Ten. Zanna spun lifted her spear to block the bandit’s slash then broke his jaw with the blunt end. He slid across the dirt roadway, scrambling to break his fall. He tried to push himself to his feet, but a second swipe of the spear butt reduced him to unconsciousness. Zanna stepped past him, her plated leather armour shining dusted with sand and wood splinters and blood.
Down the street, a few of her soldiers clashed against four other bandits.
A man charged at the Queen, brandishing a machete smeared with red blood. She back-stepped but left her spear tip out, and the man tripped across it, slashing his shins and rolling away. He leapt agilely to his feet, and slashed at her quicker than she expected. She twisted to put her spear between them, barely blocking the blow. When the man stepped back to ready his next attack, Zanna stepped forward and kicked him in the bleeding knee. The bandit tumbled onto his chest, and she smashed her spear rod off his head. Eleven.
She looked around, and paused when she saw one of her own approaching. “There’s more holed up in the Tall Brook Inn,” the messenger said.
“Get Lord Reeth and his men from the other gate.” Zanna walked alongside her soldier, watching a few others drag away those she had subdued. “I’ll meet them there soon.”
“Right away,” the messenger barked and jogged down the street. The air over Kykai was full of smoke and screeches and slashed metal on metal. Zanna walked onward. She wanted to walk along the inland wall before heading toward the Tall Brook, near the waterfront. Just to be certain her soldiers had been thorough.
Most of the battle had taken place when they stormed the two gates of Kykai. At least ten of Zanna’s men were slain and probably more than twenty of the bandits. Zanna had killed or knocked out eleven between then and now.
The wall protecting Kykai was a simple one made from the tallest trees, shaved down to points at the top. There were no look outs, except a small tower near the western gate. Zanna ran a hand through her purple hair, wet with sweat, and looked at the buildings she passed: an open walled storage house, full of crates and sacks of foodstuff imported from the southern villages; a stable, emptied of horses and boys, a house with a broken door. She saw a dead man against a wall, another villager, with a butcher’s blade clutched in his dead hands.
Then Zanna heard a distinct shushing nearby. She rounded the corner of a two-storey house only to find herself facing a man with a wooden table leg in one hand. He snarled through a wiry beard and took a swing at her. The spear was too far out of the way, so she ducked and pranced back from him, light on her sandaled feet. Now her weapon was ready.
Someone slammed into Zanna from the side, knocking her onto the hard road. Her spear clattered on the rocky ground, rolling out of reach of her grasping hand. She rolled up to her knees. The man who had bodily knocked her aside brandished a knife, but she turned and saw the other bandit heaving that table leg down toward her.
Zanna caught the weapon in her hands, the resounding jolt of force and pain splintering through her arms. A nail near her face had nearly gone through her finger, had she not caught the makeshift weapon further up its shaft. Her fingers might have broken, but the adrenaline made it impossible to hear. She kicked the wielder’s legs out from under him and used the distraction to scurry to her feet.
The other bandit drove his knife against her side, it chipped against a bronze plate and scraped the leather between plates. Zanna smashed the man in the ear with her elbow, and he stumbled away. She yanked free her own dagger.
The man stabbed toward her blindly, his head ringing. She stepped to the side easily and slashed the back of his arm with her own blade. One knife thudded to the packed soil beneath them while the other spread bandit blood to her palm. The brigand’s shout was cut short when she smashed his temple with the hilt of her dagger. Twelve bandits down.
A blunt smash to her thigh sent her stumbling to the right. She put her hand against a shaky wooden house wall. The table-leg wielding bandit charged her again, and they crashed through into the house the two had been protecting the whole time. Splintering wood boards and an overturned table sent Zanna and her adversary sprawling onto dirty floor boards and an animal fur carpet.
She cursed and fought her way to her feet, shoving the wiry bearded man sprawling toward the door. Why am I fighting for my life? Their leader is dead! She tried to wipe her dagger off on the corner of her tunic.
Hands grabbed her from behind. She lost the knife in the struggle, was slammed back against the wall. A knife at her throat kept her from moving—she felt it prick against her neck. “Get her,” the man holding her said.
The other bandit climbed to his feet, searching around for his broken table leg. Zanna smashed her head backward, dazing her attacker and jarring her own senses. She got a hold of the knife near her throat in all the commotion and twisted it free of the arm that held it. The bearded bandit shouted at the commotion and rushed toward Zanna—she didn’t have a chance to subdue him properly. She jabbed the blade she held at him, got the bandit in the ribs. The man fell to his knees, clutching the hilt as he bled out.
Zanna spun, her arms in front of her, ready for the final attacker. A woman leaned against the wall, gingerly cupping her bleeding nose. She’d been the one trying to hold Zanna with a knife at her throat, but now held her free hand out in defence.
“Just surrender,” Zanna muttered. The broken door fell away when she yanked it, and she descended into the street once more. Thirteen, by her count.
Kykai belonged to the Eye of Maga once more, though most of its citizens had perished. There were a few more fights to win, like the Tall Brook Inn, but the gang had lost and the Queen had won. The captured criminals would be brought back to the city with Zanna and her troops, and repairs on the village would get underway. Bruised and weary, Zanna continued her walk along the wall.