The primary weapon of a Karkh’ala warrior would likely be his khopesh. It is a curved sword that is almost comically large in the hands of an average human. They construct it from a material made of very lightweight Korrem slug secretions, hardened in a furnace once poured in the proper shape. It can’t quite match the quality of modern steel, but old iron armaments might be challenged. In either case, the large size and sharpness of these weapons is something to be very wary of.

The halos of her eyes were wide and clear, reflecting light through a window above her head. Gwindon pushed himself up onto his knees and swallowed hard, trying to judge her weapon first. The way it was slung on her left shoulder meant the material was lighter than steel, but heavy enough to deal damage. Its dull, blue blade was straight at the base, and turned into a sharp curve with a pointed tip at the end.

The turquoise mass flashed in front of him and swung down to his leg. He rolled away just in time to not be hit by the move. Icara once more yanked the blade free and readied to strike again, but first pointed a finger to the knight instead.

“You dare to judge my purpose in life as a childish fixation...?” Icara asked, her voice sounding strange and unlucid.

Gwindon quickly realized the light had tricked him, her irises hid the glazed look of an experienced killer ready to fight. “Looking for justice could be a noble goal, but you’re plan is irrational and impossible. You can’t fight a kingdom by yourself, Icara.”

When he finished, he reached for his blade with his right hand. She noticed the gesture immediately and swung for the side of his body his sword was away from. He managed to draw his own weapon fast enough to stop the sword with its flat side, gripping the top of the sword with his off hand. Even with the double grip, she showed off incredible strength as he barely managed to hold it back. The sharp tip of the weapon teased along the exposed section of his neck.

He shot a leg out towards her right foot and she leapt back to dodge it, pulling her sword with her as she did. He used the space to move to his knees and level the blade towards her with one hand, keeping the other behind his back. On his feet, he got a much better read of his opponent.

Icara stood with her back slouched, and the blade rested at an angle with the ground. Her posture was animalistic in nature, and gave her little option in how to strike first. It was a drawback of the weapon she was using, clearly balanced for someone much larger than her. Still, he had found her strength more than enough to use the weapon in an adapted style. His eyes shot to the side, looking for something to aid him if she tried for another hit.

Gwindon shifted his feet and shot the free hand out to the side, Icara watched him, but remained frozen in place. His fingers wrapped around one of the potted plants on a shelf next to him, and he flung it at her head. Gwindon readied to parry a blind blow she’d use to defend from the strike. Breaking her savage posture a moment, Icara crouched down and avoided the pot entirely, letting it smash against the wall behind her. With the projectile gone, she swung her blade horizontally again. It scratched against his chest plate just as he slammed into the wall to avoid it. She had misjudged the move and found her weapon lodged within the wood.

Before the sword could be freed, Gwindon brought his own down towards its handle, forcing her to release it and move away. Icara acted as he predicted this time, and he gripped his sword with both hands as he stepped onto her blade. Gwindon breathed slowly and his heart threatened to leap from his chest before the ferocity he faced. Icara crouched down and stared up at him. The bandages on her face came loose and revealed more of her feminine features. He remarked how skilled she was for someone as young as her.

“You’ve got no weapon, back down. What little padding you’ve got is no match for my sword I can assure you, and you’re in no shape to take the kind of wounds I’d have to inflict on you,” he warned her.

Icara broke eye contact with Gwindon for a moment, brushing some dirt on the floor together with her sword hand. “How can I back down when I’ve been insulted so thoroughly? You’re the one who started this, so don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet just because I’m not some helpless runt in a fight.”

“Pity isn’t why I don’t want to murder you. Let’s call it sentimentality in my old age, but I don’t think cutting down someone like you is really the behavior fitting a knight. Don’t make me change my mind on that point, Icara.”

Icara finished brushing up some of the dirt and looked up to the knight with a smirk, the dullness starting to fade from her gaze. “Someone like me? Is that a woman, a criminal, or a weakling to you? All three?”

His eyes shifted to the pile of dirt and he glared. “Don’t try it.”

She shook her head and blew the dirt away, standing upright. Gwindon sighed and lowered his blade a little until he saw her other hand. The one she’d been keeping behind her was tightly clenched, and a distinct trailed of dirt was behind the other pile. His eyes met with her’s for one moment before it shot upward and flung the concealed soil into his face.

Gwindon recklessly sliced down at the throwing arm, but it was pulled away as he was blinded. Icara grabbed his left arm in the swing and forced him to follow through the motion completely. Despite being weighed down by his armor, Gwindon flipped heavily onto his back and landed hard onto the floor. The moment his body reached the ground, Icara was quick to twist his wrist into releasing the sword from the hand still holding it. The weapon gone, she placed a foot on his throat. He waited for a slam or twist, something to kill him quickly, but no further violence came.

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“Go on, still not worth killing?” Icara said to him, smiling at him.

“Was that all a game to you?! You could’ve been killed!” Gwindon shouted, strained for breath under her heel.

“I already told you I’m good at surviving. Are you going to tell me the way I fought wasn’t honorable now? Don’t act like more of a sore loser than—” she continued to boast.

“Honor is merely fairness in all things, combat especially. Given what Cherno had said, and what I’d seen of your recovery, I had no doubt you were a competent fighter. Anything I could do against you wouldn’t be shameful. You won despite that.”

Icara hesitated, unsure of how to handle the compliment. Her grip on him eased and she took the foot from his neck. Gwindon followed with a cough and sat upright, rubbing where she had him pinned. Both went quiet for a moment as she retrieved her sword and Gwindon leaned on his knee while seated. Cherno had begun sweeping the mess of dirt from their fight, keeping a careful ear on their exchange all the while.

“If... if you really thought that, than why did you provoke me?” She asked, holding the handle of her weapon close to her chest.

“Because I stand by what I said. I never doubted your fighting prowess, only your goals. You can’t simply kill Koshchei, even if you wanted to or somehow were able. A country needs leadership, especially when in trying times like now. I’m not particularly privy to this land’s politics, but I know for a fact that even a despot provides stability to a nation-state that anarchy cannot allow.” Gwindon said and looked up at her. “Would you really doom this land and her people for your own selfish desires?”

She stomped her foot down. “What are you talking about?! I am the rightful heir to this country, when he’s dead, I’ll take the mantle of leadership and return this country to a land of fairness!”

“What are your qualifications? Do you know who Alastair is at war with? Her alliances? How about just listing who her neighbors are after recent border skirmishes?” Gwindon stood up as Icara’s eyes scanned the floor frantically. “You think Koshchei is a cruel man who murdered your parents, sure. Let’s say he is. But at least he did not try and tear the country down. I would rather a power-hungry king than a queen raised on blood and violence... and I think the people of this country would agree.”

Icara closed her eyes and clenched her fingers over the handle as Gwindon stood up. He shook his head and looked back towards the door. A chill had drawn over the room, suffocating the energy that flared just moments prior. A heavy thump summoned a spark from it, making Gwindon turn back towards Icara. She had dropped the large blade to the floor and was moving quickly towards him. He didn’t lift his sword to stop her, the fist she held out colliding directly to the plate metal of his chest. The sound alone would make most men cringe, the actual pain of the blow was substantially worse. She dug her knuckles deeper against the metal, making him stumble back a bit and having her fist slip off. After a deep intake of breath, she lifted her head to meet the knight’s eyes.

The backlit gaze staring at him was brimmed with tears. They didn’t teeter like before, but flowed from her face in streams. Despite this, she held a fire in her gaze that shook the hardened warrior with a nostalgic feeling.

“I’ll learn,” she said, her voice cracked from strain. “I don’t care how hard it will be, but I’ll learn. I’m going to make things better, I promised I would! He won’t get away with murder.... He can’t...”

The emotions nearly overwhelmed Icara, her torso wracked with every sobbing breath. Gwindon’s hands relaxed at his side and he took in the display with earnestness. When she finally began to weep outright, he moved forward and embraced her. Despite the bulk of his breastplate, he held her in the closest thing to comfort he could manage. She was stiff at first, but soon returned the hug.

“Just breathe, we’re not fighting anymore,” he told her, patting her back as he closed his own eyes. “If you want to learn, I’ll help you. You’ve got a fire to lead others, but it’s reckless and dangerous. All you need to is learn and you’ll make a fine queen. Then you can take your revenge. If you agree, I’ll support you.”

Icara held him a moment longer, but pulled away in the end. She retrieved her sword and inspected its handle in silence. The tears continued to drip from her chin for a time, but she wiped them away and looked back to Gwindon. Her eyes showed the signs of wear that crying leaves, but the circles of light within them continued to burn bright.

“Learn what?”

“Patience, for starters. Maybe some manners and how to make some money for yourself that doesn’t involve murdering...” Gwindon said with a half smile.

Icara rolled her eyes and sniffed her nose. “Fine. But I’m tired of you making me get teary eyed every time you talk to me. Promise not to do that, and I think we can start working together,” she said, offering him a hand.

Gwindon clasped her hand firmly with his own and they shook on it, meeting each other’s eyes fondly. Once they let go, both retrieved their weapons and put them back in their respective sheaths. Only once they had gathered themselves together did they notice Cherno sitting back at the table, his legs obviously crossed beneath the folds of his robe. He raised a teacup towards them.

“Ah yes, finally done bonding over there? I’m glad you decided to do it without murdering each other, would’ve made things a lot more complicated for me. Disposing a body is always such a bother...”

“Sorry for making a mess of your shop, I kind of got...” Icara began, hesitating as she rubbed the back of her head and glanced at the various puncture marks in the wood floor. “Caught up in the moment, I guess.”

“You are the moment itself, Icara,” Cherno commented with the same facade of a smile. “But even so, I’m intrigued by this idea of learning how to be a ruler. Especially considering you’re a wanted criminal, among other things, in the public eye. You’ll be needing some way to change that, won’t you?”

Icara nodded and Cherno set his cup down. He moved to a nearby cupboard and pulled out one of the shelves. The sound of parchment shuffling filled the room as he searched for a certain document. Eventually, he extracted one and returned to Icara, handing her a faded document. It had a list of names with a heading that read “Matters of Church and State officials” at the top in incredibly elaborate calligraphy.

“That’s a list of people who work with the church and state on matters about the other. Given their typically neutral stance on things, you could find the one residing in this city and use him to get information on the political climate.” Cherno explained before he gestured to Gwindon. “Just have Gwindon explain his knighthood and they should be willing to help you with this much at least.”

Gwindon hesitated for an instant, but ultimately nodded. Icara was still looking at the parchment, but gave a quick acknowledgement of Cherno’s words before she turned to leave. She paused at the door and yanked away the bindings from her face. Taking the thinnest of them, she wrapped it over her eyes and ruffled her hair. The dirty blonde mess was almost alien to the knight, and made him laugh from the almost burned style of it. Icara knocked on his chest plate once more and tossed the door open, stumbling a bit as she adjusted to the dimmed vision.

Cherno watched them leave and turned back to the drawer, pulling out another parchment that he had left on top. There was a symbol on the heading of a man wielding a sword with his back to a woman holding a scarf filled with wheat. It was the emblem of the major church, depicting both Berkahn and Helera, the deities most humans worshipped at the time. Beneath it was a stylized depiction of Icara, like the one on the bounty poster, but with more exaggerated appearance.

“Let’s see how Koshchei deals with this one...” Cherno muttered to himself, pulling the sheet out completely.

On the bottom of the page were the words “POSSIBLE DEMON AFFILIATE, REPORT IMMEDIATELY” in the same calligraphy as the sheet he had given Icara.