19. Drum Beats and Lightning Strikes Are Quite Handy #2
Sapphira spends the night tossing and turning, worrying about Isabel all alone out there. She squeezes her eyes tight and scrubs them angrily. Isabel can take care of herself , she tells herself. She is competent and smart. But she isn’t a fighter.
Sapphira turns over, staring out of the cave at the rising sun.
The fog is low over the grass, and dew drips from its sharp blades.
She pushes herself up out of her warm sleeping pack and walks over to the running stream.
Kneeling, she splashes cool water on her face, jolting herself awake, then sips from it.
Isabel doesn’t return in the morning. Sapphira grows more and more worried as the day drags on, huddling inside the cave and eating the bit of dry fish she has left.
By evening, she can’t eat. She heads back out of the cave and stares out over the mountainside.
She has no idea where Isabel went or what could be holding her.
She could be back any minute, or . . . Sapphira shakes her head.
Pulling her hood over her head, Sapphira strides out into the jungle, looking to stay busy. Some tea would be nice. And it could help calm my nerves. She wanders through the jungle until she finds the patch of mint leaves Isabel showed her on their way up.
“How long did you plan to stay here playing house?” Cornelius says from behind Sapphira. His deep drawl causes her to freeze for only a moment, the hood of her cape pulled over her head as she’s bent over to pick the mint leaves.
The king’s voice sounds taunting behind her. She shivers, her hand inching toward the blade at her side.
“A lot longer than this,” she says, trying to keep her voice light and steady.
“Well, let me bring you back to reality. Soldiers, grab my queen.”
Sapphira waits and listens as feet march in sync toward her. As soon as they are close enough, she whips around, her blade sliding smoothly from its sheath as she swings it in an arc around her, the colors whipping through the air like visual echoes.
Screams ring out, and many soldiers fall to the ground at Sapphira’s feet as her hood falls gracefully from her head. Her hair is braided back, and the long, twisted braids swing behind her.
“What is so funny?” King Cornelius spits as a grin stretches Sapphira’s lips, her eyes trailing into the trees above him. They meet the most beautiful eyes she has ever seen, which are shining with anger.
“I’m not sure you’d find it funny,” she says, her shoulders relaxing just as Isabel, hidden up in the trees, begins to beat the drum tied at her hip.
The small, stout drum beats out a particular pattern that whips the creatures hanging in the trees around Isabel into a frenzy.
Sapphira smirks, satisfied. Isabel did this on purpose.
She’s sure of it. The king just walked right into her trap.
Barks and growls fill the sky like an ominous war cry. WAA-HAAA, WA-HAA! UHN-UNH, UHN-UNH! The cries howl in time with the low, throaty drum beats.
THOOM, THOOM . . . DUM-DUM-DUM . . . The beat sounds like a reaper song.
Cornelius and his men turn to look up into the trees, fearful, warbling cries echoing through their helms at the sight of the hundred Canitam staring down at them.
“Sir, what is that?” the king’s right-hand woman squawks, turning her blade from Sapphira and pointing it into the sky. Sapphira still scowls at the sight of Circe, reminded of how foolish she used to be and how easily she fell for the woman’s wiles.
The king can only stare wide-eyed at the smooshed, hairless face and the tight, spiral horns made of bone. Coarse hair covers wide, muscled shoulders, and strong, muscular, hand-shaped tails suspend them as they swing across branches. Their hand-feet beat a rhythm of rage.
A sword lunges through the air, and Isabel beats harder. The Canitam launch from the trees with a cry, then tussle with the armor-clad men, who outnumber them six to one.
Sapphira focuses on the soldiers before her, meeting their blades with Marbhchìor. Healthy and without injury, she fights with a ferocity she lacked when she last fought the Sairin, taking down one opponent after the next.
Her eyes dart to Isabel up in the trees. She defends herself from Sairin attacks with her fishing spear—a wooden, barb-tipped spear with a springy wrist strap that returns the weapon to her hand after she strikes. It’s a glorious sight to see.
Sapphira jabs at one man, targeting the bend in his armor, then spins to slash the woman screeching from behind. The princess shouts and rages, mouth wide and eyes bulging, as she defends the mountaintop and stops Cornelius’s men. They will not get her or Sule?hare?n.
She and Isabel will stop these men right here.
“King!” Sapphira shouts, able to see only glimpses of him through the fight. “Where is the lady regent and my cousins? What did you do to them?”
King Cornelius is surrounded, fighting off the brutish Canitam.
Light wisps of hair rise around him, his face red and perspiring from his efforts, as he tries to fight his way through.
A smile cracks his lips, and he cackles through gritted teeth, a sharp and eerie sound.
“ They are . . . exactly where they asked to be ,” he grunts, elaborating no further as he takes a Canitam to the ground, swallowed from Sapphira’s vision as he disappears into the fray.
A shout from Isabel has Sapphira whipping her head around to find her. When she spots her, many soldiers are climbing the tree she’s perched in. Then the drum is snatched from her hands.
When the drum is stomped and smashed to pieces on the ground, the Canitam slow in their attacks, waiting for a command.
“Isabel!” Sapphira shouts as the chimera is ripped from the tree. She fights her way over, dodging slashes and landing her own. She cuts down many men in her path toward Isabel.
By the time she reaches the man holding Isabel, Sapphira has several cuts along her arms, but she strikes the man through the chest and pulls Isabel to her side.
“Sapphira,” Isabel whispers hoarsely, eyes shining up at her.
“Come on, Iz. Stay with me, sweet girl. You’re okay. We’re okay.”
The Canitam huff from wide nostrils, beating the ground in agitation with their dexterous feet and scattering when the soldiers shoo them away.
King Cornelius’s rumbling laughter reaches the women as he strides toward the pair.
Sapphira watches him with hard eyes, her teeth gritting at the sight of his smile and so many men still standing. The king has only a few scratches on his cheek and a ripped cape, which billows behind him.
“Was that your best defense?” the man taunts, standing before Sapphira.
She stands back-to-back with Isabel, sword and spear at the ready.
But inside, Sapphira is trembling. Isabel doesn’t have the fighting experience she does, and they are severely outnumbered.
Her eyes scan the people around her, disappointment filling her gut when she doesn’t see her Aunt Agath.
She hadn’t expected her to be here, but she’d hoped, nonetheless.
She’s not sure why exactly, but she needed to see her.
“You!” the king shouts, pointing at Sapphira. “I only want to fight you.”
Sapphira struggles as she and Isabel are separated. Then she is thrown forward at the king’s feet, her sword clattering to the ground.
“You want to fight me?” Sapphira asks. “I thought I was to be your wife.”
Cornelius’s lip raises as he sneers down at her. “You are no longer fit to be a wife or queen. That much I am certain of now. So I will end you, and there will be none left with a claim to the Dansui throne.”
Kicking Sapphira’s sword closer to her, he shouts, “Get up! Get up and fight me fairly. It’s the least you deserve.
” Gesturing around, he says, “After all, if it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have found this magnificent place, which I’d heard only whispers of on my travels.
I never thought I’d actually make it here myself. ”
Sapphira glares up at him, her fingers closing around the hilt of her sword. “You will never claim Sule?hare?n. The people here would never allow that.”
Staggering to her feet, Sapphira holds the blade out toward the king’s chest. He only smiles.
The fury inside her only grows. “Thank you,” she spits, grinning.
“For deeming me unworthy of you. You were right before, when you said I used people. I was so caught up in my own problems that I didn’t realize I was treating the people around me the same as I was being treated.
But I have you to thank for helping me see that. ”
She lunges first, shouting as she swings her blade. The king easily blocks. She rolls and swings for his right side, and he side-steps her move.
“Fight me!” she shouts, then swings again.
She and the king meet blows. When Sapphira is nicked by his blade, she returns the injury with one of her own.
All the while, King Cornelius smiles, his cape swishing behind him.
“I have fought sand-beasts and elves,” Sapphira says. “I have ridden draek?ns and come face-to-face with monsters you couldn’t imagine. Don’t think I can’t take down one measly king!”
Sapphira grits her teeth, her voice like thunder.
She swings harder, her hands like steel around the hilt of her elven blade.
She moves faster, her feet kicking up rock and dirt as she darts back and forth in a frenzy of blows.
Her heart beats louder than a war drum, and her chest heaves as she stares down the king like she is the apex predator.
“AHHHHHHH!” Sapphira cries.
The world blurs around Sapphira, a foggy blue haze as it shifts, growing colder and quieter. She can hear the wind whistle as an icy chill breezes through her.
“Askerh?lla, you don’t have to do this,” a voice calls through the fog. There’s a vast, hulking shadow over a lone figure. “You can join me.”