Not Called Blade For Nothing

Jaina drank the last of her health potions, chucking the empty bottle carelessly into her bag, and then sat back, closing her eyes for a second. She let her hands shift along the hilt of the blade in her lap, tensing her muscles and then releasing them, checking the potion's reach. It had taken three bottles of the damned stuff, but she was finally starting to feel back to normal.

Physically, at least.

Mentally, emotionally, her heart was screaming.

That stupid girl. Stupid, stupid girl.

Jaina hadn't thought she'd raised an idiot. But apparently that was the case. The arrogant girl hadn't even bothered to run her plan by her own mother; was so egotistical that she thought that she was the only one who could get either of them out of there alive.

Stupid.

They could have both gotten out. She knew that. It would have made everything a lot harder, given them a real fight on their hands, but it could have been done. She knew it could have been done.

Maybe she could admit, however grudgingly, that the Three would be useful for destroying the Queen, should she emerge. But the King? The King was just a man, whatever his claimed title, just a mortal obsessed with a history that was better left forgotten, a freak of nature that wanted to bring about the end of the world.

Like Lucien.

The comparison made something in her stomach tighten, and Jaina frowned, trying to concentrate. Everything was raw emotion right now - a state she hadn't regularly visited since her 'Lucien phase' - and she knew exactly why. The pain had stopped, true, but she was exhausted. Everything from that damned castle felt like it happened a lifetime ago. Everything was blurred, distorted. Did she really believe that the King of Blades was just a man? She remembered the feel of his power that first time, the time on the beach. She'd felt nothing like it.

Except from the Shadow Court.

But did she truly understand them? What possible link could they have with the Blades, a trio that existed millennia ago? If they had truly destroyed Oakvale, truly left it in that twisted, sunken state - or, worse, the frozen, tortured world she'd seen in that damned snowglobe - then their power had to be immeasurable.

William's power had felt immeasurable. Locked in that damned dungeon, no Will to speak of, him and his damned fucking lackey able to torture and kill her on a damned whim... Of course she would assume he was something more than what he was. Jaina pressed a hand to her head before running her fingers through her hair, squeezing her eyes shut and giving herself a firm talking to. There was no way. There was no way someone could have survived from that time, even before the Old Kingdom itself.

No. No, he was just a man. A man with power, certainly. But she had killed many just of his like before now, and she wasn't going to let something as trivial as a name stop her.

Jaina's hand stayed on her head, putting on pressure with the tips of her fingers, trying to stop the overwhelming feeling of exhaustion. There was too much to focus on, here. Too much for her bruised mind to concentrate on. Her mind was wired and exhausted, trying so hard to figure through things that she had no way in hell of understanding, at least not with the information she had available to her.

Too many questions with no answers. Jaina was as strung up as a bow string, and she knew it wouldn't be long before something snapped. In the castle they had kept her awake. Torture, bells in the dark, bright lights made of Will, all designed to keep her awake for as long as was physically possible. Towards the end, the only rest she seemed to get was the rest of the dead, and that never seemed to really cut it. She hadn't eaten or drank in days, save the water Liliana had given her, the result being her feeling the weakest she'd ever felt. Not even in the Spire had she felt this fatigued. She needed to rest.

But she couldn't sleep. Not here. Not with Reaver and his bastard peon sitting in their seats less than three feet away from her.

She opened her eyes, forcing herself to remember the last time she'd been nearly this tired - the time that bastard had poisoned her drink - and allowed the memory to fill her with anger, wiping away at least a little of the exhaustion. Her eyes moved over the blade in her lap, the wooden floor beneath her feet that bucked and rolled with the motion of the carriage.

William's power was not immeasurable. They had all felt invincible. From Thag, her first opponent, to Lucien and the Commandant, they had all felt like the strongest she would ever face; all had made her think she would never escape alive.

But she had. And now... with the unwanted gift of an absent god swirling through her veins, it was now seemingly increasingly unlikely that she'd ever have to consider her mortality again.

She wasn't mortal. And that was okay. Because with the imprisonment in the Blades' castle had come a creeping, lingering doubt, a prevalent fear, that she would never escape.

Like it had in the Spire.

But, no. She had to pull herself together. She had to be better than this! She couldn't afford to be like this, not now! She took in a slow breath, holding it for a moment before letting it out. She couldn't afford to let Albion down. She couldn't afford to let Liliana down. She had to be ready. She had to be unshakeable.

She had to be Blade.

Reaver watched the beauty opposite him with an increasing curiosity as the rattling carriage trundled down the road. It was the first time they'd been in the same room as each other for any considerable amount of time for over twenty years, and she'd chosen to sit in silence, eyes on the floor or her blade.

It was almost enough to make a man think she didn't appreciate his presence.

Truth be told, he rather admired how well she was taking the girl's betrayal, as she saw it. Besides her little show at the Blades' Castle, she had not reacted anywhere near as strongly as he would have suspected. Perhaps what he had suspected was correct, and the loss of her dear Michael had truly severed her stunted little emotions for good.

But perhaps that was not quite so. Dear little Sparrow looked a wreck. Her skin was the palest he'd ever seen it - including that time she took down that banshee - despite the flashes of colour the surprisingly bright Will lines lent her. Her eyes were rimmed with dark circles, her body painfully thin, even for her usual vegetarian frame.

And there was also one thing that was slightly more concerning, and something he had certainly never seen in her before.

She was sat with her hand hovering maybe an inch above the hilt of her blade, staring at her skin, her expression unreadable.

Her fingers were shaking.

"You should sleep."

Red eyes shot up to meet his, narrowing immediately, and she said nothing.

Reaver sat back in his chair, smirking a little, realising he was already in for a fight. He watched her angry suspicion boil below the surface for a moment, and then shook his head, casually, "You thought I wouldn't notice? You're dead on your feet, my dear."

"I'm fine." she replied through gritted teeth.

Reaver shook his head again, dismissively, "Of course, of course. That's why your hand's shaking."

Instantly, she yanked her hand away from her blade, looking quite guilty before the anger swiftly overtook it, "What do you care?"

He shrugged, casually, "Nothing at all. Only that, if you wish to rescue dear Liliana, surely you'd be better suited for it if you could use that sword you're so proud of."

She gritted her teeth again, her hand turning into a fist on the blade's hilt, "Trust me, I'll have no problems using this sword in a minute..."

He laughed, watching with interest as her muscles tensed at the sound, "Dear Sparrow, right now I'd be impressed if you could so much as lift it." Red hot anger flashed through her eyes, and he shook his head, holding up a hand, casually, "How many times did our dear host kill you?"

The majority of the anger returned to below the surface, replaced by suspicion and a good deal of caution, "Why?"

"Because, even though you did not die, the physical activity must surely have had some slight effect." he replied, easily, settling back in his seat, "Shredded muscles, shattered nerves... Even without the psychological effect, the consequences must be quite... severe."

"What's your point?" she asked, voice like ice.

"My point is that, without sleep, you are going to be useful for no-one, least of all dear Liliana."

Sparrow watched him for a moment, and then shook her head, "Let me be clear, Reaver. Being in this carriage with you is almost as much as I can stand." She shook her head again, eyes moving over him, disgustedly, "You're crazy if you think I trust you more than an inch."

Reaver cocked an eyebrow, "Ah, so it's me you're concerned about, is it?" she just glared at him, and he gave a small, warm smile, "Have no fear, dear Sparrow. You will wake up... unaccosted, as before."

Sparrow grew very quiet for a moment, as she always seemed to do when she was unaccountably livid. "Unaccosted. Such a pretty word to reference you drugging me and having me stripped and left in your bed."

He smiled again at the memory, and shook his head, casually, "Dear girl, that was long ago. Do try not to hold a grudge, it's incredibly unattractive."

Fire burned in her eyes again, colour filling her face, "Una-" she glared at him for a full five seconds as her anger swelled, and by this time she was practically fuming, "Reaver, you -"

The unmistakable sound of a gunshot racked through the air, followed quickly by a vicious bucking of the carriage below their feet. Jaina threw out a hand, swiftly, grabbing hold of the wall for balance, but soon it became apparent that that wouldn't be enough as the carriage tipped, throwing them all to the floor as it fell heavily on its side.

Jaina stood up, angry and pained, "For the love of..."

Shaking her head, she reached up to the carriage door above them and, with a vicious shove, forced it open. Then she clambered out, deftly swinging herself up and out, jumping down to land nearly in front of the overturned carriage.

She surveyed the scene, quickly. The horse that had pulled the carriage was laying on its side, dead, a medium-sized bullet wound in its right temple.

The driver was also laying on the ground, underneath the horse, his neck at a grotesque angle, broken by the fall.

A low, deep fury built steadily inside of her, and she looked around, feeling no surprise whatsoever as she saw the group of five sword-wielding, haphazardly dressed bandits, lit up in the darkness by the torches they carried.

Jaina's grip tightened on the sword in her hand. She hadn't been this far in-land of Bloodstone for years, but that didn't stop her having a very good idea of what was going on in the world. Whether heavily laden with sarcasm or not, the words Liliana had used to coax her away from Bloodstone were completely true; if anything were to happen in Albion, the great Hero Blade would be the first to hear of it. Emerson, the new head of the guard in Bowerstone, sent her reports whenever anything of any substance at all happened - the final extermination of the Temple of Shadows, the Oakfield riot, the rise of industrial power in Bowerstone - and the gold she still threw into the guard every month had more than doubled patrol numbers along the paths that needed them most; trade paths and those stupidly dangerous little trails the people of Albion insisted on travelling by were almost as safe as a Bowerstone back-alley now. This group of bandits were the last of a steadily dying breed. They'd have to be either brave or stupid to travel a road like this in such a small group.

And their ambush had still managed to catch them unawares.

She took a step forwards, into the light of the torches they carried, and watched as the leader's face instantly paled, a small jolt of vicious satisfaction running through her veins as she saw the recognition in his eyes.

He was already backing away, eyes wide, "Is that...?"

She shook her head, furious anger still boiling through her, "Too late."

Blade drew a sizeable amount of Will through her and, in an instant, power exploded out of her, fire bursting out in all directions, scorching everything around them and boiling the air. No time to even draw in a breath, the bandits were immediately reduced to flaming ash, along with a good proportion of the forest around them.

Jaina faltered a step, panting a little, giving a low, frustrated groan as she forced her blade back into a holster. She glanced around her, noticing for the first time that they were in the middle of Brightwood, barely a day's walk further from Garth's tower. She sighed a little testily, glancing once at the quite dead carriage driver before sighing again. She dusted herself off, brushing her hands over her arms and clothes, Will lines ferociously bright on her pale skin, and then shook her head, heavily, and started walking, "This is gonna take longer than I thought..."