But Jhatanya knew it wasn't enough. They might look professional, they might have strength in numbers, but they were no match for the King's soldiers. There were probably only about twenty or thirty of them but they wore their black and gold uniforms like Kings. Jhatanya lifted her chin proudly from her own little corner in the palace courtyard. Her knuckles were raised with enthusiasm, fists swinging out to mimic the battle that was going on before her.
Still, every time a sword or a red cape came to close, Jhatanya would back up and duck back behind the giant concrete pottery bowl, sitting in its own little niche in the corner wall of the palace garden. Women were not supposed to fight.
She felt wondrous relief as she looked out and saw that the black cloaks were ploughing their way through the red. The thick silver blades triumphantly meeting those so immaculately curved as another red cloak fell.
Jhatanya smiled. Chtarmen was going to lose. The King's Men would be victorious. Just the thought of Chtarmen made her look towards the other end of the palace courtyard to the throne were he was sitting. Her eyes widened in shock and her heart began to beat a thousand times faster.
Chtarmen was not there.
Hastily she scanned the fighting crowd and the four walls of the courtyard.
The space was rectangular but also curved. The lengthier outer wall, decorated with hundreds of leafy green hanging pot plants, was to her left. Over the top of it, the last of the red cloaks were leaping, somersaulting to the crowd below in a display of excellence. The rest of the walls were also the walls of the palace. The wall behind her was one of the shorter ends of the rectangle and contained three niche's, at calculated positions, containing the large concrete pots brimming with foliage.
The opposite wall had two of these niche's, a large throne sitting elegantly between them. It was one of those giant thrones, also concrete. The seat was so big it could hold several people at once and elevated the seated several metres above the rest of the courtyard. Large red cushions and a red throw rug decorated its surface so that it was made more comfortable, but these decorations were removed when the throne was not in use. They could not be left out in the rain, and the throne itself was rarely used but for outside performances and celebrations.
Jhatanya, scanning these areas, could find no sign of the man she hated so much. Her heart beating faster, she slid her hand around the gravely surface of the giant pot and peered around to see the final wall.
This undecorated wall contained two doorways leading inside the palace. The largest entranceway sat in the middle. Its doors were flung open but a whole contingent of black soldiers blocked the doorway, their swords neatly slicing through the flesh of any red capes that dared to come too close.
The second door was small and barely noticeable. It was a hidden doorway located at the far back corner behind the throne, as a secondary escape for royalty should an emergency occur.
Jhatanya let her eyes rest here.
If Chtarmen wanted to escape, this would be his main exit.
Finally she saw him. He, too, was behind one of the giant concrete pots, the closest one to the small hidden doorway. His shifty eyes were scanning the crowd and he was sliding towards the doorway like the rat deserting a sinking ship.
Anger and rage welled up in Jhatanya at the site of him. She was not going to let him get away with this. He had destroyed so many.
Like a dream, she felt her body glide out from behind the pot and drift through the crowd. As she moved, gaps opened up before her, between the fighting.
Fighting.
If she were to do something about Chtarmen she would need a weapon.
As if on cue, a red cape to her left found himself stumbling, falling. The sword behind dragged from his stomach was the cause, and as he tumbled, his own bloodied sword scittered across the stones as though it were alive.
Like when you cut the tail of a skink. Jhatanya thought.
The red cape fell across before her and the smell of blood seared her senses. Suddenly she realised that smell was all around her. That filthy smell that oddly reminded her of the metallic smell of coinage. She couldn't breathe.
Jhatanya moved forward and bent down. For some reason it was essential that she see the face of this man lying before her. Her scarred hands tentatively reached forward and touched the soldier's arm. It flopped forwards, and the soldier's face stared blankly up at her.
Jhatanya gasped. The smell of blood choked her as she backed away.
The soldier was a woman.
She turned away, tears stinging her eyes, and rushed towards the sword that still lay desolately on the cold stone floor. Her breathing was ragged and sketchy as she slid her hands around the hilt and lifted it.
The silver glinted dangerously in the sunlight.
Jhatanya turned towards the doorway Chtarmen had moved towards, to see him disappearing beyond. She stepped forward, erasing the memory of the woman from her mind.
Suddenly a face in a red cloak appeared before her.
This one was male.
His eyes connected with hers and then slid to her sword. He grinned evilly and raised his own sword. She was easy pickings. The man's sword barrelled towards her and Jhatanya only just managed to raise her own to defend herself. The two curved blades crashed together and Jhatanya's arm quavered under the force.
The soldier crushed his sword downwards again and pain shot up Jhatanya's arm at the shock.
She gritted her teeth as the world singled down to only her, the soldier blocking her way and the door beyond. A renewed energy flower through her veins at the site of the door behind him and Jhatanya thrust the sword upwards.
A look of shocked surprise washed across the man's face as his own sword was flung upwards and across the courtyard. Jhatanya couldn't blame him, she felt just as surprised.
Effortlessly she thrust forward and slid the sword home into his gut. The curved blade scraped across bone as it went in.
The soldier gurgled blood and it dripped out of the corner of his mouth as if he were a vampire.
Jhatanya gulped and felt something well up in her own throat. It wasn't blood though. She wanted to vomit.
A burned hand went to her mouth and nose and she dragged the blade from the already dead man. Jhatanya stumbled forward over the body and towards the doorway. The world was spinning around her.
The doorway refused to stand still as she moved towards it but she crashed through anyway and stumbled down the small passageway beyond.
She was shocked to see the tip of Chtarmen's cloak disappearing around the far corner to the left. It felt like years since she'd seen him disappearing into the doorway.
Jhatanya hurtled down the passageway but her movements were slow and clumsy now. Cursing the sliding earth, she felt the smooth surface of the wall against her cheek more than once but continued on, turning left when she finally arrived at the appropriate corner.
Her mind raced, wondering where she was going, where all this was leading. The black walls of the corridor twisted and turned and only one of two torches burned to light the way. Their flickering flames reminded Jhatanya of the slick blood as it seeped through the woman's clothes.
Red on red.
Finally an opening of gray stone steps opened up before her at the end of the passage. Almost drunkenly she collapsed down them, stumbling down into the black room below.
Everything was dark, black as night, and deadly silent. The only sound was the noisy rasping of Jhatanya's breathing. The dust ridden floor below her felt cold and uninviting. Suddenly a chanting rose up out of the blackness. It resonated throughout the room and filling the dark void with sound.
Jhatanya swallowed as the chant sent shivers down her spine. There were two voices. Two voices. One was deeply male, and obviously the voice of Chtarmen. The other was lighter, more feminine.
Jhatanya felt her throat constrict. She knew that voice too.
Gently she lifted a hand up before her and concentrated. A small globe of light began to grow in her charred palm. It pulsated in rhythm to the chanting and delicately lit the tiny room.
Jhatanya lifted her eyes up before her.
There they were, seated on either side of a small stone table. Chtarmen was to her right. His eyes were closed and his lips were pulled into that looked of disgust that permanently sat on his face. His claw-like hands were clutching at the table and a muscled body sat tensely on the chair, waiting. No, expecting.
His voice rose and fell as it chanted.
But it was the woman on the left who stole Jhatanya's eyes. Jhatanya gasped and flailed, trying to get up from the iciness of the floor.
The woman's eyes flung themselves open and her head swivelled to look down at Jhatanya. Her clothes were a gypsy red, to somehow match the red cloak that billowed on an unseen wind around Chtarmen.
The woman's fingers, wrists and ears were decorated with an endless supply of silver jewelry. Her skirt was short and her top revealing but red gauzy material floated across the rest of her exposed body. Long blond hair floated around her shoulders and piercing eyes met Jhatanya's. Thick, blood red lips twisted up into a satisfied smirk.
"Jhatanya," the woman exclaimed, "how nice of you to join us."
For a moment, as their eyes locked, the whole world snapped to a halt in its spinning. Jhatanya felt that anger welling up inside her again.
"Jendara," she growled through gritted teeth, "how could you!?"
Jendara's smirk twitched amusedly.
"You did not think I would actually prefer to spend the rest of my life as a servant did you!" she accused.
"You know this woman?"
Chtarmen's deep voice, halting the chanting altogether, was for a second a surprise. Jhatanya had completely forgotten him as she stared at Jendara, her former friend.
Jendara's smirk continued to twitch, "I did." She turned her face back to the table and slid her silken hands and long, perfect nails across its top, clutching at Chtarmen's own hands. Her mouth opened and her voiced raised up again to the ceiling, continuing the chanting.
Chtarmen smiled harshly and followed her lead. Ignoring Jhatanya as she did.
Their chanting rose in intensity.
"No!" Jhatanya cried and fumbled about on the floor. The bird with clipped wings.
The sword was still in her hand. She had been holding the hilt so tightly that now its decorated surface stung, imprinted into her scarred hands. Jhatanya held them out before her. They were ugly and puckered from where the flames had crackled delightedly across their surfaces. She could see the flames before her now, again, as though she were reliving the experience.
The world was full of cries of terror as the heat from flames blasted her and smoke choked her lungs. But she knew, she knew she would do it all over again as her hands reached across through the flames.
"Let me fly," Jhatanya whispered, the fire stinging her hands, and suddenly the vision washed away and she was sitting back in the dark room, the globe of light still bobbing in the palm of her hand.
The chanting swum around her, spinning waves of magic as it rose and fell, but Jhatanya no longer fumbled.
She pulled her heavy body from the cold floor and pushed forward towards the table. The air was thick and heavy around her with chanting and magic.
Jendara, Jhatanya thought, how could you betray us so? How could you turn your magic to such evil?
Weakness.
The word whispered through her mind as she moved forward against the tide of magic. Jhatanya's movements were slow now not because they weren't deliberate but because Jendara's magic was holding her back. She fought against it and took another slow step forward.
Weakness.
I will not grow old here, alone.
"Jendara," Jhatanya whispered sadly and raised the curved sword above her head. Slowly, step by step, she was moving towards Chtarmen.
Jendara's eyes opened in fright and she stumbled back over her chair.
Chtarmen's own eyes flung open and angry black eyes glared into her own. Calmly he stood and moved towards the quavering Jendara.
"Do it now, Jendara," he told her, his palms open out to her.
Jendara looked desperately between Chtarmen and Jhatanya.
"I don't have enough," she begged, "not enough for both of us." Her voice quavered in fear but Chtarmen took another calm step towards her.
"Do it now," he growled now, through gritted teeth. Jhatanya's sword was moving slowly towards him, spelling out his fate, and his impatience was the only sign of fear he showed.
But it was enough for Jhatanya.
Jendara's eyes were begging desperately. The smirk no longer sat upon her lips, instead they quivered in fright.
Chtarmen's strong hands slid around Jendara's throat gently, then slammed her forcefully against the wall behind her.
"Do it now!" he ordered, threateningly. Jendara gasped and one of her perfect, smooth hands slid to her throat, over the top of Chtarmen's hand, trying to breathe.
"You're hurting me," she whined but Chtarmen's grip did not loosen.
Jhatanya was behind them now, the sword pulsing in her hand, she reached forward across the gap. Seconds became an eternity as the sword moved across.
Jhatanya's eyes widened and her jaw dropped. Jendara gasped loudly in pain and looked down to her skewered body as Chtarmen stepped easily out of the way.
There was a thunderous clap of energy.
Jhatanya dropped the hilt of the sword in shock but it stuck there, through Jendara's middle, pinning her to the wall.
All Jhatanya could see was blood. Lots of blood.
Jendara's lips moved silently before her own eyes went dead and her body hung limply over the sword through her belly.
Jhatanya felt her knees buckle below her as she slid back down to the ground. Tears stung her eyes and invisible blood swum in her palms. It pulsed with the globe of light and sloshed across the stone floor.
What have I done!? I meant to get Chtarmen, Jendara, I meant to get Chtarmen.
There was a horrible familiar laugh. It reverberated around the room as the chanting had done.
Jhatanya looked up. Chtarmen was standing above her. He had taken a wine goblet from the table and was holding it exultantly in his hand, raised to the ceiling, as black lightning crackled around his body. It twisted and crackled, soaking into his body and leaping back out to twist around once more.
"No," Jhatanya said quietly shaking her head, "No."
Chtarmen laughed wickedly.
"Yes," he said, his eyes penetrating her skin, "thankyou." He raised the goblet up higher and Jhatanya felt her eyes drawn to its black surface.
Over the rim of the glass she could see Jendara's dead eyes staring accusingly. Jhatanya's lips quavered in horror.
"A toast," Chtarmen's voice said, floating around the goblet. For a moment the goblet moved away as Chtarmen drunk the remnants of wine within it.
Jendara's face, frozen in shock, was left bare for a few seconds until the goblet moved back. It shook with excitement in his hands and black lightning continued to crackle across his skin. Jendara's eyes bobbed behind the glass as if it were her who was moving and not the goblet. They stared into Jhatanya's own eyes.
"A toast," Chtarmen repeated, "to the future!"
"No!" Jhatanya cried.
There was an explosion around Chtarmen as energies clashed together. Black lightning raced around the room. The goblet exploded into a thousand tiny little bits in Jhatanya's view. She found her body being flung powerfully across the room and connecting with the wall behind her.
Pain slammed into her back as she slid to the floor. Her head stung but she pushed forward across the floor. The room was dark as her globe had been extinguished and dust clogged her senses.
She stumbled forward and managed to drag another small glint of light into the darkened room. She could barely see through the tears. Shock pulsed through her aching body as she realised it was already too late.
The shattered goblet lay smashed to the floor before Jendara's smuldering body.
Chtarmen was gone, escaped.
Jhatanya's body tingled with pain and anger as she raised her head to the ceiling and screamed. Magic crackled in her own body, building up in some unseen force.
"Wherever you are," she shouted to the sky, "wherever you go, I will be there, haunting you. Whatever you do, I will be there, beside you, behind you. I swear now that I, Chtarmen, I will be your death."
And then there was only blackness beyond.
