Border Crossing

They awoke at first light and began their journey to the west.

Under a pink and blue dawn, the expanse of southern Scotia opened up before them. They passed through windswept valleys, across stretches of snowy plain and narrow mountain passes. Near the border to Celania, the land grew more temperate, the soil more fertile and they passed villages where peasants toiled in fields overgrown with amber waves of grain. These lands were the breadbasket of the wintry north, coveted by raiders from the south. Centuries of skirmishes with foreign invaders had honed the clans near the border into fierce defenders of their homes but Enyara feared what might befall them should the rumored invasion come to fruition.

At noon, the two travelers found shelter in a clearing among tall, brooding pines.

Enyara studied her companion as she nibbled on a grilled rabbit haunch. The archer sorted her arrows, fingers dancing deftly over the shafts. Her lips were pursed in concentration, a faraway glint in her eyes.

"You know," the redhead began. "We've spent all this time together but it feels like I barely know you."

A faint smile crossed Anya's mouth. "You never asked me about myself."

"True." She bit into a chunk of the rabbit and swallowed. "We haven't had many quiet moments."

Anya stared intently at the tips of her arrowheads, scraping flecks of dried blood off the iron with her nail. "You're either fighting or sleeping. Not much chance to talk to you."

"So let's make up for lost time. Why were you fighting for that clan? Needed the coin?"

The archer nodded. "I figured I'd make some before I headed south. That was until I met you, anyway."

Enyara grinned, lips glistening with grease. "I'm glad you did. I'd have an axe in my head otherwise. Were you planning to see Celania?"

The corner of Anya's mouth twitched and there was a flicker of some emotion in her eyes, gone as soon as it appeared. "I've spent too much time here," she said, simply.

Enyara sensed a story in what she hadn't said but did not pry. "Well, my clan was absorbed into a larger one. I refused to kneel so you could say I'm a shieldmaiden in exile."

"Why not join Queen Skalla?" asked Anya. "I hear she has need of skilled warriors."

She shook her head, her red curls rustling with the motion. "Skalla of the White Horse? She's on a fool's errand. Scotia will never be united. We're not Celanians. Even they're still divided into their checker pieces of land."

"That's rather thoughtful of you," Anya replied.

"You're implying I'm not smart?"

"I wouldn't dream of it. You clearly know more than you let on."

"Good answer," Enyara said. "Thought I'd have to strangle you there for a second. You'd probably like that."

Anya's cheeks darkened but no biting retort followed. She merely smiled in response. "You've got some interesting ideas."

They sat in amicable silence, casting glances and smiles at each other. A short while later, they were on the road again.

The pines gave way to willow trees and the soil became moist under her feet, the air humid. Dirt paths merged with the underbrush, forcing them to wade through thickets to find their way again. Before long, a narrow path opened up before them, guarded by a stack of cairn stones on the side of the road. Moss covered the ancient rocks and faded runs were etched into the top and bottom stones.

"Those symbols," remarked Anya. "They aren't like any I've ever seen."

Enyara pointed at the strange characters on the lowermost stone. "Those are runes of the Khai. It's a symbol of friendship between between our two peoples."

Anya cocked an eyebrow at her. "How did you know that?"

The redhead shrugged. "I heard it once from an elder in my village. Come, let's cross."

Willow trees drooped low around them and the air was thick with the stench of stagnant water. She knew that swamps lingered nearby, home to all manner of filth and disease. She suspected their existence acted as a deterrent to invasion, among other factors.

"What else do you know about this place?" asked Anya.

"Nothing more than the stories tell," she replied. "I've heard that the warriors here train in hand-to-hand combat from a young age and that they know a hundred different ways to kill a woman with their bare hands."

"Is it all just swamp and marshland?"

Enyara shook her head. "Only here at the border. I've heard travelers speak of rice fields and river valleys."

"Anything's better than ice, ice and more ice." The archer wiped sweat from her brow. "Never thought I'd miss the cold though."

The road they were on diverged into two paths, both of which led deeper into the marshlands. At the crossroads, a corpse lay sprawled on its stomach, entrails scattered across the dirt.

"Lovely," Anya remarked.

Enyara knelt down and examined the body. A wide cut had opened her belly. The reddish-yellow skin, silky black hair and slanted eyes betrayed the unfortunate girl as a native. "She's still warm. This wasn't long ago."

"What's that on her thigh?"

Enyara glimpsed the characters etched into her skin, two black marks crisscrossed to form a tattoo. She noticed a blood trail leading away from the body into the bushes on the right hand path. "The killer might be near."

"You're like a bloodhound, I swear." Anya sighed and slipped her bow off her shoulder. "Well, go on. I'll watch your back."

Enyara followed the trail of red into the underbrush. Hand on her sword pommel, she waded through the bushes into a clearing.

A woman in a white robe leaned against a hollowed-out tree trunk, standing over two dead bodies, a strange sword in her hands, the curved blade dripping with gore. She turned at the sound of rustling leaves and narrowed her eyes.

"Friends or foes," the woman barked in Scotian.

Enyara had time only to glance at her companion before a flash of steel whizzed past her face.

"Get down!"

Three warriors charged through the bushes, each armed with the same strange swords. Two rushed the woman by the trunk and the third advanced on Enyara. She had only seconds to draw her blade before the space she had been standing in was swiped by sharp steel. Her opponent was a dizzying blur of cloth, flesh and metal. Enyara could barely parry the blows or dodge the ones she couldn't. The next cut nearly disemboweled her, shredding the top layer of her leather brigandine with the ease of a scythe through wheat. A sudden arrow saved her from certain death.

The point buried itself into her shoulder and the distraction was enough to allow Enyara a riposte. The Khai warrior parried her initial blow but did not anticipate the follow-up shield bash. She stumbled backwards, giving Enyara the opening she needed to plunge her blade into the girl's stomach.

The girl gasped in a huff of pain. Enyara wrenched her sword out and slashed sideways, splitting her enemy's belly with the sharp edge of her blade. Ropy viscera slopped out of the open wound. The girl staggered forward, eyes wide in terror, collapsing face down in the wet grass.

"You're welcome," shouted Anya from behind.

Enyara tipped her sword in gratitude and rushed forward to help the beleaguered fighter by the tree trunk. One on her foes lay beneath her feet, a headless, twitching body. The remaining enemy assailed her with furious blow, a slippery blur of cloth, skin and steel. For all her speed, she couldn't anticipate the shieldmaiden behind her.

Enyara bisected the last enemy with one clean swipe. The girl screamed in agony as her torso slithered off her waist. The redhead silenced her whimpers with a swift stroke to the neck, parting head from body with practiced ease. It thumped to the grass and tumbled against the corpse of another fallen foe.

"I guess that answers my question," the strange woman remarked.

Enyara took the reprieve to study her. Her robe was splattered with the blood of her enemies. A faint scar trailed down the middle of her forehead, curving underneath her right eye but it did nothing at all to mar her beauty. "Who are you?"

"Sumiko." She bowed her head low. "I owe you for your intervention."

The thought to question Sumiko on her knowledge of Scotian never crossed her mind. She found herself utterly taken by the woman's beauty.

"How do you understand us?" asked Anya, ever the voice of reason.

"No one in Khai-Lan has red hair," Sumiko answered, with a smirk. "Traders often pass through our lands, from Scotia. They have much to say and so I learned from them. Your people are hearty and simple, fine virtues."

Enyara met her gaze despite the jitters in her stomach. "Why were you attacked?" she asked, gesturing to the corpses underfoot.

Sumiko tipped over the severed legs of the nearest body with her foot. "See the tattoo on her thigh? The mark of baran. They are numachi no junin, swamp dwellers. Exiles and thieves who band together to rape and kill. Normally, I wouldn't be surprised at their savagery but they were very intent on murdering me."

"Do you think they were sent for you?"

"That is my suspicion," answered Sumiko. "Enough of my troubles though. What brings you to these lands?"

Anya interjected. "We're seeking a mercenary captain. We were led to believe she crossed the border."

Sumiko's expression turned to ice. The flash of anger that appeared in her eyes sent a shiver through Enyara. "You seek Genevieve?" the warrior hissed.

Enyara extended her palms in a placating gesture. "As an enemy. She is not our friend."

Sumiko's grip on the long-handled hilt of her sword slackened. "It so happens that I seek her as well."

The redhead swallowed. A bead of sweat rolled down her cheek, hung off the corner of her jaw before dropping down into the grass. "For what reason?"

Sumiko sheathed her sword and gave her a look that chilled her to the bone.

"Revenge," she whispered.