Markswoman (Asiana #1)(92)

She backed away, waving her staff at the men and women gathered around. They withdrew to the edges of the huge hall, clearing a space in the middle for Kyra and Tamsyn. The scene took on a dreamlike quality in the light of the late afternoon sun.

Tamsyn dropped into the hidden snake stance. “Are you ready, little deer?” she asked almost tenderly, stretching an arm out. Her blade flashed bloodred in the hollow of her outstretched palm, and for a moment Kyra felt the fluttery wings of fear beat against her face. The hall went dark and she thought she would faint.

The words of her teacher (which one?) came back to her: “Be aware of who you are. Know yourself and your surroundings. Anticipate her when you can.”

I know you, Tamsyn. You have taught me and hated me for years. I know every move that you can make.

Kyra stood motionless in the middle of the space that had been cleared for the duel, retreating inward until it seemed as if she was the only person in the hall. There was no Tamsyn, no Unduni, and no audience of excited people, shoving against one another in order to get a better view of the duel. There was only herself, and the warmth of the katari in her hand. It was in this moment that she finally understood what Rustan had been trying to teach her: that stillness which was at the center of all things, life flowing around it like an endless stream. Kyra sought the calm at the core of the tumultuous universe, and welcomed it into her being.

Tamsyn cocked her head. “Come come, little deer. It is time to take your stance. Or do you regret your rashness and wish to surrender? I will be merciful if you make a public apology. I will let you live. I may even welcome you back to the caves of Kali.”

But Kyra stayed where she was, still as a rock.

Tamsyn clicked her tongue impatiently and began to circle Kyra. The blade in her hand glowed brighter. Still Kyra did not move.

Tamsyn darted forward, quick as a cobra to strike down her prey. But her katari slashed through empty air. She spun around, her face a mixture of rage and astonishment. Kyra was standing a few feet away. She had slipped out of range at the last moment.

Tamsyn’s teeth flashed. “You have learned a few things, little deer. Good. This will be more interesting than I imagined.”

Kyra did not allow Tamsyn’s voice to penetrate the shield of silence around her. She concentrated on seeing, with her inner eye, the flow of movements that made Tamsyn such a feared Markswoman. When Tamsyn turned her back on her, as if to walk away in boredom, she knew it was a diversion. She held herself still, listening for the minute breath of air that would tell her when Tamsyn threw her blade. When it came, she danced aside so quickly that those watching would have sworn she appeared to be in two places at once.

Tamsyn’s katari clattered across the floor and Kyra launched herself at her foe, knowing that this was the moment to attack.

Tamsyn gave a snarl of fury and blocked Kyra’s katari with one hand, suffering a deep slash on her elbow, while with the other she delivered a stunning blow to the side of Kyra’s head. Kyra stumbled back, dizzy with pain, almost losing her grip on her katari. Tamsyn lashed out at her head again with a powerful side kick, but Kyra saw it coming and rolled away so that she got but a glancing blow on her shoulders. As Tamsyn bore down on her, her face contorted into a mask of hatred, Kyra thrust her katari up toward her enemy’s heart.

But Tamsyn grabbed her hand and twisted it aside. Kyra’s katari dropped to the floor. Her fingers scrabbled for the blade, but Tamsyn held her wrist in a lock with one hand. The other hand she wrapped around Kyra’s throat. Kyra choked and clutched her hand, trying to loosen the fingers that were squeezing the breath out of her. Tamsyn bent over her, smiling and panting. The next moment the smile was wiped off her face as Kyra kneed her in the stomach. Tamsyn’s grip loosened and Kyra broke free.

She dropped into a defensive stance, her head throbbing, her breath coming in painful gasps.

Tamsyn stood before her laughing in triumph, blade glowing in her hand. She had called her katari back, and it had obeyed. Too late, Kyra realized that she should have done the same.

The next moment seemed to stretch out forever. Kyra saw, as if in slow motion, the moving red slash that was Tamsyn’s blade, traveling toward her heart. She moved—oh so sluggishly!—to avoid the death-strike. She knew, even before the blade tore into her right side, that she had not been fast enough.

She fell to the floor and a deathly silence filled the hall. Kyra felt the wetness of blood seep into her robes, heard the rasp of her own breath. Then came the pain, a piercing, screaming pain that drove everything else from her mind. She opened her mouth and a single moan escaped her lips.

I have failed, Mother. I wasn’t good enough.

Her sight blurred. Was she dying already? Die then, get it over with. Anything was better than this terrible pain, this crushing weight on her chest, the bitter knowledge that it had all been for nothing. The last of her clan, and no one left to avenge them. Tears slid down her cheeks. She was crying. The final humiliation.

Footsteps. Tamsyn was walking toward her.

Kyra pressed her lips together, willing herself not to make a sound. She would not give Tamsyn the pleasure of her distress. A few minutes more, she thought. Hang in a few minutes more. The door of death would open; already, she could see it. A door like any other, except that there was no coming back. She closed her eyes and the pain dimmed.

Stay alive, Kyra.

Her eyes flew open. Who was that? Certainly not Tamsyn, whose smiling face now filled her vision.