Gulnaz throws up her arm from the light, but Za’skar martial artists can manoeuvre deftly even blinded. Arching back, her wrists twist, blades shooting forward so fast they almost cleave my stomach, like a butcher to a lamb. It must be an affinity, somehow manipulating the air currents around her.
I twist left, the blade nicking my ear.Too close. If I could just—
I stoop down, dodging another blade that would have slashed my neck.She wants to inflict grave injury. I leap, closing the distance between our attack zones, my fingers pinching the tip of her khanjar before it thrusts forward. Blood beads down my knuckles.
Her head reels back to slam against mine, but my right foot hooks around her ankle as I sidestep with the other, my arms driving through the momentum into third stance.
Our khanjars intercept. My blade twists up against her, whining from her weight. Teeth gritted, she presses harder into my side, the pressure building. I strain, heels sliding back against the dirt.
Our eyes meet briefly. Snarling, I abruptly leap back, following the air current, our locked stances suddenly off balance. Nur ignites the tip of my khanjar before the blade rolls into my pinkie. I spin inwards, knifed palm slashing into her with a brutal spleen strike. Gulnaz’s stance crumples.
Seizing the opening, her other comrade, Dara, dives into my path, but I am ready. Nur shoots from my finger bonds into two spikes, lashing out like snakes at his ankles.
Dara’s knees buckle but he only grins, mouth opening –he uses his tongue bonds, I realise. Above, the Veil ripples like a grey duvet and the sky crackles and booms. I’ve read about this affinity from the seventy-seven, a Heavenly Contract that asks the angels of the Divine to manipulate a storm flood on the Eajiz’s behalf.
‘No,’ I cry. The hair stands erect on the back of my neck before purple light ignites the square plane.
I’m knocked off my feet. My body smacks against a cluster of cacti, puncturing my arms in a shocked sting. Warm blood dribbles down my sleeves.
Dread carves down my back as the next lightning bolt destroys nearbyflora. The plants scatter, exposing my squadron’s position to the other flanks. Cursing, I roll as Dara’s khanjar punctures downwards.
My two shoulder bonds expand, dense nur slithering toward Dara’s back, then erupting before he can finish me. With a cry, more from surprise than pain, Dara stumbles forward, and I crawl, snatching the banner and retreating before he can lunge toward me.
Just then, three soldiers under Captain Madj enter the square plane, and I sprint away, spotting Sohrab on the opposite end, behind our last thin defences of cacti, clutching a bloodied arm against his chest, Yahya strapped to his back.
‘We are going to die, master,’ Sohrab moans when I reach them. ‘Take him, I cannot hold him any longer, my arm is not working.’
‘Retreat with the second banner,’ I order after taking Yahya. ‘Fayez and Madj are occupied in battling each other. For now, find Arezu—’
I cannot finish my thought because in the distance, I spot Arezu cornered on the salt crystals at the edge of the territory’s cliffs, Cemil above her.
Sohrab notices, too, eyes widening.
‘Retreat!’ I shout, but my voice does not carry far enough. ‘Do not engage—’
Arezu’s head snaps to the side as Cemil shoves her. My heart stutters. Cursing, I thrust the flag into Sohrab’s arms.
‘Retreat!’
Arezu is fodder, all of these students are supposed fodder– the thought is like glass cracking beneath pressure. If Arezu is injured, any hope of winning the Marka is snuffed.And Cemil– my fingers dig into the meat of my palms –I warned him not to insult my students.
‘Take Yahya,’ I tell Sohrab, but he shakes his head and bolts away.
‘Where are we going, master?’ Yahya asks as I heave him up against my side.
‘To save your foolish comrade. Hold on to my tunic and do not let go.’
‘Cemil will kill us?’ he asks with growing dread, a boy only now coming to realise his dangerous circumstances.
‘Shut up,’ I hiss. ‘My students are not allowed to die.’ Murder may be outlawed in the Marka, but anger has a way of yielding ever so gruesome accidents.
By the time I round on Cemil, his back to me on the craggy salt cliffs, he is gripping Arezu by the wrist. I have only seconds. Angling nur through my left arm, I attempt a horizontal barrier.
‘You are like a buzzard, Khamilla. I need only a worm as easy bait,’ Cemil tuts before spinning, yanking Arezu forward with the force, his palms out. He disappears from my vision.
Yabghu told me he can only mark three targets at a time.
An arm wraps around my waist, the other twisting my right elbow to my lower back. I grit my teeth to fight a gasp as he pulls me flush to his chest.
