Seventh Stroke – Bloody Mixing
Outwardly the village was nothing remarkable. It was a double ring of houses backed against a fairly steep hill in the midst of decent, but not great, farmland. Wheat, barley, and other crops rose high in the summer sun, and cattle and sheep grazed on steep pastures above on the hillside. A fairly defensible place, as villages went, but otherwise nothing notable.
Yet it was wrong, totally wrong. The reek of yoma fairly flooded out from the village, lying everywhere thick in the air, hideous and clinging, a soapy fragrance coating everything, as if the whole world had been bathed in yoma blood. Sylvia could almost see purple tinges at the edges of her vision, it was so forceful.
This makes no sense, she cringed as they approached the village. It feels like a nest, but that cannot be. Nests were a sad facet of reality; whole villages consumed and replaced by yoma so they became malignant cesspits until some merchant group mustered the ruinous price to have the organization clean it out. Sylvia had experienced that a few times, but it should not be now. A nest clearing was a team operation for all but the very best Claymores, which she was not. Only Tyrin was with her now. Luny would not send me against a nest alone, he would not. She was sure of that much, even though she was never completely certain of the man in black's goodwill. Nevertheless, she trusted that he would not waste her life so pointlessly or obviously. Something is very wrong.
The Claymore was good at concealing her moods and emotions from everything, so it surprised Tyrin when she stopped suddenly some distance from the village. "What is it?" Tyrin asked uncertainly. "You don't intend to try keeping me back again do you? I thought we'd finished with that."
"No," Sylvia replied, whispering without realizing it. "It's nothing about you, but there's something wrong here."
"Something wrong?" Tyrin gave the village a cool look. "Nothing special about this place to me…" she hesitated. "Though…now that I think about it, there aren't as many men in the fields as you might expect."
As a Claymore Sylvia's gauge on such aspects of human life was poor, but she had come to recognize Tyrin's insight in such matters as highly accurate. It was something she'd learned as a soldier, to notice things out of the ordinary. "Why might that be?" she asked, searching for an explanation, any explanation that might explain the incomprehensible situation she sensed.
"There could be a thousand reasons," the soldier replied matter-of-factly. "Sickness over the winter, bandit depredation, or even a festival this evening. And people might just cluster together and stay in their homes if there's yoma about. Why do you think something's wrong?"
"My senses don't match what I was told to expect. One yoma or two," that had been what Luny informed her. "The evidence of their presence is far too strong, there's yoki energy everywhere it's like…" she struggled, and then a bit of memory tripped again as she turned to look at Tyrin. "It's like the day I met you."
"What?" there was a very nasty look, part shock and part anger, on her face at that pronouncement.
"It is," Sylvia was suddenly sure of it, everything matched up, and it was too close a match to be coincidence. This is not random, she realized, and cold trepidation birthed deep within her. For now though, she dared not carry the thought any further. Instead, she needed to find a way to complete the task she had been given. "That time I felt yoki everywhere, because the yoma had been walking about the town openly, in its true shape, not hidden as a human. This is the same. That means there are people here conditioned to fight with the yoma."
"Damn," Tyrin hissed. Then, turning to Sylvia with a very serious expression, she met the Claymore's silver eyes. "We should turn back."
"Turn back?" Sylvia could barely believe it.
Tyrin's expression never wavered. "Turn back, yes. We don't know what's in there, how many men, how many yoma, there's no idea. If this is some yoma, or worse, some bandit, who heard about what happened before, I'm sure, sure, he's made it worse. More men, more yoma, something, something to make it more dangerous, and we're the same as before."
"I cannot turn back, even if I wish to," Sylvia spoke distantly, carefully, making sure there was no malice in her voice. "The assignment was given; to refuse it would be an act of desertion."
"Desertion? The situation has changed!" Tyrin was vehement. "Walking in there is like taking a unit into a place you know there's an ambush set and not taking any precautions beforehand. It's not desertion to turn around and get more information first!"
"Tyrin, please," Sylvia admonished as gently as she could, for it was not the other woman's fault. "For me, it would be desertion. A job, once given, must be attempted. There are no exceptions, otherwise we would always run, for who would willingly go looking for yoma? I can retreat if defeated in the face of the enemy, but there is no way to avoid going into that village for me today." Sylvia paused, and considered something. Tyrin is in many ways right, she thought darkly. Forewarned is not forearmed here, this may well be a death trap. She forced herself not to sigh, and spoke the horribly hard words; she had never expected it to be so hard to say. "I have to go, but you can stay here, I won't hold it against you. My rules don't bind you. I'll handle things myself, if I can, or if it is beyond my abilities I'll try to retreat. You do not need to risk your life like this."
The human woman stepped back as if she'd been slapped. She was silent for a long breath, her face transforming into a hideous glower. When she spoke at last her voice was taught with enforced control. "Do you think I would abandon you now, after all the nights and all the jobs of these past months just because it finally gets really bad? I'm not that weak Sylvia, don't think I am."
"I apologize," Sylvia interjected, and meant it, though she desperately hoped Tyrin had not been speaking from her pride then. "I don't think you are like that," and she didn't, surprising as it was to accept a human would stand by you in such a fashion. "But I had to make the offer."
"Alright," it was at best partial forgiveness.
"However," the Claymore petitioned the human. "If you are so opposed to go into this, but we have to go anyway, what should we do?"
Tyrin slowly sat down, in the middle of the battered road. "We need some kind of tactic," she said quickly. "Thing is, I was never good at that part. Lead a group of men to take an objective for sure, but besiege a town, that's too much for me."
Sylvia squatted beside her companion, thinking carefully. She suspected her own abilities in this area where not great either. Killing yoma was about force, and individual swordplay. Her kind only rarely worked in teams, and they weren't all that good at it. Besides, she'd never been a team leader anyway. "What's the first step?" she tried to prompt their minds along a pathway.
"Well, we should look at it from the opponent's perspective; try to figure out what they want to do."
This made sense to Sylvia, and she considered, thinking both on the village ahead, and the one long past, where this had happened before. "They want to kill me," she told Tyrin with sudden certainty. "It's a trap to kill the hunter who comes."
"A trap, right, a trap," Tyrin mumbled. "That makes a kind of sense. Lure you in with obvious evidence of yoma and then hit with humans you can't kill. Okay," she nodded her head slowly and tapped the ground with her armored fingers. Sylvia guessed the soldier was recalling old lessons. "With a trap you've either got to avoid springing it or spring it so it hits what you want it to, and not what they want it to. It'll have to be the second since we can't avoid going into the village, but how…"
Sylvia thought about it as well, wondering, and seeing no obvious solution. The trap requires a Claymore enter the village, and there's no way to avoid that. I have to do that job. She looked at Tyrin, and had a wistful thought. Pity she can't kill yoma, she'd have no trouble with this then, since she'd just cut through the humans.
Cut through the humans…
Sylvia stood up suddenly, surprised at what had just entered her head, not really believing. She looked at Tyrin carefully, and saw again what she had seen before, long ago, a thing she had tucked away in her memory. She could almost be one of us.
"We can switch places," she told the surprised human warrior.
"What?" Tyrin clearly didn't understand Sylvia's sudden inspiration.
"I need you to be me," Sylvia explained, keeping her voice steady. "They want to trap a Claymore, not a half-human half-yoma. Humans can't sense yoki, so they won't have any innate way to tell. If they try to trap you, then they'll have hit the wrong target."
"Maybe," Tyrin admitted. "But how much difference will that make? Any sizeable group of men can overwhelm me. Besides, how could I pretend to be you? I don't have silver eyes."
"True, but everything else matches, and the eyes cannot be seen from a distance," Sylvia noted, convinced at this point that it would indeed work. "You have gray eyes, not brown or green, the difference will not be obvious, and probably these men have never seen one of us before."
"Okay, but there's still going to be yoma, and I can't take all this on myself." Tyrin grimaced. "I'll have to have your sword to complete the disguise, so how will you do anything?"
"I'll use yours," Sylvia answered, anticipating this question. "You've taught me to use it well enough, and though it's not the best for killing yoma, I can use it so. All that will be needed are a few moments of surprise."
"You'll use mine?" Tyrin's eyes went wide. "Well, I suppose you could at that, but where's that leave me? You can fight with my sword, but I can't fight with yours."
Sylvia paused a moment, considering that point. Such a thing was very true. In point of fact it probably was impossible for Tyrin to so much as draw the blade from its back holster, a maneuver that required tremendous strength and some practice to accomplish. Despite this, Sylvia hesitated to abandon the idea, it seemed so workable otherwise. There must be another weapon besides our two swords. Then she remembered.
"Here," Sylvia reached down among the pieces of her hip armor and pulled out two small objects. They were slender daggers, lightly curved, and sparkly with brand new shine when Sylvia pulled them from their sheaths.
Tyrin reached out to take the small weapons with careful fingers, sliding her nail along one edge, taking its measure. "These blades have never been used before," she said with confidence. "How long have you had them?"
"As long as I've had the sword," Sylvia answered, somewhat surprised at herself when she said it, but that was the truth. "I simply have never needed them. They are useless to kill yoma with; we are only issued them because apparently there were accidents long ago. It's just so we can have an emergency weapon in case our swords break."
"You've really never had to use them?" Tyrin appeared unconvinced. "Seems a bit too lucky."
"There's always been something else better available," Sylvia shrugged. "I killed a yoma with a shovel once. Even that can manage more force than those. Still, would they work for you?"
Tyrin passed the blades from hand to hand, slowly. "The balance is good, and they are very sharp. For a few moments it would do, but I still don't like this plan. There's too many risks."
There was a dark look on the warrior's face, and Sylvia felt her convictions waver. The risks were real, she could not ignore that. It took only a moment's imagination to see how this deception could turn into a disaster. But is there any better choice? She could not see it if so. Surprise is valuable, and this will be the last thing they expect. Yet, for all that she wished to make the attempt Sylvia knew she had no right to force things over Tyrin's objections. "If you are unwilling we can try to come up with a better idea, but I do not see it."
"No, damn it, let's do it, I guess," Tyrin barked, her emotions bleeding into her words. "I'm just afraid I'm going to get skewered. I'm used to fighting in armor you know, not all exposed like that. Will your outfit even fit me anyway?"
"The fabric will stretch," Sylvia knew that for certain. "You are not so much bigger than me to tear it. I think the same size fits almost all of us."
"My armor won't fit you properly you know," the soldier admonished. "I had it made for me alone. I can maybe tighten the straps some, but it's not going to be ideal. "
"I'll manage," Sylvia had considered saying she would simply forgo the armor, but she had a vague sense that Tyrin wouldn't allow her to borrow only the sword and shield. It might, she reflected, even be a bit useful in case of arrows and bolts.
"Okay then, let's do this before I lose my nerve." Tyrin shuffled off the road into the wheat field that bordered it. There, covered from prying eyes by the tall grass, she began to strip off her armor.
The Claymore mirrored the human's actions with an odd sense of foreboding. They had so far managed to avoid seeing each other naked despite all the traveling together. It was not clear why, as neither of them were particular modest, it was not something either the organization's or a soldier's training would allow one to retain. Nevertheless, to wear each others clothes felt like the breach of some kind of barrier that had previously existed and been honored without any need for words.
It cannot simply be disguising myself, Sylvia admonished herself. I've pretended to be human before. So why? Her thoughts spun about for a moment before settling on a possibility. Perhaps, though I have masked my yoma side before I have never pretended to be someone else who is truly a person. I am not Tyrin, is it right for a half-human half-yoma to pretend to such a thing? With long practiced control she pushed those thoughts away. It was something to worry about after dealing with this troubling situation, not now.
Tyrin passed Sylvia the fabric undergarment to her armor without looking at her, obviously avoiding the sight of her front side. Sylvia regretted that, but understood it, for who would want to look on such a thing? Slowly she stepped into the garment, finding it rougher than her own uniform, and somewhat loose as well, but not uncomfortable.
With only the base white piece on the warrior approached Sylvia. "I'll help you put my armor on first. It's complicated and I'd rather not try it after having put all yours on."
Sylvia nodded, and piece by piece they put together the plate armor. It took some time, and involved more buckles and clasps than Sylvia had realized. She admired how quickly Tyrin was able to go through this process each morning, for it took much longer this time. At the end, with great reluctance, the soldier passed over the sword and shield, buckling swordbelt into place and strapping on the rounded protection. Sylvia, standing motionless as it all went on, noted a curious expression on her companion's face when she proffered the helmet, the very last piece.
"What is it?" the Claymore asked.
"It's just, well, I hadn't realized how much of it was the uniform," Tyrin seemed slightly ashamed. "Even with it not fitting quite right, the way you are now makes you look almost…normal."
"What?" it was a whisper of surprise. Sylvia looked down at the steel plated arms and legs, trying to see what Tyrin saw, but unable to take it all in.
Then the human warrior held up one of her shoulder pauldrons so Sylvia could see her own reflection. "I…" she was speechless, and something in her own image bent. She had worn a disguise before, when hiding her true nature, but never something so different, never without the end of the sword over her shoulder. Looking at that reflection, it was possible, if only for the most flickering of impressions, to imagine that she was no longer half-human half-yoma, no longer what men called a Claymore.
Yoki stirred deep within, and the illusion dissipated, leaving only sadness behind. It is in fact a lie, Sylvia realized in that heart wrenching moment, and forbid herself to cry. The uniform might be gone, but that uniform is what I really am. This is only a fiction, doomed to fade.
"You all set?" Tyrin's question broke the reverie. "You can move about okay and everything? Better make sure, plate armor can take some getting used to."
It was practical advice, and Sylvia made a point to follow it, shuffling about a bit and seeing how she could move. The armor clattered noisily as parts slipped against each other, and it was somewhat restricting, but not greatly. She ruled out acrobatics, but otherwise everything appeared acceptable. "I suppose it's your turn then," Sylvia told Tyrin.
It was much faster to slip on the various pieces of a Claymore's armor and gear to Tyrin than it had been to put on the soldier's armor. Much of it was done by Tyrin herself, without any need for assistance, though Sylvia had to lift up and place the sword on carefully.
Tyrin took a few experimental steps, wobbly. "Grr, my balance is all screwed up," she muttered. "This damn sword of yours is too heavy."
"Will you be alright?" Sylvia asked, uncertain as she saw how off the other woman's usually very supple movements were. The difference in weight distribution bothered her little because of her strength, but obviously such could not be said for one who lacked it.
"I'll manage," Tyrin groused, clanking about. "Though it would help if I could dump the sword quick if it comes to fighting."
"If you rip off the clasp in the center everything will fall away," Sylvia explained quickly. "You'll lose the sword, but also the shoulder guards."
"Worth it," the soldier decided aloud. Then she added, "You know, I feel awfully exposed wearing this thing," she ran her hands down the taught white garment. "It's almost well…vulgar."
Sylvia laughed briefly, but it was bitter. Tyrin had a point, and it led to unpleasant thoughts about why the uniform was indeed designed in such a fashion. "Bear with it, please." It was better not to broach such topics.
"Right," the soldier grimaced but shrugged. "So how do we do this then? I go in from the front and draw their attention and then what?"
"I'll dash up and in along the left side," Sylvia pointed up to the village. "There's a hedgerow there I can use for cover to approach."
"So then you attack the yoma, I try to stay alive, and then what?"
"Hopefully they'll run from us then," Sylvia offered. "It happened last time."
"And if they don't?" Tyrin was not convinced.
"Then we run," Sylvia decided. "Human fighters aren't part of the job. Without yoma to help them I'm sure I can cover your escape."
"Got it," the soldier's conviction returned. "Well then, let's not waste any more time and get too it."
"Very well," Sylvia answered. "I promise you, I will be there. I mean it." She truly hoped Tyrin believed her, believed enough in a half-human half-yoma to know she wouldn't be left behind.
"Of course you will," Tyrin's reply was swift, but Sylvia could not be sure it was devoid of doubt, and she knew that they still did not trust each other.
Sylvia watched with much trepidation as the soldier advanced upon the village, moving up the road in an effective mirror of her own, regular walking pace. From behind there was absolutely nothing to indicate that she was not a Claymore. Only the lack of any sensation of yoki served that purpose. It is funny, Sylvia recognized. Only my inhuman side allows me to know that she is a human.
Slowly she followed, moving across the road and into a field of barley as she advanced up to the village some distance behind Tyrin. The separation was tense, but not so much as it might have been for another human. With her speed the distance could be closed in moments, so Sylvia was only a little worried. More she hoped the overall plan would be successful.
Tyrin reached the edge of the buildings at the moment Sylvia reached the hedgerow. From there it was no longer possible to see.
I must move quickly, Sylvia told herself, dashing along the green wall and in among the buildings. Suppress my own yoki, make certain I can't be noticed. She reached the edge of the half-timber buildings to the first stirrings of a raucous from the village. It's beginning, I have to move! She recognized now that speed was essential, or Tyrin might end up dead in a mishap and the whole plan be ruined. I have to find the yoki, even in all this messy saturation; I must identify the yoma now! It was not easy, with the residue of their activity everywhere picking out the yoma would be unusually difficult, and Sylvia was no expert reader of yoki. She wasn't the worst, but merely average. Now though, she needed to be better.
"Well, well, look what came to call," a loud, smug voice called from where Tyrin had gone.
Sylvia leapt from one building to another, grimacing at the clatter the armor made of the movement, but thankfully all was covered by a loud chorus of jeers.
From there, on the inner ring of buildings, the Claymore could at last see everything.
Tyrin stood at the edge of the central square, her head downcast. A half ring of men surrounded her, all with spears, and ready to strike. Behind them the square was filled with a loose gaggle of men with mismatched bows and crossbows. Three men stood in the middle, and they had made one key mistake in their otherwise excellent setup. They were unarmed.
Sylvia didn't even need to read the yoki then, she was already acting before she gained assurance from her extra sense. She charged forward across the rooftop, ripping the sword free, feeling its true weight for the first time, so different from the sticks she and Tyrin had always practiced with; not daring their emotions with real blades. It was a comforting heftiness, powerful and filled with killing strength.
"Come on, look up little one," one of the yoma laughed, still in human form. "Or are you too ashamed that we got you?"
"You guessed wrong!" Sylvia shouted, letting her anger rip free as she leapt of the roof of the building. Heads turned to match her voice, but they were too late to react as she came down with brutal speed, slamming the sword through the skull of the first yoma.
Two more, I have to move! Sylvia struck out with her left arm, using the shield to push the already dead body, its skull in two ragged pieces, off her sword and to its companion, already changing into its true form.
"What's happening!" someone shouted.
Out of the corner of her eye Sylvia saw Tyrin explode into motion. The human woman pulled both daggers and jumped inside spear points in a deft spin. Two men went down and Tyrin dropped away the Claymore's sword only to come up with a spear before Sylvia could not spare even the barest bit of her attention anymore.
The yoma closest to her fielded the sprawling corpse of its fellow and tossed it aside, using both hands, a big mistake.
Sylvia seized the opening this offered. She plunged forward, and speared the yoma in the stomach with a quick thrust, a simple move from the shorter blade, but clearly not one the demon had expected.
The creature started to laugh, for it had not been pierced in a fatal place, but Sylvia was not done. She put her shield arm under her right hand and with all her strength ripped upward.
Purple blood coated the blade as it pulled free leaving a massive hideous gash in the yoma.
Recognizing the danger of his foe the final yoma tried to circumvent the problem entirely. He simply grabbed her sword with his left arm. Sylvia let him, recognizing the mistake immediately. She blocked the right hand with shield and shoulder, feeling the blow to her bones, but unharmed. Then she jumped up, striking the yoma's left arm with her shield, freeing the sword once more.
Quickly and easily she took off his head.
Sylvia's attention snapped from narrowed to wide again as the yoma fell. With a simple shift of the shield she blocked a panicked crossbow bolt. "Foolish," she hissed, pinning the man, little more than a boy, who had made the attempt beneath a silver glare.
Within inhumanly swift strides she bore down on the youth, and then made a second surprising discovery about using Tyrin's gear. A Claymore's sword was not easy to use on a human without inflicting a lethal wound, but a one-armed shield combined with half-human half-yoma strength could shatter shoulders and render a foe unable to fight with a single move.
Sylvia spun about, moving swiftly through the chaotic fray as men dropped their bows, held them taking desperate aim, or managed the occasional shot. Her vision sought out Tyrin then.
The human warrior stood unscathed, slashing about with a stolen spear at men who did not dare close with her. Sylvia recognized that these men, whoever they were, could not be true soldiers. They had been told no Claymore would attack them, and faced with someone who would, someone of greater skill than their own, they had not the will to fight.
Chaos enveloped the square as some men fought, some men ran, and some simply collapsed in place, throwing down weapons and gear. Carefully but quickly Sylvia made her way through the disorganized fray, laying about her against anyone who approached and blocking the occasional random missile, to meet up with Tyrin.
Striking and shifting with her borrowed spear the soldier moved with practiced care, but not the usual grace of her swordplay. It was easy to tell she was not a master of the longer weapon. "Here," Sylvia lightly tossed the purple-bloodied sword back to her companion. "I can make do with the shield."
Tyrin caught the blade with ease, dropping the spear away, and spinning about to run a man through without stopping. Most everyone else now fled, unwilling or unable to stand before the tandem of Claymore and human. "Let's mop this up," the soldier grunted, moving to Sylvia's side.
"Indeed," she nodded.
What followed was decidedly unpleasant, as the two rushed through those who fled and struck them down. Sylvia inflicted no lethal blows, but Tyrin dealt out more than her share, putting down any wounded man who dared try to stand or hold a weapon. The soldier's face was grim but focused, and Sylvia thought she understood. These men had dared to side with yoma, and so there could be no mercy. They would have to escape or die. No prisoners would be taken.
Despite this, Sylvia found it oddly sickening to be involved in such a fight. Turning her force against humans was a very foreign thing to her, never before had she done so en masse in this fashion. To let people die was one thing, but to act in this manner seemed to skirt the edge of her conscience. It was not that she had sympathy for these wretches, only that somehow, someway, it felt that a killer of yoma should not dirty her hands with humanity. Unable to come to any swift solution in the midst of combat the Claymore simply pushed the thoughts away, resolving not to think or worry on it for present. More important matters pressed.
The end came in silence, as everyone had either managed to flee, perished, or slunk away to nurse their wounds out of sight. What remained was a grim scene, filled with broken bodies and human and yoma blood mixing foully in the center of the village.
"I'm not sure if this qualifies as a battle," Tyrin mused morbidly as she looked over the tableau. "But it sure matches a battlefield."
Stubbornly Sylvia squelched the hideous impulse to count the dead. That was not important, only the three yoma bodies were meaningful. She focused on those, avoiding the human remains. Dead yoma did not make her feel anything; it was much easier to accept.
"What do we do now?" Tyrin wondered aloud. "This isn't like any of the other jobs. Maybe we should pile them up and burn them?" It was a modestly charitable impulse, considering the circumstances.
"No," Sylvia said, feeling anger at last, and recognizing what must happen. "Leave them."
"But-" Tyrin spread her bloodstained hands, the once white garments now well and fully rust colored.
"I know," Sylvia shook her head. She was well aware that few people seemed to remain in this town, and those were terrified, not stirring even now to examine what had happened. Left alone the bodies could well rot and fester, spreading pestilence. Even so, her resolve backed by cold and cruel anger, anger not yoma in origin, but fully human, was firm. "I want to make certain he sees this, so he doesn't shrug it off."
Tyrin blinked rapidly, and then nodded. She had gleaned more than a little about how things went between Claymore and organization as they traveled together. "All right," she answered simply. "I don't like it, but since it's your job, its your choice."
My responsibility indeed, Sylvia acknowledged, feeling slightly sick about it. "People!" she shouted in her loudest voice, making certain it carried. "I have fulfilled the request to kill the yoma in this village! You now owe the price of three yoma! I suspect you cannot pay. Negotiate as you can with the man in black who comes, or flee this place. That is all!"
"What happens if they don't pay?" Tyrin questioned. "Everyone else has so far."
"Nothing immediately," Sylvia replied. "But in the future no request will be answered, no matter what happens." She shook her head again, thinking on what was likely to happen to this little village that surely had lost all its riches to those who sided with the yoma. "Yoma seem to find out about that pretty quickly. Villages die soon after." Hopefully these people will have the good sense to leave this place, Sylvia thought. I have given my warning, I can do no more.
"That's cold-blooded," Tyrin sighed. "But, it's business I guess. I've done my time as a mercenary too, and when the money runs out the unit preserves its own first. 'Suppose that's just how it goes."
"Let's go," Sylvia said, not wanting to spend any more time in this ruin of a village. The death and yoki residue was a foul concoction to her senses. "We need to get cleaned off and changed." Forcing a bit of levity she added. "I think this armor of yours will start chaffing if I stay in it too long."
"It might," Tyrin offered half a smile, but her energy was simply not in the jest, and the pair marched out of the village in silence, neither one desiring or daring to look back on it.
Sylvia was left only with one overriding thought to brood upon. If this happened twice, it is going to happen again. This is not an ending.
Notes: The daggers Sylvia gives to Tyrin are intended to be the same as the ones Clare used in the Rabona incident. I'm making an assumption that such weapons are issued to all Claymores but they only get used on rather irregular occasions.
