Chapter 10 A Battle Breaks More than Bones

Ishmael had caught up to Amatria afterwards, his arm still shook at the memory of holding her.

"Amatria!" He called after her, but she did not turn around. "Amatria!" He tried his luck once more. But she did not acknowledge him.

Running faster down the stairs, he reached her and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. And like a snake, she pounced on him. His elbow and shoulder were near dislocation, and a knife pressed against his neck causing his very body to be afraid to breath, lest the air move his skin a hairline further.

And the recognition came over her instantaneously, and she let him go, her face impassive once more.

"I apologize, Ishmael, and I thank you for saving my life."

His heart broke for her, perhaps even more than it was. He took many lives for her today, and then took some more, bearing her weight for her. But he would gladly do it again and again. He wished so desperately, that he bore her pain.

"Amatria, you told me you were not alright."

"I was not, and I am not. I will be."

Ishmael gently took her hand in his, the knife still grasped tightly. He drew circles on the wrist, slowly making her palm open up, and the knife slipped into his hand. Carefully, he put the blade back, and looked into her eyes again.

"You can tell me anything, Amatria."

"Not this." Her swift reply.

"What makes you think that?"

"What do you see me as? What did you say this morning with the rose? That I was the most honorable, beautiful, courageous woman you had ever met. And the most intelligent. I am none of those, Ishmael, I am broken, corrupted, incredibly stupid, and ugly. That is my soul, not my face or whatever you perceive me as."

"You cannot believe so." His voice was soft, daring to think of the horrors she faced.

"You wish to hear my past. Perhaps then you will understand, perhaps then you will see the truth behind me."

She grasped his hand, pulling him into her quarters, and untying her armor. She was left in only her black underclothes. Form fitting, leaving little to the imagination as it covered her entire frame. He followed suit, untying his armor, sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting for her to continue. Crawling in, she glanced at him, looking years younger than he had ever seen her before.

Could it be? That this strong woman, Amatria, his hero, could be more than just a little broken.

"I used to dance, Ishmael. But you knew this. Those history books you are fond of, I know once labeled me as the best dancer in the Du Weldonvarden forests." She looked at him, "I was afraid, Ishmael, that when you read one of those more recent books, you would come and ask about my past. And you never did, and so, perhaps from then on, I had been grateful to you."

"I did read that, but I had heard about you long before, Amatria. There was not one who did not know your name. Some forgot, but I never did."

A hint of a smile threatened to grace her lips, and he became even more captivated with her.

"I was performing in Ellesmera, or at least about to when I met him. Yasel." The name made her shudder. "And I foolishly fell in love with him. He courted me for no more than a few days when I became enthralled with him, and it did not take long for us to consummate our love. I was foolish, so utterly naïve with him. I should have seen the signs, he wanted to protect his mind from me, wanted to keep me away, and 'practice' his common tongue so he may trade. He did not come from a well do to family. A simple elf from humble backgrounds. I was stupid not to see it, I was far too trusting. I hung on to his every word. It continued for a while, and I realized I was pregnant. I was ecstatically happy, and so was he, until he realized I wanted to stop dancing for it. Dancing made us money, and I told him it was not safe to dance during an Elven pregnancy, and to continue after would mean to travel from place to place, never giving our child a proper home, never settling down to grow up. And he hated the idea. He became enraged, he had no money saved up, and no intention of ever settling down. No intention of ever making his own way, only to follow mine. He then began to talk in the Ancient Language, and I realized he lusted after my success, not me. And he was angry. I left, determined to raise the child on my own, but that never happened."

She paused in the story, tears flowing more freely now. Her pain coming through, her internal hell coming through.

She huddled closer together, the chill of a breeze from a draft in the ceiling causing her to shudder, and instantly he was there. Ishmael came next to her, gently persuading her to lean against him. She pulled the comforter closer, over both of them, as she let an arm of his keep her warm.

"You do not have to continue if you do not wish to, Amatria. I will not force you into anything."

She shook her head, "Nay, you should know, know why you had to save my life today, know why you risked yours. I have killed before, Ishmael, and you should know why it is so hard for me to do so again."

Taking a deep breath, her soft voice filled the chamber again.

"I was in my second trimester of pregnancy. I was doing well for myself. Instead of dancing, I began to compose music, choreograph, be behind the scenes, but Yasel was not through with me. I was in the mountain bluffs that day, and after arguments and arguments, he found me to argue again. Claiming the right to be a part of my success because of my child…our child. I wanted nothing to do with him, and I turned my back on him. A mistake, a foolish, foolish mistake. He came at me with a knife, and stabbed me, stabbed our child, and I felt the life in me drain away. I felt my baby die, Ishmael, and I have never forgiven myself for it. Enraged, I took the knife out of me, the pain and the blood falling everywhere, and I thrust it in his heart, I looked into his eyes, and I killed him, I watched the realization that he would die just as my child did, and I watched him die. He fell off the cliff, and I made no move to stop him. I fell to the ground, unable to move. And then I heard some shouts and screams, a black stone came hurtling down my way, to the cliffs, towards me. I threw out a hand, unsure as to why, and stopped it. A crack appeared, then another, and the entire egg shell came apart. Bursting in hundreds of pieces. A small furry animal came into my eyes, and I touched it. The pain was excruciating, but I touched it. A light seemed to surround me, and I woke up, a few days later, the knife wound gone with no mark, as well as my child. A memory of Yasel, and Ladrimme in my lap. It was then I heard the story of children playing a trick on the dragon egg courier, and running away with an egg. Fate made Ladrimme come to me. I was not going to waste another minute in a land I hated, a land with a man capable of taking my child away from me. On the next ship, I left to train."

Ishmael was humbled by her story, and unsure of what to say, he apologized over and over again.

"Hush, Ishmael. It was not you."

"I feel responsible for even bringing up such a painful memory."

"Do not."

Amatria was quiet for a while, "I hated taking Yasel's life, and today, when I had him by the throat, I could not do it. I kept thinking of that day, and how I was less of a person than whoever was in front of me. And I could not kill him, I could not save myself, just as I could not save my child."

New tears flooded her eyes, and Ishmael tried his best to keep them away, but to no avail. Instead, he just held her, tighter and tighter, mourning her lost innocence in a world that should have cherished her, and cursing Yasel's name. But he could not stop her tears, only hold her, and finally sing to her, as if he were singing a black Baracca rose, until she fell asleep, a death grip on him.

He could not leave, and he would not dare leave her ever again. Almost, he almost wished he would have pushed Yasel off that cliff, almost wished he protected her, and he found her. But then he knew, she would have gone as far away from him as possible, far away from her morbid past, and he would never have had another chance with her.

Ishmael looked down on her, the tears had dried, and she swayed softly into his chest, and soon even that movement stopped. Amatria had fallen asleep, the cold hearted Elven Rider had fallen asleep in his arms, And he was glad for once, that she chose to share her secret with him, glad that walls of stone finally made a gate for him.

The horn resounded faintly in the distance, and before he fell asleep, he registered that battle preparations had been ceased for the night. Their mission was successful, the leader had been assassinated, they came with no substantial injuries, and the dragons had proven to be a highly effective method against them.

The large wail of the horn pulled Thane out of his slumber. He was prepared with his armor and sword at his side, resting just before the storm with Solusar behind him. His orange dragon seemed annoyingly calm, as if he knew that they would not head to battle that day.

Sleep more Thane, but not here, go back to the room.

Solusar's words moved him to gain his bearings, but a final yawn wiped the last traces of tiredness. One hundred and some odd years and Thane was still just as childlike as the days before, he did not mind. He had grown up an orphan, and now that he was not, he would not dare miss out on any day he remained alive.

"Thane!"

Nari's voice rang out through the crowd, or to him, Nari-ebirthil.

"Ebirthil!" he answered back dutifully, "I am here!"

The elder elf came striding towards him, "Thank Fate I found you. I had half a mind to think you had disappeared somewhere, possibly in the direction of the enemy camp."

Thane chuckled, "I would say you were worrying about me."

The usually reserved elf gave him a glare, before solemnly responding, "I have lost many friends in this war. Part of the reason I left was because I had no one left. I dare not lose my students as well."

"I would not have gone, ebirthil. For some reason, I dread going to war."

Nari looked on approvingly, "Then I have taught you all I know." And abruptly left the red headed man to ponder the words of his master.

Come Thane, you need more rest. Battle is not for tonight.

Do you fear this war, Sol?

Must you even ask?

This fear, I have never felt before. I do not think I am fit for leadership.

Why?

I am not fearless, should not a leader be fearless?

There can be no courage, without fear. Those who fear nothing, have no courage either.

The orange dragon pondered his Rider some more, Do not worry so much, Thane. I shall not let harm become you.

And what of killing? Can you kill?

I am not a human, I kill often to eat. This bears no meaning to me.

But another person?

The only person I would have a moral objection to killing would be one of our own, and you, I would defend with my life. Everything else is the same to me. I am a dragon, not a human.

When the time comes, will I be able to?

When the time came, Thane…you already did.

His words brought up a sharp pain through his body and he nearly buckled under his own weight.

Thane!

But he could not stand up anymore, he felt faint, he felt sick. And he saw…black.