Page 96 of New World

Andri stumbled to the back entrance of the last hut. Splaying his hand against the white wall near a window, he registered the two headstones nearby and the mounds they protected. He wiped the sweat from his burning eyes, staring at them. Once this was over, he would dig them up. He would show his brother there was not such things as ghosts.

A sound inside the hut pulled his attention. A slow smile of satisfaction rose inside him. Finally, he had found where one ghost was hiding.

He waited, using the cover of the battle to hide the sound of him pulling open the broken window. He slid his leg over, ignoring the way the red dust and chalky white paint stained his uniform. Twisting, he caught a faded blue dress, fingering the material before he dropped it to the floor.

He winced when his boots crunched over glass. The continuing sound of blasting told him that whoever was in the other room was unaware of his presence. Andri smiled, extended the Staff again, and stepped out of the bedroom toward the noise.

This is how you kill ghosts, brother.

Dorane stiffened when he heard the soft crunch of glass. He fired several shots of his blaster at two soldiers pinned down across from him. In the shadows, he could see Kella moving up behind them. He sheathed his depleted pistol and pulled his father’s Gallant Staff from his waist, extending it as he moved along the cabinets to the corner where the kitchen opened up.

He lifted the Staff just in time, deflecting a blow that would have killed him. A large hole opened in the wall to his right just before he blocked the swing of a Gallant Staff. Dorane’s eyes widened with surprise before they narrowed when he recognized Andri.

Andri smiled. “You should have died with the rest of them.”

Dorane’s grip tightened on his weapon, straining as Andri pushed back on him.

“I was the one who gave the order to raze this village,” Andri continued, letting the words sink in, letting them dig deep. “I remember killing your family, your parents most of all. They were the first Knights of the Gallant I killed. The first is always so sweet, don’t you think?”

Dorane’s breath hitched.

Andri smirked. “They were an example. You were supposed to die too. But you were too afraid. You ran and hid, leaving your brother and sister to die on the floor alone.”

“I’m going to enjoy killing you,” Dorane growled.

Andri’s sneer curled his lips. “With your father’s Staff. A weapon that you know nothing about?”

“I don’t need it to kill you.”

Dorane pushed the vivid images of his brother and sister lying lifeless on the floor in the other room from his mind. He would not let Andri into his headspace. Instead, he struck out with the cold, deadly purpose of ending this battle once and for all.

Andri met him head-on, their Gallant Staffs clashing with a crack of energy.

“You didn’t think your parents were the only Knights, did you? Coleridge and I were trained, too. That’s how we knew exactly who to eliminate. I was a Gallant Knight before you were even born,” Andri mocked, blocking Dorane’s blows. “I was one of the elite Knights.”

“That was a long time ago… old man,” Dorane hissed.

Their weapons clashed in a violent dance, dust and debris swirling around them. Dorane fell back a step, blocking a series of powerful moves. He gritted his teeth as Andri kept countering him. He swung low, trying to slip under Andri’s Staff when a powerful blow to his side sent him flying out the open front door.

His breath hissed out of him when he hit the hard ground. His father’s Staff flew from his hand, landing several feet away. Dorane scooted back along the ground, his boot sliding against the compact, pebble and sand soil. His hand went to his side. Warm blood flowed between his fingers, and his side burned like hell.

He glared up at Andri’s satisfied expression.

“One down,” Andri declared.

Dorane lifted his chin, his eyes blazing with hatred as Andri lifted the Staff in his hands to fire a powerful bolt into his chest. His eyes widened when the Staff was knocked to the side and a small, deadly woman stood in front of Andri.

A bemused smile curved Dorane’s lips when he saw how Andri froze. He rolled to the side, his fingers stretching for his father’s Staff while his eyes remained locked on the dance in front of him.

He recognized the moment when Andri realized he was up against someone better than him. Mei struck, again and again. She had traded the Gallant Staff for a long, curved sword. Her movements were graceful, beautiful, as the blade sliced through the air.

“No,” Andri snarled, slashing at her again, harder, more desperately.

But Mei was effortless. She parried, her movements precise, patient, her body fluid, her arms flowing in a language that Dorane wanted to learn, to know. She spoke then, serenely, as she littered his body with tiny cuts.

“You are nothing but a failed tyrant. You think yourself chosen,” she murmured, countering him with unshakable calm. “But you are nothing but a man drowning in his own madness.”

Her blade cut deep.

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