Somewhere in Western EuropeAlias:
or not, she knew who he was. She watched him from the shadows as he saddled his horse. Her grip tightened on her sword. He would pay for what he did to Cassandra. She would make sure of that.
"You can come out now," he said. "I know you're there."
The snide, arrogant tone of his voice grated on her. Holding the hand-and-a-half broadsword in front of her, she stepped into the light of a nearby torch. The movement caught his eye and he turned to face her.
"A woman," he smirked. "And a redhead at that."
Anger flickered in her eyes. "I know who you are."
"Oh?" he asked, mildly amused. "I wasn't aware of any introductions."
"My name is Freya, and I know who you are," she repeated, stepping closer to him. "Methos."
His spine stiffened a fraction. "Where, pray tell, did you hear that
"I believe you knew my First Teacher, Cassandra," she replied tersely.
"And what does that make you? Her little errand girl?" he sneered. "Do you truly think you can challenge me? You're how old? How many heads have you taken?"
A part of her agreed that the whole encounter was folly. She would certainly die, but she was raised a warrior. She hadn't backed down against the Empire that had been Rome, and she wouldn't do so when faced with a solitary man.
He had just turned back to his horse when he felt the cold steel at his neck. She couldn't be that
ignorant! Unless Cassandra had taught her for this very purpose... The idea didn't surprise him. Slowly, he turned to face her.
"Put that thing away before you hurt yourself," he patronized her.
Her only answer was to step closer to him, bringing the blade just under his chin. He glared at her, a look that at one time had even Cassandra in fear of him. But this impudent brat simply glared back at him.
"Think, Freyja," he growled. "Is this truly worth your head?"
"I once led a hundred thousand against Rome," she retorted. "Killing one man shouldn't be nearly as difficult."
"If that's meant to impress me, it doesn't," he replied.
Her fingers tensed on the grip of the sword. Obviously, the chit wasn't going to listen to reason. At least Cassandra had taught her that much.
"Defend yourself," she demanded.
"If you insist," he replied, evenly.
Rather than go for his own sword, he lashed out with a foot, hitting her squarely in the stomach. The blow knocked the wind out of her lungs, causing her to loosen her grip on her sword. He easily plucked it from her hands, and turned her own weapon against her. An opponent was an opponent after all. Whether they were a man or woman made no difference to him.
She was still gasping for breath when the cold steel sliced through skin and sinew. She instinctively clapped a hand to her neck, trying to staunch the flow of blood. Her jaw was slack with shock. She wasn't so old that the wound healed immediately. In fact, blood continued to spurt from between her fingers as he tossed her sword to the ground.
"You're not worth the time and effort. Remember that," he sneered.
No, he hadn't taken her head. The simple fact of the matter was, if he had, Cassandra would
make it a point to hunt him. He couldn't afford that. Were he an honest man, he'd have to admit that didn't want to prove her right. But he wasn't honest, at least not on a regular basis.
"Oh, and next time you want to start something, Freyja," he advised angrily, just before her vision dimmed. "Make sure you can finish it."Quinnleigh Kincaid
iris_angel used with permission
References to Cassandra aren't binding to any specific muses.