"Cardinals in the Snow" Excerpt

A snap of her wrist and the sword sent sprays of blood hurtling through the snow-filled air. Her blade almost appeared to be made of the (stuff). She paid it no mind; she knew there would be more. Her own blood thrummed through her, a sweet and grim song of survival. She firmed her grip on the slick leather wrapped pommel. Her fingers and face were stinging from the cold and her wind-lashed hair kept getting in her eyes, making them water.
Soon her attackers would be dead. Until then, the Battle haze consumed her, forcing the physical discomforts aside. Three of the wounds she had incurred since this all began would need stitches, maybe more. At least the cold would slow the bleeding. A corner of her lips twitched at this practicality. Azurat would laugh at me for that. Thinking of him sobered her. A coldness enveloped her that surpassed the weather around her.
"Let them come," she whispered, "I am ready."
So they did and she was. They came at her from the stark naked trees surrounding the grove. She laughed as her blade sliced clean through the torso of one and caught the off- side of the next blade. She watched the inferior metal shatter and rip into its owner even as she kicked out to her left with the momentum left from her swing. Her foot met flesh with the solid crack of bone and a grunt of pain. She laughed again as she finished off the the creature in front of her. She dodged a vicious swipe of steel and it sliced through her hair. The falling strands reminded her of raven feathers. She turned her dodge into a roll at the last second. As she uncurled herself she slashed at her attackers hamstring. She continued the upward stroke from that to tear into him as he went down screaming. He was easily finished off.
She heard the whistle of a sword behind her and shied to the side. Cold steel parted cloak and tunic and left another wound that would need stitching. She thrust the pain aside and brought her own blade to bear. His intestines met the cold air; the stench would have normally made her retch, but now she smiled tightly. He dropped his sword to grab at his guts, as if to put them back, not even looking at her. One slash and he was dead.
Three more. Only three. She did her best to minimize her own wounds while inflicting the most possible damage to them. The blood surging and spraying from their wounds reminded her of cardinals in the snow. The discordant symphony of battle became her heartbeat. Breath came hard and fast, slamming in and out of her lungs. She struggled to keep it under control. Then it was all over; she was alive and they were not. Her arm lowered, letting blood soak into the snow where the tip grazed it. She turned in a slow circle to survey the carnage. Blood and bits of gore were all around her. Her enemies mangled bodies steamed as they cooled.
She shivered violently in the cold aftermath. Gathering her spattered cloak did little to warm her. She knelt down and rubbed snow on her sword, careful to not cut her numb flesh on the edge. There was not enough clean snow around her to properly do the task. She sighed and got up. She would have to pick her way through towards the opposite tree line; that was the only area in the clearing that had clean snow.