Free Seger, Maura by Flame on the Sun Page B

that they would reach her in time. Long before they arrived, the samurai's deadly blade would have claimed her life.
    But not without a struggle. Perhaps his code of honor called for people to submit to death stoically, but hers did not. She would do everything possible to stay alive, no matter how futile the effort might seem.
    Lifting her skirts, she attempted to dart past him, only to have her path effectively blocked by a slight motion of his sword arm. His sardonic laugh and the gleam of white teeth against his sallow skin made it clear what he thought of her efforts. Again the blade hissed through the air, almost but not quite touching her body.
    He's playing with me, like a great cat with a helpless mouse. I'm not even human to him.
    That knowledge seared away her terror, replacing it with sheer, unmitigated rage. Mindlessly angry at such callous brutality that affronted her most fundamental sense of decency, she lost all thought for her own safety. The rage she had heard soldiers speak of but had never really credited swept over her in full force, enabling her to act with speed and strength far beyond her normal capacities.
    Again she tried to dart past the samurai, and this time she almost succeeded. Despite the hampering weight of her clothes and the shaking of her limbs, she might have made it were it not for his superbly conditioned reflexes. As his blade rose once more to stop her, she thought she caught the faintest gleam of admiration in his hooded eyes.
    The look was gone the instant it appeared. He muttered something harsh in his own language and took several purposeful steps toward her. Erin needed no translation to understand that he was tired of the game. Other, more worthy foes awaited his attention. He would dispatch her quickly and be done with it.
    A sob tore from her throat, a desperate acknowledgment of what she could no longer deny. She stood absolutely still in the bright sunlight, watching the downward slash of the blade, thinking of Storm and all the stupid things that had kept them apart.
    What a strange place to die, on a cluttered street ten thousand miles from home, killed by a man whose motivations she would never know. There was so much she regretted, so much she still wanted to do. No time left. No time. . . .
    The world narrowed down to a single heartbeat. The rush of blood through her body blocked out all other sounds. The air, sour with the smell of smoke, seemed to have turned into a heavy curtain through which everything moved in excruciatingly slow motion.
    Far in the back of her mind, someone screamed. The cry of lament and outrage went on and on, until she thought it must surely split her skull. She felt herself drawing inward, tighter and tighter, into a coiled spring ready to launch itself forth the moment the way was open.
    With almost objective calm, she saw the instrument of her death come closer and closer, cleaving the air as easily as it would her body. She could feel the downward rush of wind before it as though the sword itself was breathing. The man who held it faded into insignificance. There was only the burnished metal reflecting the golden sunlight, the last breath filling her lungs, the final gathering in of everything she was and had hoped to be.
    Her eyes snapped shut, seeking the darkness in the instant before it became eternal. Frozen in a second torn out of time, she waited . . . waited . . . Someone screamed. Not her. A harsh, guttural sound raw with surprise. The iron stench of blood filled her breath. So much blood.
    Her eyelids trembled, opened gingerly, only to close again at once. She swayed weakly, overcome by the sight before her. The samurai was sprawled on the ground, his arms and legs thrown out, his sword still grasped in one hand. Several feet of muddy roadway lay between the bleeding stump of his neck and his head. His helmet was still in place, shielding sightless eyes that stared up at the sky in silent astonishment.
    Bile burned the back of her