The Powerful Gifts (Chapter 3, Part 2)

Character pronunciations; Maven (May-vin), Rune (Roo-nn), Augeon (Aw-gee-on), Fyron (Fy-ron), Dague (Day-gah ((Rhymes with plague)), Ezra (Ez-rah). I'm just putting this up here to make sure people are saying my character's names right.

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Maven put a hand on a nearby tree to steady herself as she stepped over a log. The air was cold and crisp, telling her that winter was on its way. She had always loved winter. She loved the cold beauty of it, and fires that always burned within each house. But of course, living in a cave, you always needed a fire. She loved the way winter made the trees and the bushes look. Not to mention the icicles that hung from each tree limp, threatening to fall upon an unsuspecting victim.

But there was still at least a couple of weeks before Maven could enjoy such novelties.

She continued on through the forest, wondering if it would ever end. Rune had never told her exactly which forest they were living in. She had seen no landmarks or cities to tell her where she was. Rune had always taken back roads and short cuts to get here when fleeing the prison. Plus, she hadn't studied maps very much anyway, so for all she knew, they could be somewhere completely unknown to her.

She found herself standing in front of a small pond. Her fingers twitched and her stomach soared high into her throat. She teared her eyes away from the water. But only to find herself gazing into its depths again.

No.

Maven walked away from the pond, resuming her search for the end of the forest. She tried her best to forget about the tiny pool of water.

She walked for about a half hour before stopping abruptly. Soft sounds danced around her ears. They sounded like footsteps. She stood there, motionless, staring at the ground, ears straining. The sounds were getting closer. She itched to grab her sword in its sheath, but she was apprehensive about moving. A sharp sound reached her hears. Like a very soft whistle. A whirling type noise.

Then she realized what it was.

Maven ducked down fast, spinning around and clasping the handle of her sword, yanking it free. A dagger had flown through the spot where her head had been just moments ago, and was now lost amidst the loose leaves that covered the ground. Maven was now facing four men, one of them aiming to throw another dagger at her.

“Drop the weapon,” the man the front snarled, an axe in his hands.

Maven smiled widely at them. “Is that the best the prison has to offer?” she sneered. “Four measly men? Ha! Try ten.” And when she saw the rage flash into each of their eyes she added, “And make sure to throw a few women in there too. I want a challenge.”

A dagger soared towards her. She stepped to the side, easily avoiding it.

“Last chance, wench!” the same man shouted. “Drop it and come quietly.”

“Was that fear in your voice?”

“Get her!”

The men charged.

Maven waited for them, watching each step they made, each breath they took. The last one limped slightly on the right side, the second one was old, the third one's breathing was already heavy, and the first one had a dullness in one of his eyes. Why send unfit men after her? Did they already forget her power?

They were now upon her.

Maven's sword clanked with the first man's axe as she danced around him, avoiding the others' attacks. He was quickly disarmed and was backing away from her fearfully. She flashed him a smile of deep mocking and stabbed him through the heart. Taking no time to recover, she whirled around, just barely blocking the third man's attack. They strained for a moment, weapon against weapon, then she overpowered him, throwing him to the ground. Where he got a sword through the head.

Maven looked up from his body and realized that the last two had stopped fight, just stood there in tense, pathetic battle stances. Maven lifted a brow and put her sword in the ground, leaning against it. “So, who dies first?” Was she enjoying this too much?

At first there was silence, then the fourth man turned and ran off as fast as he could.

Maven took off after him, ignoring the swing that his companion took at her as she passed. She blazed through the forest and was all too soon upon him. She clutched his shoulder in her hand and yanked him back. He screamed, hitting the ground hard. She stood over him. She thought about asking him if he had any last words, but maybe that would be overdoing it. She decided against it and just relished the agony on his face as she slowly drove her sword through him stomach.

She pulled her sword out and, at a causal pace, made her way back the last man. To her surprise, he still stood there, sword at the ready. They face each other.

“Are you really that confident that you won't die?” she mocked.

His old eyes flashed. “I've done my job for of forty years, and I won't stop now! I will bring you back to where you belong.”

“I have to say I admire your loyalty and bravery.” A smile crossed her lips. “And you are obviously a skilled fighter to have lasted that long. But you will die in this battle.”

He said nothing.

“Shall we begin?” Maven offered. But her words were met by silence.

She dashed forward, sword flying behind her.

The man met her halfway and metal met metal in an intense battle.

Maven slammed her sword from side to side, but he met her every attack and pushed her back. Fury burned inside her, making her attacks stronger, but it didn't seem to be enough. Sweat beaded her forehead, but she wouldn't allow herself to feel fear.

Pain seared her thin as his sword cut skin and she roared in pain. Blood was already streaming to the ground.

Maven's eyes watered and she was momentarily blinded. But it was enough time for her to end up on the ground, sword pointed at he heart. The man grinned down at her.

“I guess you're just all talk,” he spat.

Rage and hatred flared inside her like she never felt before. Her pride now seemed none existent. First Fyron, now this idiotic old bastard. Was she getting weaker? Or were other people just getting stronger?

“No witty words?” the man taunted. “Nothing to say to make me cower in fear?”

She was done. No more. He was going die. And rot in agony wherever he went after the life left his eyes.

Maven's foot shot outwards, faster than eyes could ever see. The man cried out as his legs were knocked out from under him. He fell onto his stomach, sword flying away, landing many feet away. Maven rolled him over and jumped on top of him.

“Did you really think you'd win that easily?” Eyes flashing with loathing and furious rage, she clamped her hands around his neck. His eyes widened and he reached up to grab her's, but she pressed harder on his throat and his arms fell to the ground.

“Stop!” he croaked.

“Don't beg, it only makes you look more pathetic!”

Veins stuck out on both sides of his head as he growled, “They will find you! They'll see we're missing and send a whole army if they after to.”

Maven screamed, hate piling up so high she couldn't contain it. She roared in his face, crushing his throat so hard her fingers turned purple. Blood leaked from where her fingernails had cut his skin.

The man's eyes rolled to the back of his head and his body began to twitch violently. A half cry escaped his lips before all went still.

Maven removed her shaking hands from his neck. She fell off his body and black spots began to cloud her vision. She gasped for breath that wouldn't come. Her leg. She tried to touch it, but her arms wouldn't move. Nothing would move. Panic was setting in. But before another thought of what to do crossed her mind, everything went blank.