Lying awake at night I sometimes feel that I shall never again see my sister. Her steps are ahead of mine; out of reach by mere days at times. Why does she run? And why does she aid those who ruined our lives?

Diary of Cassandra Nightwing

Cassandra marched out into the cold, the flaps of the tent parting open before her. Each stride matched the determined purpose flaring in her green eyes. "What's the meaning of this?"

There was a small contingent of her troops outside holding a ragged man against his will.

"This man claims to be a messenger from the local rebel faction we routed the other day, Ma'am." The captain heading with the detachment answered. He followed it up by tossing a silver ring towards her. "Says he's here to negotiate a prisoner exchange."

In a smooth stroke, the general caught the bauble as it tumbled end over end through the air. All while the man squirmed. His posture told her he did not particularly enjoy being held like a prisoner himself. But as far as Cassandra was concerned? That's what he was at this point, whether he liked it or not.

She surveyed the ring. Every inch of it. Having collected so many of them throughout the years, one would have presumed by now her mind would be numb to the traitorous symbol. But anyone who dared to think such would have been sorely mistaken. It didn't matter if she'd seen one or one million of the trinkets etched with the sign of the eagle. As each new one was acquired, it burned a hole in her heart. The same as all before it.

"We don't exchange prisoners with rebel scum." She spat.

"We have two lieutenants and a major from your armies." The man, speaking out of turn, drew a look that spoke to the general's deepest irritation at his ill-advised presumptuousness. "You have two dozen of our men. We are willing to - "

Cassandra cuffed him across the face. "I don't care. Execute them. Those fools can die for being stupid enough to get captured. I am not releasing any prisoners caught on the field of battle." Then she added, "Nor you." His wide eyes were pleasurable to her senses. "Put him with the rest. It's time for an execution of our own, anyway."

"Yes, Ma'am. Come on, you." Her men hauled the protesting rebel messenger away. She followed them down the frozen path towards the main encampment and where the other prisoners were being held.

Cinching the buckle on her sword belt, she jammed her pistol into it while her steps crunched the frosted mud of the road. When they reached a series of wagons enclosed with bars, Cassandra took a mental count of the prisoners within, like one might survey their pets. Huddled in masses and covered in shabby blankets, none of the captives bore any resemblance to being well cared for. They'd been deprived of as much food as they could and still be kept alive.

Hacking coughs were the most common sound to come from the pens. Those held longest in custody were the worst off.

The executioner's axe stood, blade buried a quarter deep in the blood-stained stump from a fallen tree. Nestled with the grains of wood, it waited for the next time it would be summoned to duty.

"I thought we had thirty?" Cassandra's question begged for a clarification. Her count was short of that number.

The soldier hauling their latest prisoner along, discarded him on the ground and hard against the wheels supporting one of the cages. As he attempted to rise, another soldier secured him.

"Two died the past few nights from exposure," the captain explained. "Another tried to assault a guard last evening during the delivery of their supper and was taken care of at that time."

"I see. So? Twenty-seven?"

"Plus this one, Ma'am."

"Twenty-eight. Good enough. "Gather the troops. I want this one to be public."

Her soldier nodded, approached a signal bell attached to a pole, and began the resounding act of clanging it in the bitter air. It wasn't long before a sizable number of her troops assembled from wherever they had been and whatever task they had been partaking in. As they encircled the wagons, a hefty man from among them, his shirt sleeveless in an odd sight considering the weather, emerged. His arms bulged with muscles.

"I'll take care of this personally today, Corporal Devear." Cassandra waved him back. "You can have the day off."

If he thought to question her, he knew better. The executioner stood down without even the slightest hint of a protest. Cassandra ignored him beyond that, slipping on a pair of gloves to protect her hands from the cold steel they would soon be wielding.

"Which shall I get you first?" her captain who brought her their latest prisoner asked.

"Give me a dozen, including Mr. I'm Here To Negotiate."

"Ma'am, that is not-" his voice hit a noticeable snag. "Not standard procedure for an execution. The regulations clearly state-"

"Are you seriously going to stand there and argue with me about regulations?"

"No, Ma'am. I was just... it's for safety purposes."

"I can handle myself, thank you. Now, will you please fetch me eleven more of these pathetic wastes of human flesh? I don't care which ones, so long as they aren't too weak to stand on their own. Oh and have your men set kindling under the prison carts. Just like you would to prepare for a bonfire."

The soldier saluted and went about his assigned duty.

Cassandra surveyed the normal method of execution Corporal Devear would have used, but she had something else in mind today. Something designed to send a message. As her soldiers collected and restrained the requested number of rebel prisoners, Cassandra just took in the scene. They struggled, of course, but were not able to overcome her men. There were also very distinct protests from those who remained in the carts as wood was stacked beneath them.

Only once everything was ready did Cassandra speak. "Today, we begin a new policy. There will be no prisoners taken from the field of battle. There will be no quarter given to rebels who stand against the Empire. They will die upon the very fields they choose to fight upon, and their bodies left to rot as food for scavengers. Since our current prisoners were not captured under this policy, I will give them one chance. That chance comes only if they can defeat me."

She tossed the silver ring from their latest prisoner to the ground. The eyes of each of the rebels followed it as the gleaming hoop hit and rolled in the hard dirt.

"I know that, in your delusional brains you see me as evil and yourselves as good." The general continued her speech once it ceased moving. "Doesn't your goddess teach you that good will defeat evil? Always? So, here's your chance to prove it. I'm even giving you a sporting chance. A dozen of you against one of me. Twelve men against one woman." She gestured to her soldiers subduing the prisoners. "Release them."

Her soldiers hesitated, but did so.

"Oh," Cassandra added, "give them weapons too. Let's make this a fair fight."

That drew more than a few uneasy looks from her men. But as with her previous commands, they agreed. Those in charge of tending to the prisoners each tossed their own swords on the ground, backing away to blend into the crowd.

"So, here's the deal. Defeat me, and you all go free. Back to your little homes to be good little traitors while lying to your children about how noble and right you are. But fail?" She wagged her finger at them. "Fail and you die. Along with all your companions looking on." Then she fell silent. Only when none of the hostages moved was when she spoke again with a shrug. "Or you can just stand there, weaponless, and let me kill you. It's really all the same to me."

One of the rebel prisoners collected for this display stepped forward to claim a sword. He might have been a strapping fellow at one time, but he was beat down from his weeks of captivity. "What guarantees do we have?"

Cassandra shook her head. "Men? You will not interfere. You will not seek to aid me in any manner. If I fall to these pathetic, weak, treasonous wretches? You will allow them all to walk out of here. Am I clear?"

A resounding, 'Yes, Ma'am,' ripped through the crowd.

"Satisfied?"

"No," he replied. "Evil can never be trusted. But we will fight you."

His companions each stepped up in turn and claimed steel of their own. None seemed overly eager. Their demeanor was more of being resigned to this course of action as their only option more than anything else. The tension that ensued as the men stared down the lone woman in their midst was something that could not be described. Not by even the most skilled of chroniclers.

"You can take her, Caran!" cried a man still in one of the cages. "For the glory of Earoni!"

The comment evoked a smile from Cassandra. "Yes." She drew both of her swords, feeling the pulse pounding in the palms of her hands from the tightness of the grip. "For the glory of your false goddess. Let's do this."

Her opponents did not simply rush in. On a certain, primal level, Cassandra had hoped they would. There would have been chaos that she could have easily exploited for her own advantage.

Instead, they encircled her. Each man was like the bars of a cage, and Cassandra relaxed her grip ahead of the coming fight. The hilts were now loose in her hand, and her weapons ready to be used to their fullest. Perhaps these men thought she should show some outward sign of being troubled by the odds against her. There would be no such gesture. Not even so much as a quiver to her firm and resolute stance as they engulfed the space surrounding her.

The obvious first attack came exactly as she suspected. The rebel directly behind her charged in. She twisted, held her ground, and parried his lunging strike. Allowing his momentum to carry him past her, she used each of her swords separately to block and then cast aside two more strikes from new opponents. One backed out of range, but the other lingered long enough that she was able to finish him off in a spray of blood from a slash that ripped across his throat.

Three more came in. Cassandra sidestepped the swipe from one, disarmed a second by gashing open his sword arm, and then turned to face off the third attacking from the rear. He blocked two swings from her swords before receiving a fatal strike that pierced his heart.

The very first rebel bold enough to come at her recovered and was back upon her. As was the one she had just avoided. Plus two more.

Four on one, Cassandra performed in a perfect ballet of steel, her blades finding their marks with precision. One rebel fell with a mortal wound, then a second. The third got close to connecting with his weapon once, but didn't last much longer.

Two more into the fray, increasing the odds back to three on one. A stab to the gut felled one of the rebels. A twirling slash claimed another. The final member of this group took to holding his ground so well that Cassandra basked in the challenge. He blocked. She blocked. He blocked again.

His next stroke was as near precise as could be, grazing her cheek. She held it at bay with her one sword, but it broke skin and drew blood. However, Cassandra skewered him with her other weapon and ended his wretched existence as he had no defense left to him.

As she withdrew her weapon from his flesh, allowing the rebel to collapse and bleed to death, Cassandra noticed the two remaining rebels held their positions. Nervous swords jumped in their hands and twitched with the thoughts of what to do. The rebel whose arm she had all but severed earlier writhed on the ground. She stuck him through the throat.

"Cowards!" Her taunt of the remaining two roared across the carnage. One of the pathetic men left was the messenger sent to request the prisoner swap. "You stand there? Waiting? For what?" Her posture portrayed her frustration. "Your hesitation cost your brothers in arms their lives!"

Now matter how much she willed them to, neither would move. It was a disgusting display of cowardice in her eyes. The very reason why the Rebellion would never succeed. It was filled with weak and spineless fools like these two were.

"Very well. Take a message back to your leaders!" The words from Cassandra drew murmurs from the crowd of her troops. They remembered her earlier declaration that there would be no one set free without victory. She hushed them. "It is an important message. Tell your leaders that every man, woman, and child who stands against The Empire will die." When neither of the cowards moved, she gestured for them to lay down their weapons. "You are both free to go."

The smile on her face held them with a bewitching trance. As they placed their arms upon the ground, the hesitancy within them remained as she beckoned them to leave. They slogged past, each casting the general a copious share of suspicion. But, as her soldiers parted for them, both realized that now was the time to beat a hasty retreat. Their strides lengthened, and their walk transformed into a vicious sprint for freedom.

As the rebels increased their distance from her, Cassandra drew out her pistol. Charge loaded, she leveled it at the back of the one rebel who trailed a few steps behind the messenger. "On second thought," she muttered. "Two men to deliver one message seems a bit much."

As her finger pulled the trigger, an explosion cut the air wide open. And the rebel's back erupted into a cavernous hole, even at this distance.

The other rebel coward never even stopped or turned around to look. He just kept running.

Casandra turned to the soldiers tending to the cages of prisoners. "Light them up. I want their bodies to burn like a torch that signals the coming defeat of the Rebellion."

As she stalked away, the protests of the remaining captives were only noise to her; a noise she could easily ignore.