Damiynn
Fantasy Author
With a contemptuous step to her walk, Iandra led the way out onto the sawdust cirle. The serving maid followed closely, hurling insults at her backside, and some even about her backside. Without acknowledging her scathing comments Iandra rounded on her heel and faced her opponent. A haughty arrogant cast marked her face and her eyes held a blatant look of derision.
Holding out empty hands in front of her, palms up, Iandra raised one eyebrow coolly. The maid met her look with a hiss and looked about at the crowd as if seeking their advice.
Damiken followed her eyes as they searched the crowd and saw the slight nod come from one of the patrons, if he hadn’t been looking at the man who had fought earlier he would have missed it, so imperceptible was it.
A cruel look filled the serving maid’s face and eyes as she finally turned facing Iandra once again. She too held out her palms, both facing downward.
Damiken saw her gesture and felt a river of fear flow through him, he knew what her palms meant, he had heard of such competitions, even as a slave.
In a loud voice he shouted, “No!”
The royal princess of Sororia’s head turned toward him. Her level gaze had such an intense look in it that he took a few steps back as if pushed. Without saying anything, she returned her eyes to the woman and turned her hands palms down, accepting.
As fast as a cat extending its claws, daggers appeared in both of the maid’s hands and she leapt at Iandra, blades stabbing forward like a snakes tongue.
Damiken didn’t understand why Iandra had turned her hands downward indicating that she would allow weapons when he knew she didn’t have any. He got his answer a moment later.
The serving maid charged straight forward, both daggers stabbing straight out in a blur. She was quick and her blades moved fast, but she wasn’t quick enough.
Still wearing the haughty expression on her face, Iandra waited for the blades, waited until the last moment, until the maid could not compensate for her lightning fast lunge. Hurling her body backwards onto her hands she dropped out of the reach of the maid’s stabbing blades. Kicking upwards with one foot, she drove her heel upwards like a battering ram into the underside of the other woman’s breastbone. Air exploded out of the maid’s lungs. Pain caused the overbalanced maid to collapse and she almost fell right on top of Iandra in her prone position on the sawdust.
Damiken watched, his eyes the size of dinner plates as the royal princess moved slightly from her spot on the ground and the serving maid collapsed in a heap on the other side of her head, face first in the sand.
Moving like a seasoned professional who knew what she was about, Iandra flipped her legs up over her head in a somersault, never leaving the ground and suddenly her feet were moving again. One foot came down hard on the serving maid’s wrist with an audible crack of bone, while the second landed on the back of her neck pinning her face down.
With a cold gleam in her eyes, the princess stood, still keeping her feet in place. Ignoring the screams of pain, Iandra squatted down over the bar maid and ran one hand through the other woman’s hair almost as if caressing it. With a savage yank she ripped her head backwards, not quite hard enough to break it but enough to make the pinned maid’s eyes bulge and her mouth opened in a grimace of pain. One of the serving woman’s daggers lay out of reach but the second was still in her hand. Iandra contemptuously pried it out of her fingers and placed the tip of it in her ear, drawing a small drop of blood.
The maid let out a scream, begging for mercy, stammering, “p..p..please don’t kill me mistress, please!”
Stunned silence filled the tavern and all heard Inadra’s icy calm words. “You shouldn’t challenge one to a deathmatch if you are not prepared to die yourself.” Then she raised her hand with the dagger high over her head.
Holding out empty hands in front of her, palms up, Iandra raised one eyebrow coolly. The maid met her look with a hiss and looked about at the crowd as if seeking their advice.
Damiken followed her eyes as they searched the crowd and saw the slight nod come from one of the patrons, if he hadn’t been looking at the man who had fought earlier he would have missed it, so imperceptible was it.
A cruel look filled the serving maid’s face and eyes as she finally turned facing Iandra once again. She too held out her palms, both facing downward.
Damiken saw her gesture and felt a river of fear flow through him, he knew what her palms meant, he had heard of such competitions, even as a slave.
In a loud voice he shouted, “No!”
The royal princess of Sororia’s head turned toward him. Her level gaze had such an intense look in it that he took a few steps back as if pushed. Without saying anything, she returned her eyes to the woman and turned her hands palms down, accepting.
As fast as a cat extending its claws, daggers appeared in both of the maid’s hands and she leapt at Iandra, blades stabbing forward like a snakes tongue.
Damiken didn’t understand why Iandra had turned her hands downward indicating that she would allow weapons when he knew she didn’t have any. He got his answer a moment later.
The serving maid charged straight forward, both daggers stabbing straight out in a blur. She was quick and her blades moved fast, but she wasn’t quick enough.
Still wearing the haughty expression on her face, Iandra waited for the blades, waited until the last moment, until the maid could not compensate for her lightning fast lunge. Hurling her body backwards onto her hands she dropped out of the reach of the maid’s stabbing blades. Kicking upwards with one foot, she drove her heel upwards like a battering ram into the underside of the other woman’s breastbone. Air exploded out of the maid’s lungs. Pain caused the overbalanced maid to collapse and she almost fell right on top of Iandra in her prone position on the sawdust.
Damiken watched, his eyes the size of dinner plates as the royal princess moved slightly from her spot on the ground and the serving maid collapsed in a heap on the other side of her head, face first in the sand.
Moving like a seasoned professional who knew what she was about, Iandra flipped her legs up over her head in a somersault, never leaving the ground and suddenly her feet were moving again. One foot came down hard on the serving maid’s wrist with an audible crack of bone, while the second landed on the back of her neck pinning her face down.
With a cold gleam in her eyes, the princess stood, still keeping her feet in place. Ignoring the screams of pain, Iandra squatted down over the bar maid and ran one hand through the other woman’s hair almost as if caressing it. With a savage yank she ripped her head backwards, not quite hard enough to break it but enough to make the pinned maid’s eyes bulge and her mouth opened in a grimace of pain. One of the serving woman’s daggers lay out of reach but the second was still in her hand. Iandra contemptuously pried it out of her fingers and placed the tip of it in her ear, drawing a small drop of blood.
The maid let out a scream, begging for mercy, stammering, “p..p..please don’t kill me mistress, please!”
Stunned silence filled the tavern and all heard Inadra’s icy calm words. “You shouldn’t challenge one to a deathmatch if you are not prepared to die yourself.” Then she raised her hand with the dagger high over her head.
