Pain blossomed in her cheek as her head snapped to the side with such ferocity, she was surprised it didn’t break her neck. Stumbling backward, Winifred tried her best to shake her mind free of the fog. All of her instincts screamed at her to bring her hands up to block.

But, just as quickly as the first, a second blow connected. The hit felt as though it shook her entire brain. Weirdly, it gave her the clarity she needed to focus, the brawler snapping to attention, raising her bloodied fists as her green eyes zeroed in on her attacker.

He was standing a mere meter away from her now. A heavyset Dwarf, his thick black hair and bushy beard interspersed with flecks of grey. His steely eyes were boring into her, awaiting her next move. Dressed in his usual blackened leather armor, he looks every inch the formidable opponent that she remembered so clearly.

Blackmaul.

The Battle-master was currently unarmed but that made little difference to how dangerous he was… his fists were more than strong enough to break her bones like twigs.

The older Dwarf suddenly slid out of her sight, dashing to her left and throwing a cross hook into her sides. As always, his aim is perfect but instinctively, Winifred shifted her stance and was able to parry the well-aimed blow with one arm before lashing out with a quick jab of her own. Every single movement felt as natural as breathing. The thrill of a good fight was an exhilarating one, worlds away from sitting on the piano bench and listening to a lecture about arpeggios. Whatever they were. And the dress fittings? Gods, if she ever went to another one of those it would be too soon…

Blackmail ducked under her jab but, in doing so, left himself open to a quickly thrown-out kick. The old dwarf may have strength on his side but Winifred was a lot faster. Reeling back from her, both of the fighters reset their stance, eyeing each other and breathing heavily. Winifred grinned despite herself. It felt good to be doing this again.

But that was just it. Something wasn’t right. Not right at all. Winifred looked past her foe and she was greeted with the sight of her family’s training yard. The sandy pits were supposed to be for the estate’s guards to train in but, this early in the morning, with the sun still tucked below the horizon and the grass still wet with dew, they would all be in their beds. But why was she here?...surely everything that had happened wasn’t some dream?

There was no time to further pursue those thoughts as Blackmaul quickly re-engaged the fight. He rushed forward with heavy steps, jumping into the air and leading with his right knee. Winifred used the power in both of her arms to stop the lunge but her stance was all wrong. With the sheer power behind his momentum, Blackmaul was able to send her sprawling into the sands.

“Mistake!” The surly Dwarf called out as she got a mouthful of sand and gravel. She was able to right herself, back onto her hands and knees and she started to spit it back out again. One of the knuckles on her left hand had split, blood oozing through the linen strips she’d used to wrap it. No doubt her mother would have another one of her famous conniption fits when she discovered a second torn-up petticoat…

“Yer nae doin’ too bad lass,” Blackmaul spoke. The old Dwarf held out a leathery hand and hauled her back to her feet. “But yer head’s not in it. No matter what else is given’ ye strife, you’d be doin’ well to keep yer thoughts on the fight aye?”

“I know…” Winifred nodded. And it suddenly hit her with a force worse than any blow she’d ever taken. This was it. This was Blackmaul’s last day on the estate. “It’s yer last day…I cannae…I dinnae want to think about…” The tears welled in her eyes and threatened to spill over. “I’m nae ready for ye to leave yet…”

Blackmaul had been the one ray of sunshine in her otherwise dull and dreary life. The old Dwarf had gladly taken her under his wing, not giving a fig that she was supposed to be a society lady. She was eager and quick to learn and that’s all he cared about. He’d been more of a father to her over this past year than her father had been. And she’d been bloody stupid not to ask to be trained sooner. Blackmaul had been a staple of the estate since before she was born and yet she’d only worked up the guts to talk to him in the last year…

“Aye, me times come,” Blackmaul replied. “I cannae deny that. But it warms me heart to know someone will be missing me,” The usually taciturn Dwarf offered her a smile, showing off the gap in his teeth. “Besides Lassie,” He continued, clapping her on the shoulder. “There’s nae much else I can teach ye at this point,”

“Ye could run!” Winifred suggested. “I’ll come with ye! We can hide out in The Slums and we’ll get by, just you and me!” She continued desperately. “Ye cannae go to the Butchery Blackmaul! I will nae let it happen!”

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

“Aye, but ye must,” Blackmaul replied solemnly. He pulled his student in for a hug. “It’s part of being a citizen of Dray’Mel, Lassie. My time has come up. But aye, who knows? Maybe I’ll have the honor of joinin’ the Tomb-Makers. They’d be lucky to have me guardin’ their fair walls!”

“You could fight them off!” Winifred started to cry desperately. “There’s nae one stronger than you Blackmaul. Not even Father. If ye go to the Butchery…they’ll kill ye,” At thought of this, Winifred found herself sobbing into his shoulder. “Please…don’t go.”

She could feel the Dwarf awkwardly starting to pat her back as he whispers gently into her ear. “I’m nae as strong as ye think my dear Lassie. The Tomb-Makers have Chosen in their ranks…I’m nae match for the Burnt Husk I’ll tell ye that. Nae Lass, it’s time to lay these weary bones to rest…”

Winifred collapsed to the ground. She had no idea how long she sat there in the filthy sands and cried but, the next time she opened her eyes, it was nighttime.

Pulling herself together, she started to walk back to the estate. But each step she takes seems to drain more and more of the light from the world and feels heavier. She felt as though she were on her way to her punishment. Forever locked into a life that she doesn’t want. Forced to become a person she never wants to be.

It isn’t long until it seems like all the light in the world has faded away, leaving her breathless as she tried to choke down on her fear in the total darkness. As she continued to stumble in the darkness, she finally spotted a faint flickering light in the distance.

Jogging towards it, she can barely make out a shape, wreathed in the light. Inching closer, the light faded enough for her to make out a rotten corpse leaning against what appeared to be a dying tree. Winifred slowly made her way towards the body. As she got closer, she was able to make out its humanoid shape. Torn asunder by the elements, the flesh on the bones was rotten and loose, but the creature itself seems to be slowly shaking.

With trepidation in her heart, Winifred felt compelled to look, even as her mind screamed at her to run. Grabbing the figure by the shoulder, she turned the creature to face her.

Blackmaul stared back at her, his face ripped asunder, his head cloven open, nose split in twain. Somehow, his eyes still seemed to bore into her soul.

“This will happen to you too, Winifred. Ye can run from your family, ye can betray my teachings by fighting in those pits. Ye can drink as much Dragon’s Blood as ye can get yer wee hands on, but one day, it’ll be you!” He announced in a raspy voice. His torn lips flapped loosely, revealing a tongue that had been split completely down the middle.

Reeling back as though she’d been struck a blow, Winifred struggled to breathe. Her lungs felt as though they were on fire as she tried not to hurl her guts onto the grass.

“This is nae real!” She suddenly shouted. “Blackmaul would never say that!”

She wiped her face and shook her head, trying to pull herself together. As she looked back at the deformed body, it seemed to loom over her, much taller than Blackmaul had been in life. It felt as though she’d been shrunk down to child size.

“The others will nae care, Lassie. Skrakch barely tolerates ye. And the wee Halfling? He’s just using ye. Ye’ll die alone, cursing the world. The only ones who’ll pay ye any mind will be the Wraiths coming down to harvest ye bones!”

Winifred let out an anguished cry and lashed out blindly. Her fist connected perfectly with the Dwarf's rotten jaw. Through her teary eyes, she watched as Blackmaul’s head toppled loose from his shattered body and rolled towards her feet. His twisted and torn lips grinned up at her, mocking her weakness.

Suddenly, before she can react, Winifred was struck from the side. Staggering on shaky legs, she swiftly turns to see the owner of the blow, the now headless corpse of Blackmaul. Looming above her, the headless body stands over a dozen feet tall, with arms far thicker than they had been in life.

Still, Winifred threw herself into combat, landing blow after blow in quick succession, throwing out kicks and blows with all her flagging strength behind them.

While each of her well-timed and accurate punches was able to knock Blackmaul’s corpse off-center slightly, none of them were having a strong effect. She pulled back to catch her breath and stared down at the prone head which began to laugh at her as his body beckoned her forward.

Head heavy with confusion, Winifred found it much easier to fall into what she knew. Stepping forward, her stance precise, she recalled every one of her old trainer’s techniques. It gave her the power she needed to gracefully dodge the corpse while dismantling it punch by punch.

It was with relentless attacks that she finally rocked Blackmaul’s body, throwing herself forwards with greater force. Winifred continued to lay into him with a well-practiced rhythm, every single blow and punch letting the fear bleed out of her until was overtaken with a surreal sense of calm.

She barely even flinched as she realized that she was suddenly throwing out punches with a pair of knuckledusters, worn and well-used iron grips contorting to her knuckles like she’d worn them for years.

Truth be told. Winifred didn’t bother to question how or why they’d appeared, just appreciating the extra power to her blows. She certainly didn’t stop as Blackmaul finally stopped grinning at her, his rotten face caving inwards from the repeated strikes.

Because as confused as she was, Winifred has always preferred solving her problems with her fists. One blow after another, no matter her foe.