Fifth Stroke –Sharpened Perceptions

Forel bore the taint of yoma, it could be sensed from some distance, signifying activity. Doubtless the murder count had increased in the time of the journey. Regrettable perhaps, but it was also inevitable. Even a Claymore could only walk so fast without tiring, and their numbers were few. Requests always had some lag, and so the blood mounted as a slow river. This Sylvia had long ago learned to accept, for it was useless to feel remorse over that which could not be changed.

As a cool wind blew softly against her face she did feel a twinge of gratitude for one fact. This town was not like the last. The yoma infestation here appeared ordinary. It would be a job like all the others this time. Not a victory, but a small piece of consistency that was welcome.

Two is manageable, Sylvia reminded herself. Even if they should both come at once. Better though if they do not, if I can find one and dispatch it quickly, and then engage the other. Yes, that would be preferable. She focused her inhuman sense, trying to search out the two trails, to find the yoma. Heartily did she desire to find her enemies before she was detected.

It was not to be so simple. They were both near the center of the town, though not, Sylvia guessed, together. They have covered their tracks fairly well, she noted. I will need to get close; a shame. She stopped at the outer ring of buildings, and recognized the people beginning to come and gawk as they always did.

"You should stay here Tyrin," she told the soldier, as respectfully as she could. "Let me take care of it and then come back."

"No chance," the other woman retorted. "I'm not standing by outside of this."

Sylvia sighed. She had expected this, but was uncertain how to convince Tyrin to stay. She did not want the woman to come. Even if she would only observe there were great risks. Should she actually unsheathe her blade the troubling permutations became uncountable. "Tyrin," Sylvia began firmly, making a point to use the woman's name. "I am grateful for your aid before, but there are no human enemies this time. You cannot fight yoma yourself. This is my task, allow me to do it."

"Don't treat me like I'm dead weight," the warrior woman snapped back, slamming her helmet back on to her head as opposed to her usual loose carry while walking. "I'm not worthless, even against the damn demons. I'm going, Sylvia," she put a great deal of resentment into the Claymore's name, and Sylvia felt a stab of regret from a place she could not name. "And you're not stopping me unless you beat me down."

"Very well," Sylvia told her. "But I can only say this: I cannot risk myself to protect you. I do not wish you to come to harm, but I am here only to kill two yoma. Your fate shall be in your own hands alone. Though I might wish to, I cannot afford to safeguard your life in any way. Do you understand?"

"I can handle myself too," Tyrin scoffed.

Sylvia desperately hoped, though it defied all she knew of the abilities of humans and yoma, that the soldier was telling the truth and not speaking with bravado. "Please try to stay alive then," she admonished a final time before heading into the town.

The people gathered and gawked as always as the pair entered the town. The unusual whispered words, cold stares, shivering hands, and all the other curious reactions humans had toward half-human half-yoma individuals. Sylvia paid them no mind, and did not even bother to respond. Instead she searched, constantly looking out, trying to read the patterns of yoki and track down her quarry.

In passing the Claymore did note one thing, a surprising thing. Tyrin, despite the fearsome countenance of her armored figure, was all but ignored by the people. It was as if, presented with the frightful unreality of a Claymore, the lesser oddity simply did not register. She made a careful note of this, though there was no time to consider it further at present.

By the time the two had reached the town center a large crowd had gathered, including the requisite man with a large bag of coinage. Amazing how they never seem to learn about that part, Sylvia noted, surprising herself with an errant thought. We are recognized for our features everywhere, but no one has ever tried to give the money to the organization without being told about it first. Very strange, perhaps it is simply too illogical to believe.

Sylvia held up a hand to this man, stopping him before her. "Don't," she explained as she always had. "The fee is not paid to me. A man in black will come to collect it after the job is done. Should I fall failing to complete the task you need not render payment."

"But…" he seemed about to ask a question, but Sylvia was not listening, had not even been listening to her own words.

It came from her right.

"Scatter all of you!" she shouted as she drew her sword, pivoting and sliding to the side.

A huge clawed arm ripped through the space the Claymore had occupied only moments before.

The air filled with screaming in the same moment, and a human body, the source of the impassioned noise, was flung at Sylvia, a crude but useful missile.

Sylvia feinted, miming to slice the flying woman in half, but at the last reversing her blade and striking down in a low sweep, folding her whole body down under the swinging arms of the first yoma.

It was a dangerous maneuver, a quick and cognizant enemy could trap the sword by falling on it at a critical point, pinning the blade with their weight, but Sylvia knew a yoma wouldn't do that, it wasn't part of the way they lived, as predators.

As expected, the yoma took one of the two simple, but useless, courses of evasion. It stepped back, moving the top-heavy ogre body with surprising speed. The beast's torso slipped easily out of range.

Sylvia didn't care; she snapped her blade straight upward, quickly and easily severing both the yoma's arms slightly below the elbow.

"You bitch!" the creature howled in anger and agony.

In a desperate measure it kicked out. Sylvia hopped back, and then pushed off forward, moving to her left to evade any possible attacks from the yoma now on her right side. She could not see that creature carefully, but her ears told her that it advanced still. So they did attack together, and they use the civilians as shields. Sylvia grimaced, but she did not allow anger to take her, and held her yoki power down. First, finish the wounded one.

The great blade sliced in, Sylvia bringing the blade first high, and then cutting down lower, anticipating the creature's dodge easily. Her sword slashed parallel to the ground and cleaved the yoma in half.

Blood sprayed in crimson rain, staining the paving stones beneath the fallen demon, but not touching Sylvia, already in motion, shifting back, twisting, so as to face her other foe.

The foe did not face her back.

Looking down the chaos of the square Sylvia saw what she had dreaded most, Tyrin standing forth with sword in hand, squared off before the yoma. No! Don't do this! She screamed silently.

It was not possible to charge the yoma's massive exposed back; the creature had hurled people to the pavement in the way, blocking the path. Instead Sylvia jumped: a reckless maneuver with few options.

The yoma was not a fool; it twisted and lashed an arm back. The Claymore's great sword slammed against those clawed fingers, blocking the blow from reaching flesh, but trapped airborne Sylvia held no leverage, and the demonic strength of the creature succeeded in throwing her a distance backwards at the price of a nasty cut on the palm.

Skidding to the ground unhurt Sylvia looked back and cold dread blossomed in her stomach. One on one she would have taken the exchange, which largely crippled the power of one of the yoma's hands and cost her only distance, but this situation was different. The enemy was now separated from her by a void that could not be immediately closed. Should it attack Tyrin the woman would be forced to fight alone for at least one exchange of blows.

"Come over here and go quietly to your death!" Sylvia proclaimed as she rose up, hoping to draw the yoma to her, the hated Claymore.

"I may die, but I'll get your friend first!" the yoma howled, and lunged for Tyrin.

"Fall back!" Sylvia shouted desperately, hoping the soldier would simply run, praying her armor would blunt any blow in passing. Dashing forward with all she had, it was a forlorn hope, and soon shattered.

The warrior woman stood her ground, and Sylvia thought she saw every slow shimmer of yellow hair in the slightest breeze as the blow came down.

Massive and powerful was the right arm, slamming hard and with incredible strength.

Claws slammed down to smash upon Tyrin's shield.

The violent impact forced Sylvia to bite back an outcry. The strongest human man could not have taken that blow's force, much less a woman of Tyrin's build.

Yet the soldier did not fall.

Smoothly she spun, even as the blow struck, letting the yoma's force twirl her with grace and speed to its weak side, her blade ready to slice in and wound.

The demon reacted with its own great swiftness, turning far faster than any human could.

Tyrin's lips curled into a sly smile, and Sylvia realized what had just happened. By forcing itself to pivot the yoma had planted feet in place, for the next moment only it would not be able to dodge. She could not believe Tyrin had managed to seize such an advantage, but even so, it did not provide hope. What attack had the woman that could truly wound such an enemy?

A flicker of sunlight caught on the long-single edge of the soldier's broad and slightly curved blade, and then vanished, the sword seemingly gone.

What? Sylvia gasped and the yoma grunted.

Metal heel impacted solidly on cobbled stone with an impassion ring as Tyrin burst into a sudden single motion. Her shield led this absolutely immediate charge, and then she was past her enemy, sliding to a stop beyond the yoma.

There had been a ring of steel, and Sylvia, following her human companion and not her enemy in her distress, was the first to observe the red and purple tinge of yoma blood on the weapon's edge.

"What did you-" the yoma howled, and then tumbled. Blood gushed from the right leg, now half-severed a handspan above the knee.

Sylvia did not hesitate. Charging in from behind, she brought her blade straight forward, flat to the ground. Strength surged through her elbows and her arms snapped forward. She plunged the triangular point of her blade directly into the back of the yoma's suddenly fixed neck. Vertebrae snapped and shattered and she pushed forward, popping the head clear off its body and snapping it away to the side.

Blood fountained briefly over the fallen foe, and then all was still but for the screams of the citizens.

The Claymore paid no attention to the panic, but fixed her eyes only on her companion, trying to get the full measure of her surprise. You are not an ordinary soldier, Sylvia recognized in that moment. You are something more than that, and I will need that answer.

Tyrin simply responded with a wicked smile, shaking her head to knock the sheen of sweat from her hair. "I'm not dead weight, got that?" she asked, still with that hideous grin, obviously savoring her victory over before enemy and expectation.

"I understand," Sylvia acknowledged, speaking loudly to be heard over the still chaotic surroundings. "But please, I must ask, what was that attack you used? Your sword appeared to vanish, and then I could not track the attack."

"Mist Phantom," there was clear pride in Tyrin's voice when she named the move. "If you do it right the attack becomes seemingly quicker-than-the-eye. It's a combination of trickery and a major surge in speed. One of the best trick-maneuvers I know and one of the least expected." Tyrin flipped her blade through a few motions in the air, knocking the blood free from it, and then dropped it down to the lie at her waist once more.

Sylvia performed a similar set of moves and sheathed her own blade behind her. "As the job's done we should get moving," she told her companion. "The people are happy with us for the moment, but that will change once they start adding up the dead and wounded this little yoma rampage has cost them." Indeed, as Sylvia looked about the last of the bodies, a woman the second yoma had torn almost in half before tossing across the square was being dragged within buildings. "Our part is over; the man in black will come for the money and take care of the rest. Besides," she added as lightly as she might under the circumstances. "I dislike staring in towns filled with yoki residue; it just doesn't sit right with me, no matter how much I experience it."

"I see," Tyrin nodded. "You're probably right, let's get moving. We can stop for supplies somewhere else. Which way then?"

Sylvia considered for a moment. There was really no reason to pick any one direction over another, but she might as well choose the most pleasant path. "East I think," she decided. "There's a city not too far east of here, at the meeting of the rivers there. The road should be at least decent. That will serve well enough until something else takes us another direction."

"Right," Tyrin assented.

Leaving was not so simple of course. The mayor tried to offer them the money once again, along with profuse, though clearly not heartfelt, thanks. Sylvia brushed him away as diplomatically as she could, and urged him to tend to the wounded. She apologized for that, but only slightly, and admonished the man that he should make certain people did not come and gawk should there be a next time. It was not wise to give yoma a chance to use humans as a shield, too many took that opportunity. Sylvia hated when they did, since it almost never changed the result, only increased the numbers of innocent who perished. I suppose that's why they're monsters though, she reminded herself.

This afternoon as they walked, Sylvia found she could not hold back the questions inside of her. The fight had raised too many, and she craved immediate answers for reasons she was not quite sure she could fathom. So, the routine of before would not endure. "If I may," Sylvia began. "I had thought you were simply a soldier, a skilled one to be sure, your armor indicates at least that much, but otherwise nothing out of the ordinary. Now, I must assume that was not the truth. Even that brief display of skill, along with your poise before such a powerful foe, indicates greater achievement. Would you mind telling me more of this?"

"I've been a soldier for a long time," Tyrin began, slow and careful in her choice of words. Her voice held some pride, but little happiness. "Almost ten years now. Awfully long really, maybe it doesn't see that way to someone like you, but it's still almost half my life. More, it's taken over my life. I'm ruined for marriage, can't learn a useful trade, and I've not saved up all that much money either."

Sylvia noted that Tyrin did not mention why she had become a soldier at the youthful age of thirteen, but did not press, she would let the woman tell what she wished. There was no need or right to probe for more.

"Thing of it was, I figured that out pretty early, really it was after I switched teams the first time and went on another campaign instead of going home," Tyrin's face took on a sorrowful look. "I knew I wasn't getting out easy. Still, I guess like you and that bank account I figured I should make plans for the future. Men who stay soldiers have options, they drive caravans, or tend stables, or serve as overseer for some little lord, but it doesn't work that way for women."

Sylvia nodded silently as they walked along, not wishing to interrupt.

"I figured there was only one way to make the sword pay when I got to old, or maybe got wounded, to go onto the field," Tyrin grimaced at the possibility. "And that's to become an instructor."

"You mean to teach the sword?" Sylvia asked.

"The sword, and soldiering, weapons, campaigning, the whole nasty, messy package of how to go out there and kill people," Tyrin shrugged.

Thinking about it for a moment, an odd problem presented itself. "Are such things common?" she asked. "Most military groups are small bands, and training is, as I understand, very limited."

"Heh," Tyrin shrugged again. "You're right, it's mostly they hand you a sword or a spear and tell you to charge. Still, a few of the bigger cities have standing guard forces, especially the holy cities, and they train warriors. Not many though, so it's not easy to become an instructor. They've got to know you're the right one, which means…well."

"You have to be skilled." Sylvia finished the thought.

"Not just skilled, you've got to be the best, or close enough as they've seen to it in a while," Tyrin smiled thinly. "Especially if you're a woman. So that's how it started, I set my sights high, and then worked for it." Now her smile gained some warmth. "It wasn't easy, but I'm pretty sure I'm one of the best now," she turned to look back at Sylvia and amended. "Well, among humans anyway."

"Something to be proud of for certain," Sylvia replied. One of the best is it? I wonder what that would be like? For herself she was far from among the best of her own kind. "Do you have a title or honorific I should have been using?"

Tyrin laughed openly at that question, and Sylvia felt slightly embarrassed. "I should have figured you'd say that. Nah," she shook her head. "You only get a title if you work for somebody who can give you one, which obviously isn't anyone right now."

"Still," Sylvia hesitated. "If you are a swordmaster or whatever such ranks there are I should acknowledge that."

"That'd be foolish," Tyrin shook her head. "I think if you need to call yourself something like that it only means you can't prove it by what you do. Besides, I'm not too proud, all my skill means I'm just good at killing people. Worse," she looked Sylvia up and down. "I could never dream of making you call me something like that, since I'm nowhere near your match."

"The comparison is hardly fair-" Sylvia began, though she fully accepted the point.

"Enough," Tyrin slashed her hand through the air before her. "Fair's got no place in this life, so just stick with Tyrin, alright?"

"Very well," the Claymore replied.

Briefly the pair continued in silence, until the town had disappeared behind them. Then Sylvia caught sight of something interesting. A flat circle of grass lay off to the north of the rough road. She guessed it must be for the use of herders who drove their flocks this way, but it was empty now in the spring. That could serve well, she decided, and pulled up to a stop. "This place looks good enough for the evening," she said carefully.

"It's still early," Tyrin noted, but then turned her head to look at Sylvia. A sly smile broke out on her face. "You're up to something."

Sylvia felt slightly embarrassed that the other woman had caught her so easily. She had not thought things quite so obvious. "Well," she explained. "Originally I had wanted you to avoid fighting yoma completely. I realize that this is no longer possible. However, if days like today are to continue I must fully understand your skills, so plans can be made accordingly."

Tyrin looked past the Claymore to the grassy patch. "Not a bad spot then," she muttered. "You know, even with the rules, it's still a frightening idea." Her head shook briefly and then the falling afternoon sun caught in her gaze. "But still, kind of exciting too."

"I suppose it might be," Sylvia moved to stand apart from Tyrin as the other dropped her traveler's bag and turned to face her. Slowly she drew her blade. The human lady mirrored the action.

Notes: From this point on I have to walk a rather fine line with Tyrin's abilities. However, I feel I've hit a reasonable balance so far. After all the two warriors in Rabona legitimately aided Clare against a fairly powerful yoma specimen, so Tyrin, who is significantly better than either of them, can contribute in certain ways.