Artemis

  They weren’t strangers.

  As the riders fanned out at the edge of the square, I recognized the gray-bearded one and the younger man beside him. The same pair who’d cornered Celeste at the stables, pretending at idle talk. Back then their smiles had been too sharp, their questions too pointed. I’d felt their eyes on our backs long after we left that town.

  Now I knew why.

  I shifted slightly, enough to put myself between Celeste and their line, my hand resting easy on the hilt of my sword. The villagers pressed together behind us, their pitchforks and rusted blades a thin barrier against mounted steel. Garron and Merel stood forward, but even from here I could see the strain in their faces. Age and years without practice dulled the edge of their casting. They wouldn’t last long if steel met fire.

  The gray-bearded rider’s eyes swept the crowd, landing squarely on Celeste. He didn’t bother to hide the satisfaction in his smirk. His companion lit a flame in his palm and tossed it into the dirt, the hiss of burning earth loud in the morning hush. The villagers flinched as one.

  “Best make this easy,” the younger one drawled. “Hand her over, and no one gets burned.”

  I measured the distance. Twelve riders. Two Casters among them, maybe three if the younger one wasn’t their only trick. Their formation was tight enough to break through the village line in a single charge, but the square would work against them if I could force them to bottleneck.

  Behind me, I felt Celeste’s breath catch. The villager’s whispers thickened like smoke.

  I let my hand settle more firmly on the hilt.

  If they wanted her, they’d have to go through me first.

  The gray-bearded rider let his gaze sweep the crowd again, his smirk widening. “There’s good coin for anyone with sense enough to hand her over,” he said, his voice smooth as polished steel.

  The words dropped like a blade into the square. The villagers shifted, eyes flicking sideways, catching on Celeste just long enough for me to notice. My grip tightened on the hilt of my sword.

  This was the danger I’d expected. Not the dozen men at the gate, but the fear already here inside the walls. Fear that could make neighbors point, or worse, step aside and let them through.

  The silence stretched, brittle as glass.

  Then Calla stepped forward, her chin lifted, her voice carrying clear. “There is no one here by that name.”

  A murmur rippled through the villagers, but none contradicted her. Not one. Their faces stayed grim, their silence unbroken.

  Interesting. I hadn’t expected that. For all their fear, they hadn’t turned her over. Not yet.

  The younger rider let fire dance in his palm again, the flame bright against the morning air. He dropped it into the dirt once more, closer this time. “Try again.”

  I shifted one step forward, the square’s dirt crunching under my boots. I rolled my shoulders once, loosening the tension. Sword. Wind. I’d use nothing more. Not while there were so many eyes.

  The gray-bearded rider leaned on his saddle horn, smirk curling wider. “Then I suppose we’ll have to search for ourselves.”

  He flicked his hand, and three of the mounted men spurred their horses forward. The crowd broke, villagers stumbling back with startled cries, their thin line of pitchforks and knives wavering like grass before a storm.

  As I turned my head to look back, Celeste tensed. I caught the shift of her weight, the spark in her. She was ready to step forward, ready to meet them head-on.

  Not yet.

  I moved before she could, stepping right in front of her, cutting off her path.

  Steel rasped as I drew my sword. The sound snapped through the square like a challenge, and the horses slowed to a prance, nostrils flaring, sensing the shift.

  Behind me, I felt Celeste’s breath catch, her frustration burning at my back. But this wasn’t her fight to bleed for. Not here. Not now.

  The younger rider swung down from his horse with easy confidence, boots crunching against the dirt. He didn’t bother to draw a weapon. Flames licked lazily over his knuckles as he flexed his hand, the glow painting his grin.

  Two others dismounted with him, steel rasping as they drew their swords. They moved in flanking steps at his side, their blades catching the light as they advanced on the square.

  “See?” the younger caster said, his tone loud, mocking. “We already know she’s right there, hiding among you. And now we’ll make an example of what happens to villages that think they can shield her.”

  Behind me, I heard the villagers stir, fear breaking through in sharp breaths, a murmur threatening to spread. Calla hushed them with a sharp glance, but their line wavered all the same.

  I adjusted my grip on the sword, grounding myself. One Caster, two swordsmen, all young and cocky enough to think numbers were all they needed. The rest stayed mounted, watching and waiting to see how easily their advance would break us.

  I let the air stir faintly around me, silent, unseen. Just enough to feel the current in my bones.

  If the boy wanted to prove himself, I’d be happy to oblige.

  The three of them closed in, boots grinding against the dirt, the Fire Caster leading the way with his hand wreathed in flame. The villagers behind me shifted, their fear pressing at my back. Celeste was there too, silent but taut as a bowstring. I could feel the weight of every eye waiting to see if I’d break.

  I didn’t move. Not yet.

  The Caster’s grin widened. He raised his hand, flame swelling, heat prickling against my face. He thought he already had me.

  That was when I struck.

  A surge of wind snapped forward with my step, tearing the fire from his grasp and scattering it into sparks that died on the dirt. His eyes went wide, mouth just starting to form a curse.

  Too late.

  My blade punched through his ribs, sliding clean between them, the edge hissing as the gust carried it deeper. He gagged, blood bubbling from his lips, and collapsed backward in a heap.

  I turned with the motion, catching the second one mid-step. He had barely lifted his sword when mine swept across his throat. The strike was clean, the Wind carrying it faster than his eyes could track. His head snapped back, crimson spraying across the dirt in an arc. He stumbled, both hands clawing at the wound, then toppled sideways, choking until he went still.

  The third panicked, swinging wild. I slid past him with a burst, his blade cutting nothing but air. My sword drove into his gut, angled up beneath his ribs. His breath left him a wet gasp, eyes wide with disbelief as he slid off the steel. He crumpled forward, his blood spilling hot across the square, soaking into the earth at my feet.

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  Three bodies hit the dirt almost as one, the silence after sharper than steel.

  I stood over them, sword low at my side, the air still humming faintly around me. The rest of the riders hadn’t moved. Their horses stamped nervously at the sudden scent of blood, ears twitching, eyes rolling white.

  Behind me, the villagers went quiet as the grave. Celeste’s breath hitched, but she didn’t speak.

  I raised my eyes to the rest of them. “Who’s next?”

  Then a whistle answered my question.

  Two bowmen had dismounted and raised their strings. The twang rang sharp, and twin arrows hissed through the morning air straight toward me.

  I didn’t bother to raise my sword.

  A flick of thought, a twist of a wrist, and air snapped the current to life around me. The arrows veered off course with a sharp hiss, one clattering harmlessly against the well’s stone rim, the other skidding into the dirt at my boots.

  The bowmen froze, staring in disbelief. They had expected me to dodge. To bleed. Not to turn aside their shots like gnats swatted in midair. Especially with no real movement that they could see.

  I let the wind die back down to a whisper, my grip tightening on the sword. My eyes fixed on the two archers as their hands shook against the strings.

  “Your turn,” I muttered, and took a step forward.

  The two archers stared, their first volley useless at my feet. One cursed under his breath, teeth bared as he yanked another arrow from his quiver. The other already had his string drawn, desperate to prove the first shot was no fluke.

  I didn’t move.

  The air stirred around me, faint at first, then building into a low current that brushed against my cloak. They loosed together, arrows slicing toward my chest.

  Another twist of thought with a flick of the wrist and a shift in the wind. Both shafts bent mid-flight, one spinning off into the dirt, the other snapping against the stone wall of the square. Splinters rained at my boots.

  The bowmen’s confidence faltered. I saw it in the tremor of their fingers as they nocked again, the frantic hitch of their breath.

  “Go on,” I said, voice carrying calm and even across the square. “Empty them.”

  They did.

  Arrow after arrow hissed through the air, each one turned aside with nothing more than a flick of wind. Some snapped in half, some clattered harmlessly across the ground, a few even whipped back in wild arcs that nearly clipped their own mounts. The villagers watched, wide-eyed, as the impossible became routine. Steel and wood undone like they were nothing more than twigs in a storm.

  By the time the last arrow clattered to the dirt, both men stood panting, their quivers nearly bare, hands raw from the string.

  I let the silence stretch, then took one slow step forward. The bowmen stumbled back in unison, pale and sweating. Their horses stamped nervously, ears pinned flat.

  The rest of the riders hadn’t moved, still mounted, still watching. They had two Casters among them, but neither had stirred. Not yet.

  It was just me, the blade in my hand, and two bowmen who finally understood they had nothing left to stand behind.

  One of the bowmen fumbled another arrow from his quiver, fingers shaking as he tried to notch it to the string. Desperation made him clumsy.

  At my feet, another shaft lay half-buried in the dirt. I bent, picked it up, and weighed it once in my hand like a spear.

  His eyes flicked up just in time to see me draw back my arm.

  “Here. You can have this one back.”

  I threw.

  The gust snapped into place as the arrow left my grip, catching it mid-flight and hurling it faster than any bowstring could dream to loose. It screamed across the square and buried itself through the man’s eye with a sickening crunch.

  His head snapped back as though struck with a hammer. The force drove him off his feet, his bow falling from limp fingers as he staggered, legs buckling. The arrow jutted grotesquely from his skull, blood sluicing down in a hot stream that spattered the dirt.

  He didn’t fall immediately. He thrashed, hands clawing at the shaft jutting from his face, boots scraping furrow into the ground as if trying to run from death itself. A wet, bubbling cry escaped him, more animal than human, before his knees finally gave way. He collapsed sideways, twitching once.

  The other bowman froze, the half-notched arrow slipping from his hand. His mouth hung open, eyes wide and white, locked on me in raw terror.

  The square was silent again, save for the faint hiss of wind still curling around my shoulders.

  I lowered my arm, sword still steady in my other hand. “Next,” I said, voice flat.

  The gray-bearded man’s grin completely gone. Rage flickered across his face as he yanked his sword free and bellowed, “Ride him down!”

  Four riders spurred their mounts forward in the narrowed street, hooves thundering across the packed earth. The square shook under the weight of it, villagers scattering back, shouts breaking out as the charge bore down on me.

  I exhaled once and moved.

  Wind surged underfoot, lifting me in a sudden burst that carried me clear of the first rider’s sword. My blade flashed downward, splitting his collarbone as I soared past. He crumpled int eh saddle, eyes already glassing as his horse screamed and bolted through the square.

  The second came fast behind him. I twisted in the air, the current snapping around me, and a razor edge of wind tore across his throat. Blood sprayed in a crimson arc as he clawed at his neck, his body pitching sideways out of the saddle before his horse even knew he was dead.

  I landed light, dirt scattering beneath my boots. The third rider’s sword swept low, meant to take me as I touched ground. Too slow. My own blade met his mid-swing, the gust carrying it deeper, harder. His arm severed clean at the elbow, his weapon clattering uselessly as the follow-through ripped across his chest. He toppled backward, dead before he hit the ground.

  The last came roaring down on me, lance leveled. I waited until the point was nearly at my chest, then snapped another burst beneath my feet. The wind hurled me upward, higher than his reach. My sword plunged down as I passed, punching through helm and skull in a single brutal stroke. The man’s body sagged in the saddle, reins slipping from dead fingers as his horse barreled on, dragging him limply across the square.

  Four bodies fell in the span of breaths. The horses screamed and scattered, hooves kicking up dust and blood.

  I stood in the clearing haze, sword dripping red, the air still whispering at my shoulders.

  The last four were off their horses, pressed forward together. The archer-turned-swordsman lowered his blade, teeth bared. Beside him, a brute with a greatsword held it high, his swing already winding for the kill.

  Behind them, the graybeard thrust out his hand, Fire roaring to life, the heat scorching the air. The other Caster – a lean man with a scar down his cheek – raised both arms, Wind swirling sharp into crude, jagged blades that shrieked through the air ahead of the charge.

  Four against one. Steel, flame, and storm.

  I didn’t retreat.

  The first Wind Blade screamed toward me, fast but uneven, its edges fraying in the current. I cut through it with a snap of my own, the gust around my sword shredding it to a harmless breeze. The Fire Caster’s flame followed a hearbeat later, a gout of heat and light that seared the dirt. I side stepped with a burst, wind snapping at my heels, the fire licking only dust where I’d stood.

  The sword-bearers reached me first. The smaller one swung wild, all speed and no control. My blade met his, a gust carrying the strike wide, opening his chest for the follow-through. Steel bit deep into his ribs in a forward thrust, tearing through lung and bone. He coughed blood and sagged against me before crumpling to the ground.

  The greatsword came next, the brute’s strength tearing down in a crushing arc. I leapt into the wind, rising above it, the blade cleaving only air. As I dropped, I twisted, the current snapping behind me, driving my sword clean through his neck. His head lolled on ruined sinew as his body fell back into the dirt with a heavy crash.

  That left the Casters.

  The graybeard roared, Fire bursting from his palm in a wide arc meant to swallow me whole. At the same time, the other slashed the air, a dozen jagged wind blades shrieking toward me, their form crude and impractical.

  Too much. Too fast.

  For anyone else.

  I dropped low, wrapping myself in a light stream of water that blunted the heat above. Their attacks clashed midair – flame and storm colliding, cancelling in a burst of smoke. I was already moving through it, sword cutting the haze apart.

  The scarred Wind Caster saw me too late. His mouth opened in a curse, but my blade was already across his throat. The air carried it deeper, severing flesh and spine in a single, clean stroke. He fell on his knees, hands clutching uselessly at the spray pouring from his neck.

  Only the graybeard remained. Fire still burned in his palm, his eyes wide now with something that wasn’t just rage.

  Fear.

  The graybeard bellowed, flames bursting from his hands in a wide, desperate sweep. Heat shimmered across the square, but the wind tore it apart as fast as it came, scattering embers harmlessly into the dirt.

  I didn’t slow. Step by step, I closed the distance, his face twisting from rage into more cracks of fear.

  “You should’ve let her go,” I said, my voice carrying over the roar of his flames. “She’s suffered more than enough.”

  The Fire Caster snarled and cast again, another surge of heat bursting forward. Uselessly blown apart as quickly as it came.

  “Keep casting,” I told him, the wind snapping each gout of flame into nothing. My gaze didn’t leave his. “Every scar she carries is because of men like you. You’ve had your share of her pain.”

  I raised the blade once. Just once.

  “Now you’ll have mine.”

  The current surged with it, clean and sharp. Steel and air became one stroke, cutting straight through fire, through bone, through the man himself.

  For a hearbeat he stood frozen, eyes wide, mouth opening as if to curse me one last time. Then the blood came – a thin red line spilling down his chest, widening, breaking him open.

  He slid sideways, hitting the dirt with a heavy thud. The fire in his hand guttered out before it touched the ground.

  And then there was no one left standing.