Queen of Swords (abridged)

As the man fell to the floor, the crowd had begun their cheers. Their voices rang through the underground cavern, and the winner relished it. Her victory was unexpected, with the man who had just lost being a straight winner for the past year. His reign had ended though, with a well-timed flick of her wrist. The Queen of Swords, she had been touted, and Kythara never bothered to inform them of their mistake. Her chosen weapon was, after all, a whip, but looking at it from a different point of view, the Queen of Swords sounded much better than the Queen of Whips. No matter. She was the Queen here, and she loved the thrill, the rush of adrenaline every new challenger sent through her. The people who came here to watch the fights were usually young nobles or rich young dandies looking for other kinds of fun besides the dreary parties organized ever so often by the older generation. The young woman bowed one last time, and disappeared into one of the place’s many gates that led to the arena. Even though she had left the cavern, the crowd seemed oblivious to her disappearance, settling their bets and either handing over pouches or collecting them. A man in the front row seats stood up, and walked out of the cavern as well, and up into the chill night.

He met up with Kythara outside the arena, nodding to her. The pair entered a carriage, one with all the curtains drawn.
“Excellent. Your fight was perfect. No unnecessary flairs, no clear way for anyone to pick out your flaws.”
“Yes, and I thank you for those kind words.” Her voice was soft and melodious, with no hint of conceit, only acknowledgement.
They traveled in silence for the rest of the trip, and both alighted outside a huge mansion. The main house had over a hundred rooms, and even that did not count the lands and gardens that made up the surrounding area. He may not have been born a noble, but his house would put all questions to rest. This house served a dual purpose, for it was here that the arena fighters he groomed would live and train, and also where he and his family lived. He had yet to own a champion, but as he watched the recently touted Queen of Swords enter her own room, he understood that all that might be soon to change.

Kythara entered her own room, feet sinking into nearly three inches worth of priceless carpets, and stopped in front of the full-length mirror in the rear wall. The face and body that stared back at her provided a stark contrast to the girl he had swept off the streets five years back. Tall and slender, like all Elven kind, with almond shaped black eyes that had curious gold flecks in them, coupled with fair features in a face that was a perfect oval, she presented a fine picture. She was wearing a tight-fitting, high necked and short sleeved black dress with slits at the sides, and fingerless leather gloves. Kythara reached up to release her hair from its prison, allowing it to fall in cascades down her back, hiding her slightly pointed ears. In no time at all, she had changed into a plain gray robe, leaving the clothes there for the servants to clean. At this late hour, the whole mansion was quiet as everyone would have fallen asleep. Kythara glided through the mansion, entering the baths, enjoying the cool feel of water against her skin for a while, before heading back to her room. Tomorrow night, at this time, she would become Nemesis, an assassin who killed only corrupted nobles when hired to, by a member of the family who had just suffered under the man’s tyranny. A family who could pay for her services. Three names for a person, three different identities. There was a sweet irony to it, for on one side she fought for those corrupt nobles’ pleasure, while on the other, she killed them for the corrupt practices, or inability to carry out their duties as they should.

The next day passed uneventfully, and it was soon night. Night, the time when Kythara would become Nemesis, a champion for the repressed. Or cowards, afraid to take their own revenge, depending on how one looked at it. Dressed all in black, she picked up a bag in a concealed corner of her wardrobe, and hooked a rope to a loop on the windowsill before jumping down, using the rope as her guide. Kythara crept towards the stables, picking a black stallion as her mount this night. The corrupt official she was hunting down lived on the outskirts of town, and she knew that he had not gone visiting, or anywhere else. But there would be one single complication soon, as Kythara was not the only one determined to see him dead. As horse and rider neared the house, they had noticed another horse, also black, tethered to a tree some distance back. There was something strange about a horse being tethered there in the middle of the nowhere at night, but the pressing situation gave no time for idle thoughts. Kythara discounted them, tethering her own mount to another tree. The agile half-elven girl scaled the wall, before entering through an open window. From there, Kythara picked her way to his room, picking up any of his valuables that she found worthy.

Upon entering his room, the very epitome of splendor, Kythara uncoiled the whip, preparing to deal death. As she began the flick of her wrist that would mean his death, a voice whispered behind her.
“Go on, kill him. I will know who you are, and I will fight you later over who should claim credit for his assassination.”
Kythara whirled around, looking out for the unseen speaker.
“Show yourself, whoever you are.”
“I am an assassin, if you require to know, and this man is my quarry.”
Now this would become a contest of speed, to see who could land the killing blow first, and also a contest of nerves. Even as Kythara prepared the lash once again, a single rapier arced through the air. Before Kythara could strike it away, the rapier buried itself in his body. The man shuddered a moment, then lay still.
“I win.” The voice called out, even as its owner stepped into the moonlight.

A girl no older than Kythara herself, with gold-streaked brown hair tied under a headscarf of a forest green, and a dress with slits up to her waist of the same color.
“I was expecting someone older.” Kythara remarked.
“As I was.” The assassin replied, even as she yanked her rapier free of the corpse. As the moonlight shone even more brightly into the room, her features sharpened. A pair of eyes of a clear, vibrant green, but strangely enough without the slightest hint of compassion, framed in a heart-shaped face with aristocratic features.
“Shall we take our fight out of this house and into the arena?”
“A grudge match?” The assassin returned.
“Yes.”
“In the arena then, two days from now.”
“We shall part ways then, here.”
“You will complete the arrangements necessary?”
“Yes. Is there any way I might be able to contact you?”
The assassin told her a place, and left through the window, as silent as death.

Kythara watched the assassin leave, knowing that in two days, a fight to the death would occur in the arena.

The next two days was a whirl of training and anticipation. Kythara fought with a passion never seen before, even going to the extent of spending hours reading instructions on swordplay, but somehow understood that despite whatever she might learn, it would be up to how the situation played out. Friends might keep her company as she trained, but their disapproval of the grudge match was clear. Who would win or lose this round, it would depend on speed, skill, and nerves. Kythara might be able to defeat a single sowed, but never tried two. Her whip might be warped with steel, but against two other steel blades, Kythara wondered about the amount of force her whip could take.

As for the day itself, the herald called out.
“Kythara, Queen of Swords, and her challenger, Alayna.”
The assassin’s garb had not changed, and her fingers were resting comfortably on the hilts of her twin swords. Kythara also stood at ease, the whip uncoiling from its holder on her waist. She swung it a few times, while she waited for the opening signal.

As soon as they were allowed to attack, Alayna was in a crouch, preparing to draw the moment Kythara attacked. As the whip descended, twin rapiers flew out, hitting the whip in an explosive fury. Steel rang on steel, for the whip was the swords’ equal, darting in to find a gap in the seemingly impregnable wall of defense. The swords wove wildly, and even as one engaged the whip, the other would attempt to make a strike for Kythara, but would always be intercepted by the whip at the very last second. There was one maneuver, Alayna knew, that could win her victory. It was unlikely to fail, but one that could cause her doom if she did. Kythara’s whip continued its snakelike dance, striking suddenly and unexpectedly. When first blood was shed, no one knew, for a cut would appear suddenly on one, and then the other. There was no way to tell the combatants apart, save for the black strip intertwining with two silver ones. The betting in the stands increased, and the stakes shot higher than before, causing some of the competitors to nearly come to blows. The winner of this fight would have a lot to gain. Money and fame would be hers for the taking.

Alayna knew that she could not keep this up for much longer, and chose to try her trick. Flinging one rapier at Kythara, and as the fighter’s whip flew out to catch it, Alayna closed the distance within them and knocked her opponent to the ground, and kicked the whip out of the her range while the assassin held the remaining blade to her throat. As soon as Kythara acknowledged her defeat, Alayna reached out a hand to haul her opponent upright. A whisper ran through the stands, for this was supposed to be a grudge match, where the competitors would be out for blood.

Confusion and amazement shot through Kythara’s mind as she accepted the hand, and Alayna brought the half-elf to her feet, a sincere smile breaking across her usually icy features as she turned to Kythara.
“You fought well. Had I not tried that daring maneuver, I would have lost. But I do think the credit for the kill is mine, after all.” With that, she turned and left the arena, leaving Kythara to her thoughts.