Feral

“Anyone that touches him answers to me,” a cool voice interrupted them. In a collective movement, all heads turned. A leather-clad young woman was leaning against a wood pillar, flicking a throwing knife high in the air and catching it off-handedly.
“Shame on you, Ivo, for playing with him so. You need him. You cannot afford to have him killed. And neither can I.” She pushed away from the wood. “The first one who takes one more step towards him will meet his end at my blade.” All the soldiers tensed. It was a vow of protection; Hawke would learn later that it bound her to him for a lifetime.
Her luminous blue eyes assessed the men around Hawke, faltering to a stop as she considered a burly guardsman. The man was sneering.
“You would kill me, woman?” The entire assembly fell quiet. A guardsman standing next to him, whom Hawke recognized as the one that had brought him before the clan leader, grasped the younger man’s shoulder and shook his head, his words urgent, but the challenger shrugged him off. The gaze of the other three guardsmen around him hesitated between the blue-eyed woman and the man. As they saw her wolfish smile, they quietly stepped away from their comrade. She threw her knife down with a flick of her wrist. It sank to its hilt into the wood floor.
“Can I play, Ivo?” Her voice was husky and mocking as she questioned her leader. Ivo, who had turned sharply when she had issued her challenge, came to her side. Hawke saw him lean to her ear, urgently murmur a few words. She shook her head. He lifted a hand and caressed her cheek. The young woman turned her face sharply away and angrily pushed him back. Hawke saw her draw another knife from her sleeve, as her eyes narrowed in rage. Ivo backed off, a grin on his face.
“I’ll teach you a useful lesson,” she snarled at him, angry. “Watch, brother, this is how I treat those who challenge me!” She walked to the center of the room, slid the knife back into her sleeve, then pointed to the guardsman. Her gaze locked onto his.
“Come!” she commanded. Hawke saw wild fear invade the man’s eyes as he was compelled to move forward by the command in her eyes. He started. She was psychic. Was she mutant? Feral? She had to be, for her to hold such power.
“Draw,” her cold voiced intoned. Incapable of any other reaction, the man drew the broadsword at his side. Her eyes released his, and she unbuckled a leather strap on her belt. A whip fell into her hand. Then Hawke saw the anger in the guardsman’s face and knew she had released the compulsion. The guardsmen around them backed off, forming a neat circle. Hawke edged away to the side, not knowing where he would be safe, but he realized the men’s attention was no longer on him. The guardsman was looking questioningly at his fellows, wordlessly asking the weaknesses of the woman who stood before him, but all shook their head and would not meet his eyes.
Finally he gave up, and started circling the woman warily, his sword drawn, his eyes watching her every move. She just stood, an arrogant smile on her full red lips. As he stalked around to her back, he suddenly tensed. He had not made a move that the long whip had wrapped around his sword arm. Her movements flowing with incredible speed, the Feral flicked the knife she had sheathed earlier on into her hand, pulled hard at her whip, and made him fall towards her, twisting her body and flipping him over her shoulder onto the floor. She fell onto the guardsman, one knee pinning his sword arm to the floor, the other in the center of his chest, and pressed the blade to her opponent’s throat. The entire room was silent, and all heard the whispered answer to the man’s challenge:
“Yes. In an instant.” Then she raised the knife and drew a shallow, bloody line from his temple to his jaw. “The blade is poisoned,” Hawke heard her say, “you will bear the scar for the rest of your life. I hope it was a lesson well learned, guardsman.” Then with a flick of her wrist the blade disappeared again and she pushed herself up, leaving the guard stunned on the floor. She looked at her silent audience.
“You will meet your death at my blade,” she repeated, then walked towards the door. Just as she was about to cross it, she paused. She turned to face her leader, her eyes hard.
“Ivo. That includes you.”