Naturally, I'm open to any and all critisism. Note: Murkoon's language is somewhat coase, but I has to use it to express his character. That is him, and not me. If that makes any sense. Thanks for even looking at it. -C.
A knife thudded into a log next to Ember’s cheek, brushing her eyebrow and cheekbone. She pulled back and rolled under it to the opposite side. She hiked up her skirt and grabbed the dagger from her thigh, waiting for Murkoon to come close. He was on horseback, she was on foot. The horse would catch her on the way up the mountain. Ember’s heart pounded as she slid to an upright tree. In her quavering hands, she eyed the sharp point of the dagger and its slim blade. The Lindish knife her father had given to her stared gleamingly up at her. He’d killed with it, but Ember hadn’t been forced to resort to those measures. She had felt the bloodlust in herself, but she’d never used it. She hoped she wouldn’t have to, but she’d do anything to keep from being Murkoon’s third wife.
Her blood boiled at the thought of it, and her face heated. No, she wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t marry him.
“Come out, come out, little flower. Desert bloom of the Queensland, where are you?” Murkoon’s voice changed abruptly, becoming shrill and outraged, “Lords damn you, get out here! Take your place in my harem, you slut!”
Ember stopped listening. She had to work to keep herself from flying out at him, to keep from killing herself. No one spoke to her that way. No one. Not a Lindish, not a Shravik; not even the Fehls could escape unscathed by that remark.
Murkoon’s taunts came nearer, nearer. Suddenly, he went wild screaming profanity to shame any sailor’s vocabulary. Her ears grew as hot as her cheeks and she clenched the dagger until her knuckles turned white and her muscles contracted from her fingers down to her stomach. Wait for it. Her teeth clamped down hard.
Shuffling backwards and sideways, Murkoon came with his back turned to Ember, “If you won’t wed me, come out of hiding and fight…as if any little girl can scratch, much less duel.”
Ember’s steps came with the camouflage of whispering wind. As he turned, so did she, staying behind him until he stood still. Her father’s words rang in her ears, “Ember, this world isn’t dishonest. It is perfectly straight-forward and honorable. It’s the small population of people in it that aren’t. It is they who cause trouble.” He’d told her that while she was in a cell, waiting for the Eldest to state her punishment. She didn’t know her father’s name, didn’t know his looks, but she knew his voice. At the time, she was certain she was one of those dishonorable people. But this quest…it had changed things. She wasn’t sure of anything now. Except that Murkoon was a trouble maker.
Entirely cocky and by some miracle stupid enough not to look behind him, he yelled, “Where are you, you stripe-faced prostitute?”
“Here.”
As he startled around, she struck. Her fist collided with the under part of his jaw. His teeth snapped together and something cracked before he found himself flat on his back. Evidently he had been planning to say something else. His bottom lip was bleeding and a small portion of his tongue laid on his tunic. Before he could recover enough to do anything, Ember slammed a knee into his chest, effectively removing any breath he had hoped to get in his lungs. He gasped. His sword was flung far from his reach, so he closed his eyes in despair.
Hands suddenly steady, Ember leaned down and pressed the blade against his cheek, using the point to trace his jaw line down to his bearded chin. With only two fingers to guide the blade, she shaved off his beard to the skin, going down his chin and to his throat. This created a rather comical road through the forest of reddish hair, but Ember kept her amusement deep inside, careful not to let it show in her eyes. She pressed the blade to his Adam’s apple, “I am no one’s bride. I am not a prostitute. I am not a little girl. But most of all, I am not yours. If I wasn’t such a kind and caring person, I’d take this blade,” here she pushed the blade down, then moved it just a little to one side so a fine line of blood showed, “and cut off your testicles with it.”
He started to swallow, but stopped when he seemed to remember the dagger at his throat. Instead he licked his bleeding lip with a tongue that was bleeding even worse. Blood trickled down the corner of his mouth.
“However, I am such a nice and lenient person, I might let you go intact.”
His eyes opened. White eyes. How she hated the white eyes of the pureblooded Lindish, with grey–blue pupils. At least he appeared interested and eager to agree. Ember continued, “Get out of my life. I want to never see you or your kinsmen ever. Come after me, or send someone to do it for you, I will be sure you never have another child. Then I’ll be sure the breath you use begging for your life will be your last breath.”
Murkoon hesitated. Ember shifted her weight, slashed his tunic down the front, then held the tip where his sternum ended. A fine line of red droplets appeared where she’d cut open his shirt, and a small pool gathered around the tip of her blade. “Or I could get rid of my troubles now, right here. This,” she added pressure and his breath gurgled in pain, “can go straight to your heart. Or to your lungs. I wonder, how would you like to see your stomach for yourself?”
Ember waited for his answer. She didn’t need to have much patience, for he was soon enough bobbing his head and swearing upon his sword that he’d do as she demanded. She didn’t trust the sword-oath much, primarily because she removed it from his possession. A good blade was worth some coinage. Even a poor one could bring enough to last her two days. Or a couple more knives.
Ember watched while Murkoon started his long journey home shirtless, swordless, and defeated. His pride was hurt the most on him, she noted regretfully. Pity. She was looking forward to using a few torture tactics on him. The only reason he was limping was because he had been stupid enough to pull a muscle. She sighed once he was well out of sight, down the hill and onto the marshy plains. It would be a couple hours before she sun set, but she liked to get up early. Ember removed her backsack and pulled a blanket from it. Before she curled up in it, she took a bundle from the bag, and pressed the homespun cloth against her, an arm protectively around it. She put her head on the backsack and closed her eyes.
