charged her.
She raced toward Khalisa’s wagon, rounding the corner to see two changlings circle her sister, knives at the ready. Jacquin leapt into the fray, her knife flying, stabbing one in the stomach then the other in the throat. Khalisa grabbed her arm as the changlings fell, bleeding out into the desert sand.
“What do we do?”
Jacquin bent and grabbed a solid glass short sword from one of the dead changling’s hands. The weight was perfectly balanced. “Stay in your wagon. Bar the door. I’ll keep you safe.”
“You’re not a fighter, Jaci!”
“I’m more of a fighter than you are. Please.”
“Jaci…”
Jacquin pushed her sister into her wagon, shutting the door behind her and holding it closed as Khalisa fought to escape. After a long moment Khalisa finally relented and locked the door. “I won’t leave you,” Jacquin swore through the wood and crouched into a fighting stance before Khalisa’s home.
Changlings continued to stream past, but none of them even glanced at her. She tensed, holding her knife tighter. Something was going on. Why weren’t they attacking her? Still, she wouldn’t question it if it kept Khalisa safe.
A sharp hiss of pain caught Jacquin’s attention and she turned to the noise. Her breath caught in her throat. Her heart froze. A silver-cloaked figure, identical to the protector in her visions, fought a mob of changlings nearby. A changling grabbed what Jacquin could now see clearly was a woman by the throat and threw her to the ground, knocking her hood aside. Jacquin watched in rapt attention as the woman fought back, leaping to her feet and dodging two swords at once. Jacquin had never seen her guardian without her hood. The woman’s features were instantly etched into memory: her short, asymmetrical hair a shocking pale silver, her features sharp and elegant. Jacquin could make out a ropey, muscular frame beneath her loose travel clothes, her skill with the sword exceptional in one no older than fifteen tenmoons.
The woman stabbed one of her attackers and dodged another when she locked eyes with Jacquin. She paused for a moment, almost as if in recognition, the distraction long enough for one of her changling attackers to cut a long gash down her back, slicing through cloak and shirt.
The woman screamed, falling to her knees from the wound and Jacquin charged forward. She attacked in a series or kicks and twists, a deadly whirlwind of grace and ferocity. Each attack was a blend of movement and basic swordplay, her motions unique and unpredictable, like a freestyled dance.
The woman struggled to her feet, clenching her jaw against her pain and easing her back against Jacquin’s. They fought back-to-back, dodging and thrusting in time, moving as if they’d fought together for years. There was something about the way the woman moved, the way she fought back against her own pain to survive, the way her body fit with Jacquin’s no matter what angle they met that was instantly familiar. Within minutes Jacquin was convinced that her guardian in her dreams hadn’t been a manifestation of her mind: she had been a vision.
With their skills combined, Jacquin and the figure quickly dispatched the small band of changlings, their feline bodies lying in a crumpled heap on the desert floor. In the distance, Jacquin could finally hear the heavy stomp of Oasis guards. They must be overtaking the changling bandits.
The woman in silver collapsed to the ground, her energy vanishing with her adrenaline as the immediate threat was resolved. Jacquin wrapped her arms beneath the woman’s shoulders and pulled her back to her feet. The woman clung to her waist, using her for support as Jacquin dragged her to Khalisa’s wagon.
Jacquin pounded on the door and Khalisa instantly pulled her inside, locking the door behind them. The woman’s sword clattered to the floor of the wagon as she went limp in Jacquin’s arms.
Jacquin laid the woman face-down on Khalisa’s bed, peeling
She raced toward Khalisa’s wagon, rounding the corner to see two changlings circle her sister, knives at the ready. Jacquin leapt into the fray, her knife flying, stabbing one in the stomach then the other in the throat. Khalisa grabbed her arm as the changlings fell, bleeding out into the desert sand.
“What do we do?”
Jacquin bent and grabbed a solid glass short sword from one of the dead changling’s hands. The weight was perfectly balanced. “Stay in your wagon. Bar the door. I’ll keep you safe.”
“You’re not a fighter, Jaci!”
“I’m more of a fighter than you are. Please.”
“Jaci…”
Jacquin pushed her sister into her wagon, shutting the door behind her and holding it closed as Khalisa fought to escape. After a long moment Khalisa finally relented and locked the door. “I won’t leave you,” Jacquin swore through the wood and crouched into a fighting stance before Khalisa’s home.
Changlings continued to stream past, but none of them even glanced at her. She tensed, holding her knife tighter. Something was going on. Why weren’t they attacking her? Still, she wouldn’t question it if it kept Khalisa safe.
A sharp hiss of pain caught Jacquin’s attention and she turned to the noise. Her breath caught in her throat. Her heart froze. A silver-cloaked figure, identical to the protector in her visions, fought a mob of changlings nearby. A changling grabbed what Jacquin could now see clearly was a woman by the throat and threw her to the ground, knocking her hood aside. Jacquin watched in rapt attention as the woman fought back, leaping to her feet and dodging two swords at once. Jacquin had never seen her guardian without her hood. The woman’s features were instantly etched into memory: her short, asymmetrical hair a shocking pale silver, her features sharp and elegant. Jacquin could make out a ropey, muscular frame beneath her loose travel clothes, her skill with the sword exceptional in one no older than fifteen tenmoons.
The woman stabbed one of her attackers and dodged another when she locked eyes with Jacquin. She paused for a moment, almost as if in recognition, the distraction long enough for one of her changling attackers to cut a long gash down her back, slicing through cloak and shirt.
The woman screamed, falling to her knees from the wound and Jacquin charged forward. She attacked in a series or kicks and twists, a deadly whirlwind of grace and ferocity. Each attack was a blend of movement and basic swordplay, her motions unique and unpredictable, like a freestyled dance.
The woman struggled to her feet, clenching her jaw against her pain and easing her back against Jacquin’s. They fought back-to-back, dodging and thrusting in time, moving as if they’d fought together for years. There was something about the way the woman moved, the way she fought back against her own pain to survive, the way her body fit with Jacquin’s no matter what angle they met that was instantly familiar. Within minutes Jacquin was convinced that her guardian in her dreams hadn’t been a manifestation of her mind: she had been a vision.
With their skills combined, Jacquin and the figure quickly dispatched the small band of changlings, their feline bodies lying in a crumpled heap on the desert floor. In the distance, Jacquin could finally hear the heavy stomp of Oasis guards. They must be overtaking the changling bandits.
The woman in silver collapsed to the ground, her energy vanishing with her adrenaline as the immediate threat was resolved. Jacquin wrapped her arms beneath the woman’s shoulders and pulled her back to her feet. The woman clung to her waist, using her for support as Jacquin dragged her to Khalisa’s wagon.
Jacquin pounded on the door and Khalisa instantly pulled her inside, locking the door behind them. The woman’s sword clattered to the floor of the wagon as she went limp in Jacquin’s arms.
Jacquin laid the woman face-down on Khalisa’s bed, peeling
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