nearby.
“Great Islands!” Ja’al surged forward, snarling, “Hua’gon, you traitor!”
Lia darted behind him, sliding her blades across the face of a man Ja’al ignored in his maddened bid to reach his brother. They burst into a cavern filled with brawling soldiers and monks. At least five soldiers, wearing shiny body armour which bore an unfamiliar motif of the twin suns setting over an Island, had Inniora surrounded. Judging from the two bodies lying by her feet, they had developed an instantaneous respect for her skills with that huge blade she wielded.
Her Nuyallith forms came so naturally. Burned in her brain months before, they flowed through her veins like smelted ore. Three men faced her. Lia performed the whirlwind technique, generating tremendous centrifugal force in her opening parries to open up her opponents’ defence, before flicking her blades outward in rapid succession. Two men fell. The third thrust at her. A breaking the hammer skill flowed from her body before she knew it–a powerful downward parry from her right hand, driving his blade into the sand and causing him to stagger forward a step, juxtaposed with her left hand extending in a rapid cross-cut. The man sliced his own throat open on the rising blade.
Master Khoyal fired his throwing knives into a knot of soldiers. Then the Master crumpled, a surprised expression crossing his face; a soldier stepped out from behind him, wiping his dagger on his leg.
There were so many men between her and Inniora, Lia had no chance to help her friend. They tossed a net over Inniora’s shoulders, and then beat her down with clubs and sword-pommels, crying, “Get the Princess!” The tall girl collapsed under a heap of bodies.
The soldiers drew back rapidly in tight, well-disciplined formation, hauling their struggling, spitting captive along in their midst. Monks flung themselves at the soldiers, flying from above or clashing with the soldiers, in some cases striking so hard that their swords shattered on impact. Two, three more soldiers went down, one due to Flicker clawing out his left eye, but the formation shifted to close the gaps. They retreated steadily, resiliently, keeping their shields high and their swords ready, through the shattered secret doors leading from the section of caverns used by Inniora and Lia, into the hanger which housed the monastery’s Dragonships. Out there, fires burned fiercely where the vessels had been moored. Through the billowing smoke, Lia saw that the invaders had a Dragonship–and another Red Dragon to protect it.
Upon the port gantry–Ra’aba! Calmly, he watched the battle, a smile playing upon his lips.
Traitor! His men had taken the wrong girl, unless they assumed it was her sister Fyria living in the monastery. Someone had betrayed them. Lia was not glad; instead, a Dragon’s claw of white-hot fury speared into her belly. When he found out, Ra’aba would slay Inniora.
His calmness intimidated Hualiama. A bloody clash boiled right ahead of him, and the Roc’s expression did not change. A decision crystallised in her mind. Much as she hated the man, Inniora came first. Crossing the Nuyallith blades in the first or ‘rest’ position, Hualiama ran lightly through the smoke, dancing, dodging the unexpected spray of arrows from a half-dozen archers ranged on the starboard gantry. Ahead of her, two monks fell to the archers. She saw all with a disconcerting clarity. The Red Dragon drew breath to shoot Dragon fire at the monks. Ja’al bounded over a low sword-stroke, slamming his knee into his brother’s chest. Five bald-headed, baton-wielding monks crashed into Ra’aba’s soldiers in a wedge formation, ripping shields aside, breaking jaws and arms. More monks poured downstairs into the cavern, responding to whatever strategy Master Jo’el had decreed above.
Lia knew that the Master dealt with a diversion. This was the real attack.
With a puff of his cheeks, the Red Dragon expelled a stream of fire. Lia somersaulted over the path of the sweeping flames, tucking her body tight to increase her rotational speed. Landing lightly on her toes, she burst into a second leap, higher even than the first. Her swords sliced in tandem, distracting her intended victims while failing to kill them, as Lia described an arc over the heads of Ra’aba’s troops. She landed nimbly on Inniora’s stomach. Flick. Flick. Her blades sang, separating the soldiers’ fingers from their hands and the net from her friend’s body.
Clubs beat against her speedy defence, snarling her swords; a flurry of blows that ended with her being kicked brutally in the stomach. Her abdominals, hardened by exercise,