us for help. Unfortunately, the Council of our tribe refused to assist her."

"To help her do what? Ride into the Empire's borders?"

Ira nodded.

The chieftain looked Alana in the eye.

"So you are in charge of the people of Adachia."

Alana felt her tongue stuck against her palate. She shook her head and cleared her throat.

"I am leading our troop, that is all. But I have many excellent advisors."

"Tell me of your plight," the chieftain said, his small eyes wide open in sincere curiosity.

Alana cleared her throat and spoke slowly:

"It happened three months ago. They attacked us at our weakest. They entered through the main road, masquerading as traveling performers. They set us up, attacked us unarmed, and killed without mercy. The men and women fought with whatever they had. And still, we lost them all. Even my father died fighting against them. Interrupted in his forge, he fought and battled as he could. The women of the tribe were abused and forcibly married to their men. My half-blood husband and I were spared, as he is the son of an Itruschian citizen. But when our burden became too heavy, many women rebelled. We fought back and were persecuted for it. We found a hiding place in the woods and attacked. The gods . . ." Alana cleared her throat again. "Gave us a sign."

She released the sword from the canvas that held it. "Ares guided my husband, and we reforged the sword of Ares, the one used to battle giants, as a symbol."

The man extended his hands, demanding to receive the sword and look at it.

Alana carefully held it with both hands, one on the handle and the other on the blade, and gave it to the chieftain. He grasped its handle and held it upright, paying close attention to its angles, then he ran his hand along its blade.

"What is this green jewel that shines like a star?" he asked.

"The Green Tear of Venus."

The chieftain lowered the sword and placed it on his knee.

Alana lowered her gaze.

"My husband prayed and fasted for days, begging the Gods of the sky to guide him to a treasure that could serve as a token. He was guided through caverns underneath the city, built by ancient peoples, and there, where his visions took him, he found it.""I see," Mundzuch offered, returning the sword. "The sword of Ares, is it not? The bane of giants?"

Alana trembled slightly at the mention of that word, as if it held a forbidden power she did not wish to encounter.

"So, what do you intend for us to do?" Mundzuch inquired.

"To ride with us," Alana said. "Help us reclaim our land, avenge our husbands, and free our sisters."

"Alana, daughter of Alan the Artisan, you possess the sword and bow of my people. We will assist you in freeing your sisters."