Border Ambush Bloodbath
983 Words
Kyranth's lungs burned.
Every step jarred the fresh brand on her collarbone. Pain flared hot and steady. Blood from the cut on her shoulder soaked her tunic. She pushed harder. The border wilds swallowed her. Thick fog rolled through the ravine. Trees loomed like silent guards.
She had been running for hours.
No food. No water. Just rage keeping her upright.
A low growl echoed behind her.
Trackers.
She dropped behind a fallen log. Breath came in short bursts. She pressed her palm to the wound. Sticky warmth. Too much blood. They would smell it miles away.
Three shapes moved through the mist.
Imperial trackers. Half-shifted. Claws out. Eyes glowing yellow. They sniffed the air. Heads turned her way.
The lead tracker spoke. Voice rough. "She’s close. Fresh blood."
Kyranth gripped the slim dagger. Blade still wet from the gate guards. She waited. Muscles coiled.
They advanced. Slow. Confident.
One stepped over the log. Right above her.
She exploded upward.
Drove the dagger into his side. He howled. Twisted. Claws raked her arm. She yanked the blade free. Blood sprayed. He staggered back.
The second tracker lunged. Fangs bared.
Kyranth rolled under his swing. Came up behind him. Slashed across his hamstring. He dropped. Snarling. She stomped his throat. Cartilage crunched. He went still.
The leader charged. Bigger. Faster.
He tackled her. Slammed her into the mud. Claws pinned her shoulders. Hot breath on her face. "Traitor b***h. Morvath wants you alive. Barely."
She bucked. Knee drove into his gut. He grunted. Grip loosened. She twisted. Bit down on his wrist. Teeth sank deep. He roared. She rolled free. Grabbed a jagged rock. Smashed it into his temple. Once. Twice. Skull cracked. He slumped.
Kyranth staggered up. Chest heaving. Blood everywhere. Hers. Theirs.
Vision swam. Legs buckled. She caught herself on a tree. Slid down. Sat in the mud. Dagger still clutched tight.
Silence fell. Heavy. Broken only by her ragged breathing.
Then new sounds.
Boots. Voices. A patrol.
She tried to stand. Failed.
Darkness crept at the edges of her sight.
A tall figure stepped through the fog.
Black armor. Command insignia on his chest. Beta. Elite guard. Scar across his left cheek. Eyes sharp. Assessing.
He stopped. Looked down at the bodies. Then at her.
"Still breathing?" His voice was low. Calm.
Kyranth lifted her chin. "For now."
He crouched. Close enough she smelled pine and steel on him. No hostility. Not yet.
"Imperial trackers. You did this?"
She nodded once.
He studied the wounds on her arm. The brand peeking from her torn collar. Recognition flickered in his eyes. Then vanished.
"You're the one from the arena."
Not a question.
Kyranth tensed. Ready to fight again. Even if she had nothing left.
He held up a hand. "Easy. I'm not here to drag you back."
He glanced at the dead trackers. "They were. I killed the last one chasing you."
She narrowed her eyes. "Why?"
"Orders were to patrol the border. Not hunt a banished heir." He paused. "Yet."
Kyranth laughed. Short. Bitter. "You expect me to believe that?"
"I expect you to die if you stay here bleeding." He stood. Offered a hand. "Come with me. My camp is half a mile. I can patch you up. Then you decide what happens next."
She stared at the hand.
Callused. Steady. The insignia on his sleeve marked him as Thorne Vexar. Morvath's trusted beta commander. One of the few who could walk into the emperor's chambers without kneeling.
Perfect.
Dangerous.
But the key she needed.
Kyranth took his hand. Let him pull her up. Legs shook. She leaned on him more than she wanted to admit.
He supported her weight without comment. Started walking. Slow. Steady.
She kept the dagger in her grip. Hidden against her thigh.
As they moved through the fog she glanced at his profile. Strong jaw. Scar that pulled when he frowned. Eyes scanning the trees. Always alert.
He was loyal to Morvath.
That made him useful.
She would use him.
Bleed him for every secret he carried.
Then leave him broken.
But first she had to survive the night.
They reached the patrol camp. Small. Hidden in a shallow hollow. Fire low. Four wolves on watch. They stiffened when they saw her.
Thorne raised a hand. "She's wounded. Not a threat."
One guard snorted. "Smells like trouble."
"She's under my protection until I say otherwise." Thorne's voice left no room for argument.
They backed off. Reluctant.
He led her to a low tent. Pushed the flap open. Inside: cot. Bandages. Herbs. Basic medic kit.
"Sit."
Kyranth sat. Watched him work. He cleaned her shoulder wound first. Hands surprisingly gentle. No wasted movement.
She studied him while he worked.
This was the man who commanded Morvath's border defenses. Who knew every weak point. Every patrol route. Every ritual vulnerability.
She would get it all from him.
One way or another.
He tied off the bandage. Met her eyes.
"You going to tell me your name?"
"Kira." The lie came easy. "Just Kira."
He nodded. Didn't push.
"Rest. We'll talk in the morning."
He turned to leave.
Kyranth spoke. Soft.
"Thank you."
He paused at the flap. Looked back.
"Don't thank me yet."
Then he was gone.
Kyranth lay back on the cot. Brand throbbed. Wounds ached. But her mind raced.
She had shelter.
A protector.
A direct line to the empire's heart.
She closed her eyes.
But sleep didn't come.
Instead she pictured Morvath's face when she returned.
Not as a banished daughter.
As the one who tore his throne out from under him.
The fire outside crackled.
Voices murmured.
She smiled into the dark.
Tomorrow she would start.
Tomorrow she would begin to take everything back.
But what if Thorne already suspected more than he let on?
What if his kindness was a trap?
The thought lingered.
Cold
As the night deepened around the camp.
- Writer
