Nineteenth Stroke – Facing Prices
Their advance was not silent, not at all, but then neither were their targets. The usual daybreak clatter of any group of men suffused its way across the docks, the click and clang of metal on metal as breakfast was warmed over improvised stoves, the tread of boots on the wooden docking, and the grumbling of men waking up cold.
Sylvia shared that last sympathy, for even though she could ignore its touch the water had indeed been frigid, and she was dripping even now. Still, the cold was fading rapidly as the surge of battle came over her, and the beast inside breathed in wrath to warm the blood.
The distinctive clicking noise of a Claymore at a run signaled their approach as the four burst through the ring of buildings, but none guessed that warning, and it was far too late anyway.
"Women?" one man, seated on a barrel at the edge of a cooking fire, managed to gasp as he turned on his seat, then he was tumbling backwards, howling in bitter agony as Sylvia slammed him aside with the flat of her blade, smashing both knees against the backing of that barrel, taking him out of the fight as surely as if he had been slain. More men followed this one, flying back through the air to strike hard against walls or other bodies, propelled by the inhuman force of those great blades.
Two others were not so lucky, as they turned to the noise only to stare upon a glistening, dripping sheet of steel, glowing brilliant with the sun behind it for a moment, until a pair of quick slashes stained the dripping woman with a liquid of far deeper color.
Men screamed, not with pain but horror now, as they saw their fellows fall. "They're killing us! Killing! She's not a Claymore!" incoherent was the mass of the outbursts as men scrambled in all directions. Only a few tried to stand before the silver figures advancing upon them. Some were sentries, others men wise enough to keep their weapons always close, even a double handful of idiots who thought knives from their belts might give them so chance in this encounter.
A half-dozen heartbeats only and this brief resistance was overcome, and a score of men lay in agony or death upon the bloodstained docks. The four warriors, one human and three only in part, dispersed rapidly, knocking aside those who darned to stand before them. It is working, Sylvia recognized. They are overwhelmed. The Black Wings had not been prepared, and had only had a few sentries out, and most to the other side. The rest of the men were not gird for battle. They had no armor, no loaded crossbows, and their spears were stacked up in racks or circles, useless. Short blades were a waste against massive claymores, or the artful bladework of Tyrin's own skills. So they dispersed, running, choosing to be mercenaries and leave a fight they saw as hopeless. Whatever deal these men had made with the yoma, they did not want to die for it.
"Fall back you fools!" a steady voice, lacking the panic of the other outcries, could suddenly be heard. "Get your bows and wait for the yoma.! Widen the ring!"
Where is he? Sylvia demanded of her senses, searching through the chaos for a man she knew must be an officer, for the voice had much in common with the one who had shouted commands when they had last faced the Black Wings. He must not rally them, she knew. Though she was no tactician it was clearly obvious, they had only moments to break theses mercenaries, they could not be allowed even the semblance of a rally or it might doom them all.
Precious counts ticked by, as Sylvia kept the clock in her head running. That count had dropped by fifty, leaving only one hundred to go. There was no time! Her eyes shifted desperately, looking, but she saw no uniform to mark out such an officer, no badge as she had seen before. Where is he?
Then, between a pair of crippling strikes, one with the hilt of her blade and the other made simply using the metal guard on the back of her hard to shatter a man's jaw, Sylvia saw him. There was no difference in uniform, he worn the same everyday clothes of the other mercenaries, and nothing especial marked him out, but he made the mistake of looking straight at her. The truth was in his eyes; eyes that lacked fear, and instead held only contempt.
Sylvia bridged the distance to him immediately, barely noting as Racquel smashed apart a cluster of men struggling to make it to their spears to her right. She knocked aside a pair of mercenaries who dared stand in her way with shear momentum, plowing through them and slamming them to the ground with the weight of her massive blade, idly kicking them into unconsciousness as she went on.
The officer had still managed to draw his sword in that moment, and he held it before him, poised to make one good thrust at the last minute. Even now there was no fear, and the half-human half-yoma suddenly knew that wounding would not be enough. This man would not be intimidated by a broken leg or shattered shoulder. He knew they would not kill, and he would always come back, safe behind that rule. You despicable creature, Sylvia thought in that moment. If the law permitted it I would kill you myself. It does not, but do not think my pride so great as that will save you.
Before Sylvia would have had to pull to a stop to block the man's thrust before disarming him, had to pull up to establish the distance necessary to use her great sword for defense. After Tyrin's long training, that was not necessary. A simple, delicate shift of grip and position and the mercenary's sword was blocked away, just far enough so that Sylvia's right hand could shot forth and grasp his wrist.
Inhuman strength clamped down, and bones snapped, but that was not the warrior's principle intent. "Tyrin!" Sylvia called, looking over her shoulder to find the human soldier behind her. "This one's their leader! Make him know the price!"
The other woman looked up at that moment, and with nothing more than a tiny jerk of the head, Sylvia could tell she understood. Without hesitation the leader of the Black Wings was sent flying through the air, one mercenary to meet another, each serving on very different sides.
A sweep of Tyrin's sword took the man's head before he met the ground again.
From those who were standing still there came a collective gasp and hesitation from all who still tried to fight. An instant of silence stretched between the screams.
"No mercy!" Jessica's harsh voice, filled with the terrible anger the single digit was capable of when her temper flared, carried across the whole docks. "All who are caught shall die!"
Heads turned toward the single digit that stood surrounded by a ring of groaning bodies, a great swath of men who had dared to intersect her path. None were dead yet, but neither could they move. By the blood glistening off Tyrin's sword, the Black Wings recognized the fate awaiting them.
The mercenaries broke and ran. They were not precisely routed, many kept order and their face to their four enemies, a tribute to their skill, but they still ran. These might be horrid men, men who had cast off all their morals and would kill for monsters, but killing was a far cry from dying, and there was not enough silver in all the world to pay a man to die for yoma.
"Move!" Jessica commanded as they ran.
Recalling the plan Sylvia followed with all her speed, knowing that the yoma would still be coming and they needed to get away from this man of humans. They dared not fight among fallen men who could hinder their movements or even get killed by an errant blow. The open was needed now.
It did not take long to move past the edge of the dockside, slightly upstream on the river. The four hovered now on a small mound, just above the riverbank itself, cut steeply off below at perhaps half again a man's height. No retreating from here, Sylvia recognized. Our backs are to the water, and we must fight or die. Looking up toward the town she could see the yoma come to meet them.
They howled like demon wolves, maddened and raging, as they descended the soft hill at speed, legs churning and arms and mouths stretched forward. Moving all over each other Sylvia could not get a precise count. Perhaps thirty or so she guessed.
"Stand," Jessica commanded, taking position in front of the others. Racquel moved up to her left, only a few steps back, and Sylvia mirrored her, standing on the right side. Tyrin stood behind them all, on the edge of the river, sword drawn and coated with human blood. We must not let any pass! Sylvia swore silently. Not now, she has made all of this possible! I won't let it go wrong now!
"Little Claymores!" one of the yoma howled. "Foul tasting bitches, but we'll eat you today all the same!" He raced ahead of the others, lurid fangs stretching from his mouth, moving faster and surer than any of the yoma behind.
"Guard," Jessica spoke a single word again, and then stepped forward. Her sword hung low and slightly behind.
The single digit seemed to blur, and her sword moved with her, snapping forward as she moved through that first yoma, leaving two pieces to fly further down the hill for several paces before churning to a stop, but that sword's motion did not stop with that. No, it continued onward, swirling fully around, and then spinning, carrying Jessica with it in a graceful, deadly arc, through another yoma, and another, and two more who, trapped by their onward rush, could not get away in time.
Six dead when that spin reached its end, as the single digit carved through her foes, but many more remained, and now they were all the way down the hill. Even as the first of the long-armed creatures lunged at Sylvia and Racquel, however, they were forced to realize that they had foes ahead and behind.
Sylvia moved with all her strength and speed, slicing through the outstretched arms of one yoma, ducking down below the swipe of another, and then pivoting to stab through a third. It was chaos now, as they pressed into towards her. Needing more speed she let some of her yoki boil upwards. The world turned yellow, brought into feral focus even as a storm of purple blood stretched over everything. Swords met flesh as the three Claymores struggled on, fighting desperately to quell that rush of yoma.
Sylvia leapt over a clawed hand, bounced off Racquel's back to bring her sword in low and shear off the leg of another yoma at the knee, and kept moving. She countered as she had never before, drawing on all the strength of Tyrin's training, closer, further in, swifter than she had ever been able to in the past, to deal with that press. Fingers and arms flew away as those quick slices sank through yoma flesh, and monstrous howls joined the cacophony of sound.
How long it went on Sylvia did not know, the moments stretched out in the press, her senses condensed to all sides, dealing with the fight. Even so she dared spare a moment's glance to note Tyrin, still behind them both, and uninjured, standing aside from this fight at last.
"Enough!" a sudden, alien outcry broke through the air and everything tumbled forward to a stop. Yoma disengaged, many taking parting blows as they did so, one even losing its life as Racquel swept-kicked upward and slammed her metal boot through jaw and skull. Yet they were not all dead, and Sylvia was confused.
Looking out she saw Jessica standing before her. The single digit's blade was strangely clear of blood, but it spotted all over her uniform. The sundered bodies of yoma surrounded her, victims of her speed and strength. All in all only a handful of yoma, eight in all, and three of those missing limbs, remained standing.
Yet all this was secondary to the single figure that drew the eye like filings to a lodestone. A figure dressed in form-fitting white, caped, and with instantly recognizable pieces of armor. It took no guesses to know that this was the awakened one.
Why does she wear the uniform still? The thought struck Sylvia suddenly, but she latched onto it, for it seemed important. She had never seen nor heard of an awakened being still wearing the organizations uniform, and it was surprising. She must have taken it from one of those whose lives she claimed, the half-human half-yoma warrior realized with a start. The process of awakening usually destroys our uniforms.
"Stand aside, all of you," the awakened being ordered her yoma. "It's clear you can't win this battle, and there's no need to waste you now." She smiled cruelly. "I will handle this."
Something in that smile seemed familiar to Sylvia, and triggered an almost forgotten memory. No, surely not… The word escaped her lips in a whisper. "Katherine?"
There was a moment of silence after the whispered word reached the assembled ears.
Jessica reacted first. "You know her?" she questioned; never once turning away from the awakened one.
Sylvia's memory had always been good and she had trained it over the years, one of her few strengths. "It was eight years ago," she recalled now. "We were part of a four man team to kill a group of eight yoma. It was a very brief meeting."
The awakened being, formerly the Claymore known as Katherine, looked on in strangely empty amusement. It was clear to Sylvia that she did not remember and surely did not care.
"Her number?" Jessica, ever practical, questioned.
It was a good question in its way, Sylvia understood, though it was likely too late to do much about it. "Twenty-five," Sylvia managed to pull forth the memory. "But that was long ago." Numbers could change after all, though rarely by much.
Jessica simply nodded, and stood forth. Presumably the single digit felt confident they could handle an awakened being of that level.
"Why do you wear the uniform?" Racquel spoke up suddenly, her voice betraying discomfort at this. It occurred to Sylvia then that this was the young warrior's first experience with an awakened being, and even though it was clear what Katherine had become, it must be a horrid shock. Looking at that white uniform made her slightly sick inside in spite of greater experience. Say something that will make it easier to kill you, Sylvia silently implored their enemy. Or doff that lying form you wear. You mock us like this!
"I like wearing this," Katherine sneered. "It is more elegant, besides, the organization needs to know it is one of their own, and not some wild one, who will bring them down."
"No," Jessica said simply, condensing perhaps an hour's argument into that single word of condemnation, and she raised her blade.
"You would really fight me?" Katherine asked. "You want to kill me just because the organization asked you to? Wouldn't you rather join me? You've seen the power of my plan. It is enough to overthrow the organization, enough to let us rule the world. Doesn't that appeal to you?"
"I spit on your place!" Tyrin's voice, fuller and livelier than those of half-human half-yoma, burst out over them all, surprising everyone with her speech. "Better to be eaten by a monster than to become one!"
"Then I'll eat you!" Katherine hissed in animal rage. "You're the one! You've destroyed everything I plotted." She drew the sword from her back and surged forward in a single motion.
A ringing clang of steel upon steel split the riverside, and the awakened being could be seen locked together with Jessica, blade to blade, pressing against each other.
"You will die," was all the single digit said as the time for words, already long over, was slammed utterly shut.
Chapter Notes: Interestingly, awakened beings only very rarely appear in their uniforms in the series, the only other one to have done so is Rosemarie, in Extra Scene 1. Big fight sequence: Whirling Jessica vs. Katherine Double-Edged coming up (assuming I can manage the feat of realistically describing an awakened one without visuals).