Warcry

back. Her skirts swirled around her legs, and she cursed the cloth.
    Lanfer rushed in, his sword high, leaving himself open. Atira went for a chest blow, ready to parry the dagger, but recognized his feint too late. His dagger came at her face. She dodged, blocking it, but knew she’d made a mistake.
    Lanfer struck her shoulder with the hilt of his sword. Atira heard the crack of bone, felt the incredible pain. Her arm dropped; her sword clattered from her useless hand, and she fell to her knees, overwhelmed.
    Lanfer crowed and grabbed her hair. Atira still had her dagger, and she stabbed up blindly, but Lanfer caught her wrist and bent it back. Lanfer yanked her head around, and the movement jarred her shoulder. Atira’s vision went black. Consciousness ebbed, and Lanfer had her wrists bound before she could think clearly.
    She breathed deep and fought to stay aware.
    Lanfer was on her, using a dagger to cut the leather thong that kept her dress on. He was chortling to himself as he stripped away the cloth and started to fondle her breast. He had his other hand buried in her hair with a tight grip, keeping her head tight to his hip.
    He hadn’t seemed to notice she was conscious, and she wasn’t exactly sure she was. Reality seemed to spin, and she was sick to her stomach.
    He was panting now, and reaching for his trous. Working himself up for more to come.
    She swallowed her nausea and waited. When he was . . . distracted, she’d—
    His cock came out, and she blinked. “That? You’re going to rape me with that?”
    Lanfer looked at her in shock, his face distorting in rage. His grip eased, and she rammed her head into his crotch. Not enough of a blow to cripple, but enough to make Lanfer stagger back.
    Skies above, that hurt. Atira slid back along the floor, then managed to get to her feet. The floor rolled with her, and she staggered again, catching the dress with her foot. Her hair was starting to get loose, and it fell into her eyes. She yanked at the bonds on her wrist, but pain danced through her nerves at the slightest movement. Her anger had gotten her on her feet, but that strength was starting to ebb.
    Lanfer was howling with rage, and she saw him coming. She thought to brace against his rush but went for a kick to his crotch instead. After all, it was just dangling there . . .
    Her foot made contact, but not right on. Lanfer let out a whoop of air and fell.
    But the impact knocked Atira off her feet. She managed to fall away from Lanfer, and used her feet to slide herself farther away until her back met stone. She was blind from the pain, certain that her arm had been ripped off. But she used the low wall to stand. Lanfer was still down, clutching himself, rolling in agony. She drew a steadying breath and started rubbing the bindings against the stone. With any luck. . .
    A tone filled the air, as if a chorus of singers sang one note, a long note that seemed to vibrate in her bones. The sound shivered around her, freezing her soul. The very stones under her quivered with the sound. The Plains . . . something was happening on the Plains.
    Ignoring her peril, she turned, leaned on the cold stone wall, and looked toward the Heart, hearing a summons in that sound that hovered in the air. Atira blinked, clearing her eyes, trying to shake her hair from her face. The action made her stomach roll, but she could see . . . could see . . .
    In the far distance, a shaft of light like a silver needle shot into the sky.
    It pulsed, bright and powerful, and she knew it emanated from the Heart. She squinted, trying to see, but the needle was so bright, it hurt to look upon it. Something was happening, something—
    Lanfer brought his arm around her neck and jerked her back. His dagger flashed bright before her eyes.
    “Bitch,” he whispered.
    Atira struggled, but he had her tight, and she could not breathe. But damned if that was going to stop her from fighting him. She wiggled her hands around, trying to find purchase against his doublet. The stiff golden threads were rough against her fingers.
    “Small, am I?” Lanfer whispered. “We’ll see about that.” He breathed heavily in her ear. The dagger vanished before her face, and she felt him slide the blade along her hip, between the skin and the dress.
    “I’ll just cut this, shall I, and bend you over, and we’ll see who’s small. We’ll see whose—
    Atira struggled to breathe, to see, but the pain was draining, and she was damned tired. It would