SHREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.

  Priscilla blew on that odd whistle she had been wearing around her neck and though Sulaiman had been expecting it to be loud, the noise still caught him off guard by its piercing cry.

  But Sulaiman knew better than to merely stare at the contradictory woman that kept surprising him at every turn, and took advantage of the distraction she was causing, moving forward so he was just behind the archer unit and dismounting quietly. He decided to forgo his shield at the moment because it would just get in the way since he was fighting in a cramped space. Sulaiman unsheathed his sword when he saw Priscilla open up her mouth to speak, using her voice to cover the sound.

  “WAKE THE FUCK UP,” Priscilla cried, her booming voice carrying over the previously sleepy settlement, “BANDITS ARE ATTACKING!”

  Though it was not the words Sulaiman would have chosen, the phrasing did get the point across to anyone who may be unaware of what was going on.

  Sulaiman manifested a sphere of flame next to Priscilla, molding his magic with intent so that it would travel with her without hindering her line of sight, before he stabbed the archer he was standing behind in the back. The man let out a wet gurgle and Sulaiman kicked the dead man off his sword.

  Sulaiman murmured the incantation to wrap flames around his sword now that he didn’t need to be stealthy and swung for the next archer, the blade slicing clean through the man’s neck and cauterizing the wound at the same time. It kept the blade and himself cleaner this way, less likely to leave slick puddles on the ground to ruin his balance.

  As he killed two men in rapid succession, Sulaiman’s mind drifted momentarily to the conversation he had had with Priscilla about killing. Sulaiman hadn’t expected her to ask if he had ever killed someone before and he had been more surprised with himself that he answered truthfully, saying it aloud for the first time since it had happened over a decade ago.

  Though Sulaiman would trust Illnyea with his life, she did not know much about his life before the orphanage because he didn’t want to burden her with that knowledge. He knew it would only make her cry and wish to comfort him for a childhood he had never got to have and Sulaiman had no need for either of those things. Illnyea would be better suited to focus on her own growth rather than lament Sulaiman’s pitiful circumstances he had long grown at peace with.

  (That was a lie he told himself so often that it almost felt like the truth most days.)

  But Sulaiman could admit that he felt no remorse about killing the slaver who pretended to care about him, and he felt no remorse about cutting down another archer who was too slow to get out of his reach. The bandits were here to kill people in their sleep, and had done it to countless others and would do it again and again if Sulaiman didn’t put them down like the dogs they were.

  There were eight more bandits capable of fighting in front of him, and they were getting over their shock, meaning they’d probably try to surround Sulaiman once they had their wits about them. The men were primarily armed with bows and arrows with cloth tips to more easily catch flame, but Sulaiman saw that each man had at least a dagger strapped to their side. The torch they had been using to light the arrows had fallen to the ground when Priscilla’s horse kicked the man holding it in the head, and it was smoldering on the ground.

  In a battle between a bow and a sword in close combat, the sword was the clear winner. Sulaiman sliced through a bow that was aimed towards him, bringing his sword back in a quick movement to cut through the front of the man’s neck. The man gasped and clutched at the wound, falling to the ground. Sulaiman had cut deep enough to cut through the man’s jugular vein and carotid arteries, so he knew the man would soon die as his brain didn’t get enough oxygen, so Sulaiman turned to his next opponent.

  He rushed forward, dodging the arrow aimed at his head with a small scoff since the arrow was a padded one, before cutting down the man who shot at him.

  Six left, but unfortunately they wised up to his tactics and had closed ranks, pulling out their daggers instead as they put distance between them and him.

  A pack of bandits were throwing their torches at a house in the village and though Sulaiman wanted to use his magic to snuff it out, he reluctantly let it keep burning because it would divide his attention and energy. The light the fire cast did let Sulaiman see things better, but it also helped his enemies arrange themselves in a way that he would have to make his back vulnerable if he went after one.

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  It was vexing to go against an enemy that clearly had extensive training based on the way they fell into rank with one another, trusting one another to act, and it made Sulaiman wonder just who these bandits once were. They had power, obviously, and training, so why waste their life on a path that would earn them nothing but scorn and hatred? Bandits were considered to be less than animals to most cities and were periodically slaughtered like such when they made too much of a nuisance of themselves.

  Sulaiman shook his head. It didn’t matter why these men had become bandits or what sort of life they might have lived if they had chosen a different path. All that mattered was that they were dead men walking.

  “Oh holy fire,” Sulaiman murmured, drawing upon the magic in his veins, “pierce these sinner’s souls.”

  Six motes of light appeared above him in a semi-circle before they lengthened and sharpened into the shape of fiery arrows. They shot forward towards the bandit’s torsos, as Sulaiman didn’t want to aim for a smaller target like the head and miss, starting a forest fire himself.

  As the arrows streaked forward, several of the bandits dropped to the ground, dragging their slower companions with them. The arrows did curve as their targets moved, but only achieved glancing blows. Sulaiman frowned, unhappy with how little damage it did.

  The bandits seemed to take his attack as the signal they needed, and the ones closest to him launched forward, brandishing daggers as the ones farthest pulled out their bows, a true arrow nocked and ready. The other two lingered at the sides like panthers waiting for an opportunity to pounce.

  Sulaiman was sorely tempted to curse as he parried the dagger blow and kicked the man in the stomach, twisting out of the way of the second attacker so the dagger just glanced off his armor. He gave that man a sharp elbow to the temple, making him crumple and clutch his head in pain.

  But as he was focused on the two men in front of him, the other bandits took advantage of his distraction. One rushed forward with a dagger pointed towards Sulaiman’s throat as an arrow sank into Sulaiman’s thigh, making his leg buckle.

  While Sulaiman would like to consider himself a calm and collected fighter, at this moment when he saw the dagger coming for his exposed flesh and realized he couldn’t move out of the way in time, the only thought he could think was, I can’t die like this, Priscilla will die and then Illnyea would cry.

  Sulaiman raised his palm and let forth the magic that screamed at him to survive.

  Black flames burst from his palm, greedily racing forward to melt the dagger and then spreading to consume the man who was attacking him. The man tried to scream but all that came out was a choked cough before the black flames burned hotter, suffocating the man in a matter of seconds as the black flames raced down his throat.

  Sulaiman breathed heavily, staring at the black flames he hadn’t meant to summon.

  “It’s a Muloian monster,” one of the other bandits said in a shaky voice, “here to burn our souls.”

  Sulaiman’s head snapped up, a snarl on his face as he was once again compared to a people he had never met, a people that had cursed him with their legacy, a people that had left him to die.

  Without him even directing it, the black fire leapt from the ground onto the nearest bandit, and then the next, until every bandit in front of him was burning and choking on ash, metal melting and fusing with their skin. The heat was oppressive as the wind blew it towards him and that was what brought Sulaiman back to his senses as he felt his own wound throb.

  Sulaiman’s hands shook as he abruptly cut off his magic from all other sources, staring at the devastation he had caused without even meaning to.

  The black flames flickered as they stopped being fueled by him and slowly died.

  Sulaiman had never summoned those flames before but he had heard about them, spoken in hushed tones when people thought he wasn’t around to hear. They spoke of how Muloians had used their obsidian flames to ruthlessly turn the Kavendash soldiers’ armors into death chambers as the metal turned molten from the heat and made the soldiers die in agony as they couldn’t escape.

  They said if you saw the Muloian’s obsidian flames, then death would come quickly and painfully, and Sulaiman now knew that to be the truth.

  A pained yell pierced through the air and snapped Sulaiman out of his thoughts, forcing his eyes away from the bodies and towards the sound.

  Some of the villagers were attempting to fight back the bandits with shovels and pitchforks but they were clearly struggling. A man’s arm had been sliced clean off by a bandana wearing bandit, who seemed to be now taunting the other villagers.

  Sulaiman braced himself and snapped the arrow as close to his wound as possible. If he took it out, he’d have to worry about blood loss, so this was the best he could do.

  Sulaiman began to run towards the injured villager, briefly looking for Priscilla and failing to find her distinctive red hair. Someone else yelled in the distance, another person who needed help. His teeth ground together but he pushed his worries over Priscilla to the side, focusing on the villagers who were clearly outmatched and outnumbered.

  Priscilla had been confident in her skills and Sulaiman just had to trust those skills would keep her alive long enough for him to deal with these bandits and get back to her side.