The dragons collided with an incredible force; each snarling and biting viciously at the other's neck. Astana was knocked from the back of her black dragon and landed heavily on her back. Rakia, who was doing very little to assist her dragon in the battle, gracefully leapt from the back the creature's back, and landed lightly on the ground.
She jerked her blade from it's scabbard, and buried it in the ground where Astana had been moments before. Rakia was annoyed, though not necessarily surprised, to find Astana on her feet a few yards away, with sword in hand, and dashing towards her.
The two blades crashed together with a clang that echoed throughout the valley. The adversaries were both expert swordswomen, and each prepared herself for the long, all-too-familiar dance that was to come; the thrill of dodging the sharp blade of her familiar foe, and then attacking with a series of slashes and stabs.
Red sparks flew through the air and burned both women as the blades came together and quickly flew apart again.
She jerked her blade from it's scabbard, and buried it in the ground where Astana had been moments before. Rakia was annoyed, though not necessarily surprised, to find Astana on her feet a few yards away, with sword in hand, and dashing towards her.
The two blades crashed together with a clang that echoed throughout the valley. The adversaries were both expert swordswomen, and each prepared herself for the long, all-too-familiar dance that was to come; the thrill of dodging the sharp blade of her familiar foe, and then attacking with a series of slashes and stabs.
Red sparks flew through the air and burned both women as the blades came together and quickly flew apart again.
Rakia's blade grew heavy in her weary hand, as the battle seemed to rage on for eons. No matter how fiercely or skillfully she fought, her blade struck nothing but Astana's steel. Each woman felt her energy dwindling as she attacked more powerfully than ever before. They deperately channeled every ounce of strength they could muster into thier aching arms. Each blow was harder than the last; each warrioress even more covered in sweat.
Rakia’s arms and shoulders glistened nearly as much as her breastplate did in the bright sunlight of the late afternoon. Her armor, though it was the lightest in the land, still grew heavy on her sore body. She noticed her own breathing becoming labored, and knew that she must end the battle quickly, or risk certain defeat. She prepared to deliver her final blow that, with any luck, would send Astana's head tumbling to the trampled grass beneath their feet.
Unfortunately her opponent saw the change in her stance, and altered her own strategy. She decided to switch to the offense, which should force Rakia to the defense. She prepared to deliver her most powerful blow yet. Rakia saw that her former friend, Astana, intended to take the offense, but Rakia wouldn’t permit that.The blades came together with incredible force, and shattered on contact. Instead of pulling their blades back, each stared dumbly at her throbbing hands and the hilt she held.
The blades were made by master Elven blacksmiths, in the fires of Mt. Tudor, the hottest volcano in the world. They were forged from the strongest steel, and folded hundreds of times. Never before had Elven blades been broken, and it took both women by surprise.
Rakia thought back to her childhood days, when she and Astana had sparred with wooden swords. Even when they were children, they had possessed the strength to shatter blades used by the human men.
How had she dealt with it when she stood with only a wooden stub in her hands? She tried to recall. They sparred for pleasure in those days, and never dreamt it would come to this; to the two of them on the opposite sides of the war. To one of them laying down her life by the other’s hands.
Rakia threw down her hilt, and leapt onto Astana. They fell to the trampled grass in a fury of fists. They were as trained in hand-to-hand combat as they were in swordsmanship, and the first blood appeared in mere seconds.They fought for several long minutes, each punching the other, as she clawed her opponent's armor loose. By the time a quarter of an hour had passed, each woman was covered in blood, stripped of her armor, and utterly exhausted.
Astana rolled onto Rakia's back, grabbed a fistful of Rakia's fair hair, and slammed her head into a small stone that was half-buried in the hard ground beneath them. Rakia swallowed a cry that threatened to spring from her lips, and dug her finger nails into Astana's back.
Rakia threw Astana off of her back, and stumbled to her feet as she roughly wiped the back of her hand across her forehead, in a failed attempt to divert the blood that trickled into her eyes. She staggered backwards, disoriented from the loss of vision in her right eye.
"Cheating bitch," Rakia spat angrily.
"Sticks and stones Rakia... At least I'll be alive a minute from now," Astana countered haughtily.
"Don't be too sure," Rakia growled.
Astana, who usually favored action to conversation, leapt at Rakia and tackled her to the ground. Astana wrapped her fingers around Rakia's throat and squeezed as hard as she could. Rakia thrashed and clawed at Astana's fingers, as she struggled for a breath of air.
Rakia desperately longed for a breath of air, no longer minding that it smelled of blood and death, a scent it had picked up from the battle in the nearby valley. She would not allow it to end this way. She had to kill Astana; or the world would be subject to her dictatorship for years to come. Who knew how long it would be before Astana would die...Or how vile her heir would be. No. If there was ever a hope of it ending, it had to be now.
Rakia forced her knee between their chests, let out a fearsome battle cry, and launched Astana off of her. Rakia leapt on top of Astana, and pounded the back of her neck with her fists. Rakia roughly rolled Astana over and then leapt on her again; Rakia straddled her slender waist, and pickedup a rough sand-stone rock that laid nearby.
"Guess not," Rakia sneered, as she lifted the stone above her head.
A wave of panic washed over Astana's face, as she lifted her hands fearfully, in an attempt to ward off the descending rock.
"Ria no!" she shrieked in terror.
It was too late to stop the attack, even if Rakia had been so inclined. The rock was already in course, not to be dissuaded by a pet name, as Rakia might've been. It was hard enough to think of Astana as nothing more than an enemy to begin with; but for Astana to call her 'Ria' as though they were still nine years old and best friends? That was just mean.
The rock crashed into Astana's forehead, stilling her instantly. Rakia reached down with trembling hands, and felt that Astana still had a faint pulse coursing through her veins. She might live if Rakia were to get her to a medic soon enough.
No. She's not the girl you were friends with anymore. She chases the shadows now, Rakia reminded herself.
Astana rolled onto Rakia's back, grabbed a fistful of Rakia's fair hair, and slammed her head into a small stone that was half-buried in the hard ground beneath them. Rakia swallowed a cry that threatened to spring from her lips, and dug her finger nails into Astana's back.
Rakia threw Astana off of her back, and stumbled to her feet as she roughly wiped the back of her hand across her forehead, in a failed attempt to divert the blood that trickled into her eyes. She staggered backwards, disoriented from the loss of vision in her right eye.
"Cheating bitch," Rakia spat angrily.
"Sticks and stones Rakia... At least I'll be alive a minute from now," Astana countered haughtily.
"Don't be too sure," Rakia growled.
Astana, who usually favored action to conversation, leapt at Rakia and tackled her to the ground. Astana wrapped her fingers around Rakia's throat and squeezed as hard as she could. Rakia thrashed and clawed at Astana's fingers, as she struggled for a breath of air.
Rakia desperately longed for a breath of air, no longer minding that it smelled of blood and death, a scent it had picked up from the battle in the nearby valley. She would not allow it to end this way. She had to kill Astana; or the world would be subject to her dictatorship for years to come. Who knew how long it would be before Astana would die...Or how vile her heir would be. No. If there was ever a hope of it ending, it had to be now.
Rakia forced her knee between their chests, let out a fearsome battle cry, and launched Astana off of her. Rakia leapt on top of Astana, and pounded the back of her neck with her fists. Rakia roughly rolled Astana over and then leapt on her again; Rakia straddled her slender waist, and pickedup a rough sand-stone rock that laid nearby.
"Guess not," Rakia sneered, as she lifted the stone above her head.
A wave of panic washed over Astana's face, as she lifted her hands fearfully, in an attempt to ward off the descending rock.
"Ria no!" she shrieked in terror.
It was too late to stop the attack, even if Rakia had been so inclined. The rock was already in course, not to be dissuaded by a pet name, as Rakia might've been. It was hard enough to think of Astana as nothing more than an enemy to begin with; but for Astana to call her 'Ria' as though they were still nine years old and best friends? That was just mean.
The rock crashed into Astana's forehead, stilling her instantly. Rakia reached down with trembling hands, and felt that Astana still had a faint pulse coursing through her veins. She might live if Rakia were to get her to a medic soon enough.
No. She's not the girl you were friends with anymore. She chases the shadows now, Rakia reminded herself.
Rakia slowly grasped each side of Astana's neck and, with tears spilling down her cheeks, snapped the neck of her beloved companion. Slowly she stood with tears in her eyes.
“My old friend,” Rakia whispered.
The wind blew Rakia’s blood and dirt stained hair out of her battered face. Astana wasn’t the only one who had taken damage in the fight.
The wind stilled, and the valley was filled with an eerie silence. Then, suddenly, Rakia heard a crashing in the woods on the hill to her right, and she peered into the darkness of the forest apprehensively. A twig snapped near the edge of the woods, and a bowstring twanged.
Rakia spotted the archer just in time to see an arrow heading for her. She didn’t have time to react, or even time enough to be frightened.
The arrow pierced her fair skin, right above her collar bone. She fell back onto Astana; she felt hot, sticky blood oozing out of the wound, then drip down the side of her neck. Her eyes took in The Great Blue Sky, the sun blinding her as it warmed her face.
As her vision started to fade, Rakia saw the dragons burst from the clouds and plumet towards the ground. The beasts landed a few yards away from the women and cautiously looked at their Riders, who they were surprised to see lying on the ground.
Then Astana's dragon growled, Your Rider killed my little one.
Only because your Rider tried to kill her, Rakia's dragon, Zadora, countered.
Rakia saw Zadora sink her fangs into the black dragon's neck, before her vision faded away into utter darkness. A moment later Rakia heard Zadora roar triumphantly.
The war is finally over, Rakia thought with a sigh.
Little One! Are-
Rakia's hearing slipped away, and she lay dead.
As her vision started to fade, Rakia saw the dragons burst from the clouds and plumet towards the ground. The beasts landed a few yards away from the women and cautiously looked at their Riders, who they were surprised to see lying on the ground.
Then Astana's dragon growled, Your Rider killed my little one.
Only because your Rider tried to kill her, Rakia's dragon, Zadora, countered.
Rakia saw Zadora sink her fangs into the black dragon's neck, before her vision faded away into utter darkness. A moment later Rakia heard Zadora roar triumphantly.
The war is finally over, Rakia thought with a sigh.
Little One! Are-
Rakia's hearing slipped away, and she lay dead.
Three long years of battle, finally ended. Without their Elven leaders, the human men would have no way to continue the war. The two Elven women who lay dead in the open field were who the men looked to for courage, training, and strategy.
Without them, there was no war. It was over at last.
Without them, there was no war. It was over at last.
