"You're dead, boy." Flaming Fist shouted. His voice was like hearing a distant rock slide when you live at the bottom of a mountain.
The Emerald Wind grinned and glanced at Ein. "Don't worry, boy, he's talking to me. Everyone thinks I'm dead. Well…"
" I saw you die." Flaming Fist took a lumbering step towards them. "You think I don't remember that?"
"I should hope you remember it." The Emerald Wind twirled his swords in his hands. "It was only three days ago."
Flaming Fist paused and held The Emerald Wind's stare for a moment then he turned his gaze on Cho. "You're dead too."
She nodded. "I came back. I am the spirit of justice."
"Vengeance," The Emerald Wind coughed.
Cho ignored him. "I am the anguished hope of all those you have murdered. I am the last gasp of a city in flames demanding retribution. My name is Itami Cho, and by my oath sworn below the stars I will have justice for the murder of the Century Blade."
Flaming Fist laughed. "Ghosts. Haunting my camp." He reached down into the bucket near his feet and pulled out a chain, dripping with oil. "Well I'm no monk, but I'll deal with you the way I deal with anyone who comes calling for revenge." He slowly wrapped the chain around his right hand, thick links clanking against each other. Then he reached down again and pulled a second chain from the bucket and wrapped that one around his left hand. Finally, he clenched both hands into a fist and punched them against each other. The chains sparked and burst into flames, wreathing his hands in the blaze.
Chapter 10
Whispering Blade vs Flaming Fist
"He's all yours, Whispering Blade," Zhihao said, affecting a bow and taking a step backwards. He found the boy waiting for him, somehow having crept closer while they were all distracted. He could still remember the boy's words from the previous night and just the memory of them sent a chill through him. But for once the boy's eyes had another target; he was staring with quiet determination at Flaming Fist.
The woman shook her head as she pulled the Century Blade's sword from the strap around her back, and carefully placed the weapon on the ground, out of the way.
"I never said I'd help you," Zhihao continued. "In fact I counselled against even coming here. Good luck, I say, and I hope you both kill each other."
Flaming Fist lumbered forward past the standing stones. He looked older, grey shocks running through his hair. Lines in his face where before there were none. He wasn't the only one either, Zhihao had cut down three men he knew well from before, and each one seemed to have aged. Clearly something had happened at the camp.
Fist's hands were ablaze, the skin blackened and smoking, but that was as far as injury went. It was a marvel Zhihao had seen a dozen times. By all accounts the man should be writhing on the ground, screaming at the pain of burning skin, but he never so much as flinched. And the wounds on his hands always healed quickly, a matter of days though it should take months or years. It was a marvel, but not a surprise. Everyone had their secrets.
As Flaming Fist approached, Whispering Blade closed the gap and struck first with an upward slash and then a circle in the air and another slash down. Fist brought up his flaming hands, and brushed the strikes away with a sound like a sword being forged. He lunged forwards, but Whispering Blade floated backwards across the packed earth and out of reach. Fist stamped across the ground more slowly then, and swung both fiery hands at her head. She ducked away from the first strike, and blocked the second on the katana, turning the blade sideways to brace against the force of it.
"Mistake," Zhihao breathed, even as the proof of it became apparent.
Flaming Fist quickly seized her blade in a chained fist, but Whispering Blade flipped her grip and pulled the sword away, causing the metal to spark and squeal so loud it hurt Zhihao's ears, and left a trail of wispy smoke following the blade as she stepped clear.
Zhihao doubted Whispering Blade would make the same mistake again. He also doubted Flaming Fist would be so slow to follow up again. He knew now what each combatant would need to do to win. Whispering Blade needed to keep her distance, find a way to strike at Fist's body rather than his hands. Flaming Fist just needed to get in close, if he could just get one hand on the woman she would burn. Zhihao had seen it before and couldn't forget the sight of a man's eyeballs melting out of his skull while he was still alive. He had no love for Whispering Blade, but that was a fate he wouldn't wish on anyone.
They clashed again. Flaming Fist threw a jab at the woman's chest, but she rolled just under it, jumped to her feet, and ran back another few paces. Zhihao doubted she realised just how close she had come to the end.
"Your hair is burning," he called out, laughing. In truth her hair was only singed, but she glared at him all the same.
"Will she win?" the boy asked, his voice quiet against the lull in combat.
Zhihao glanced down to find the boy standing close again, too close. He took a sly step sideways. "She should really draw her second sword," he told the boy. "With two blades she stands more chance of breaking through Fist's defence, or at least getting around it."
They clashed again. This time Whispering Blade feinted left, and then spun right, extending her blade toward Fist's legs, but he was too quick and experienced for that. He punched the attack away and then seized her arm. Whispering Blade's scream tore through the camp. Tents flapped and pulled free from their pegs, and at least one camp fire went up in a whoosh of embers and ash. Zhihao felt it too, his face battered by a rush of air. He squinted against it, and when he opened his eyes again he saw Flaming Fist down on one knee, grimacing, one hand half buried in the earth, extinguished, bracing himself against the force of the scream. Whispering Blade noticed her stolen blouse had caught fire and wrestled to free herself from it . At last she pulled free and threw the fiery scraps to the ground.
With only her under-wrappings, unwashed and grey with sweat and grim, protecting her, and her left arm a motley of red and black bloody burns, Whispering Blade looked every part the hero from the many tales of her he now had to admit might be true. She backed away as Flaming Fist struggled back to his feet.
"You should help her," the boy said. His voice wavered with fear, and Zhihao was glad the boy's eyes were locked on the battle and not him.
"Oh no. This is a duel to the death. It's all very personal."
Both fighters rushed to meet each other, but this time Flaming Fist struck first. He threw a haymaker with his flaming right fist, and when Whispering Blade ducked it, he followed with a punishing jab to her chest that sent her tumbling into a heap near the standing stones.
For a moment Whispering Blade didn't move. At last she spasmed and coughed up a clump of bloody dirt. She slowly climbed to her feet and clutched her ribs with both hands, struggling to draw breath. Zhihao couldn't help but try to will her to fight on before Fist ended it, but when Zhihao looked over at the man, he was growling and trying to pull the woman's sword out of his left leg. When at last the blade was removed, the wound pulsed blood, but it wasn't enough to stop Fist. He threw the sword into the tent behind him, and staggered towards Whispering Blade, who was clinging to a standing stone as though it were the only thing keeping her upright.