A/n: hey, thanks for reading this. The first chapter is a little sparse but I just wanted to get it up. Hope you like and please review, even if you think it's sh*t. J

-LK

16th of June, 1695.

Ireland.

The forest was dark, with the flames of the destroyed fort blocked by age old trees. It was impossible to make out whether anyone was near. Saoirse wiped the sweat out of her eyes as she pulled Finntan along. The poor kid was in a bad way. His fingernails had been ripped out, and he was covered in burns and bruises. He had a broken arm which Saoirse had hastily wrapped as they escaped. They were running for the horses, tied up about three miles south. Five horses, one for each of the rescue team. Finn was to ride with her originally but the others were dead and she wasn't going to leave a perfectly good steed behind.

Explosions sounded behind them, as flames from the base tinted the January night orange. The noises of fighting were muffled by the trees. The shadows were thick, and Saoirse had to feel the air, just to avoid running into a tree. In her hurry, she didn't have much time to do anything but check right in front of her. That's why she didn't see anything until a figure clad in dark armour tackled her to the ground, knocking the air out of her.

The harsh sound of snapping arrows sounded beneath her, her quiver trapped between her back and the hard packed earth.

"Finntan, go! The horses!" she yelled deflecting a knife that would have opened up her neck with her gauntlet. Finn knew where they were tied up. She'd meet him there.

She rolled avoiding another stab. He pulled her hair. She bit his wrist. Aimed a punch. He blocked with the knife. Sliced right across her knuckles. Used the air to push him off, rolling onto her feet. She drew a dagger, coming at him again.

He sent a blast of energy at her. It struck her right arm, the stench of burning flesh filling her nose. She didn't feel the pain, but it was bad. She could tell that much.

He charged her and she hit the ground, kicking upwards. Her boot struck his groin. Hard.

She rose, quickly, her bleeding hand beginning to sting. A lot. Her attacker was on the ground. She grabbed him by the hair from behind, her knee braced against his back. Saoirse yanked back his head and slit his throat.

A twig snapped behind her. She whirled, the fire in her hands illuminating a scarred man with the council's crest on his chest plate, who stood 2 metres away. He had a limp figure slung over his shoulder, and a sword drawn.

His eyes fell on the council brand on her neck.

'Where are you headed?' Saoirse asked, her flames dimming to deflect attention. 'South. I have a rendezvous set up.' The scarred man replied, his eyes flitting to the woods around them. 'Care for company? I'm Saoirse.'

The man gave a quick nod. 'Backup is always helpful. I'm Ghastly.'

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