Page 68 of Artemysia
Their swords. I recognize them for their blue-cord wrapped handles, the deep blue of the King of the South. The ones the Academy provides now have an improved, brown-leather-wrapped handle.
“This band of Syf carries swords we had five years ago! But they have a defect and were confiscated. There’s a weakness in the tang that causes breakage with a hard hit.” The smith rushed the cooling process, and the metal was not hardened properly.
This was an issue in battle. When weapons failed, soldiers died.
I tell everyone they need to strike that spot on the tang over and over.
Another Syf charges at me, screaming. A proper hit on the defective sword she carries shatters the tang, and the blade breaks off. The Syf launches the handle at me in apparent frustration, but it’s an easy dodge.
Why are they using our old swords? Where did they get them? Did someone supply them, or…how else would they have come by them?
Riev is now fully conscious. A furious expression washes over him as he blinks rapidly and assesses the situation around him.
“Riev, their swords!”
He doesn’t listen to me.
Instead of going for the weakness in their weaponry, he plunges into an inhuman frenzy of speed and rage. He strikes with lethal efficiency at those we have disarmed, that soon Syf after Syf collapses around him.
His gray eyes glow with a turbulent fury. Vicious and brutal.
I’m shocked at the sudden change, though I saw it at Limingfrost. In the war room, the colonels called him a death machine, and I am reminded why he is met with both fright and reverence. He chases and cuts down any who try to escape. His blade must be dulled by now, but he carries on as if he will never tire.
We’ve already taken down about two dozen, but Riev eliminates the rest. Incredibly, the rest of the Syf heads roll at his hand. He collapses on the forest floor again, slumping to his side. Ivy races to him.
“He’s breathing, but his head injury needs tending,” she says.
“Throg, can you get him on his elk?” I step over the headless corpses around me.
So much death. I’m sick from fright and adrenaline, sick from the coppery scent of spilled blood running like small rivers around us.
Throg hauls Riev onto his elk, and we hurry through the woods in silence, fear and disbelief seizing our voices. Only the sounds of the evening forest breach our ears. Crickets, owls, tree frogs.
It’s unbelievable that we made it out of that fight alive. With a shaky breath, I lead the others using Riev’s bloodied map, hoping his directions are accurate. I aim for the caves, our last chance for shelter tonight.
“Don’t you dare start screaming in the dark with me.” - Riev
At the mouth of the cave system, Riev regains consciousness. I barely have time to help him to his feet when he shouts—
“Duck, Delphine.” His voice is rough as he shoves me aside protectively in time to dive between me and a single Syf charging out of the woods.
Throg and Ivy have already led their elk through the small crack in the large rock formation amongst the trees. They’re safe inside the cave.
Riev lunges at the lone Syf.
He carves his dagger across her abdomen, as effortlessly as slicing open a sack of grain, but she doesn’t slow even as she bleeds. They both whirl around with footwork faster than I can understand, but he somehow ends up behind her.
With a lethal, horizontal swing, her head is off. It lands near the stump of a fallen oak.
But Riev doesn’t stop there.
Whether out of rage or disgust or simply retaliation, he looms over her body, hacking her to pieces with his sword like a butcher chopping meat.
“That’s enough! Riev, stop it!”
As always, he ignores my order.
He didn’t listen to me before in the clearing and almost got himself killed, and he doesn’t listen now in his blind fury. He’s using both dagger and sword, one in each fist.
