Thunk.
Embedded in the tree she had just abandoned was a poorly fletched arrow. She ducked behind a larger tree and searched for the archer.
Light glinted off the tips of arrows. Three archers – never mind. Two. The poor woman had been in a tree until Vern's knife found her eye. She tumbled out screaming.
Steel flashed, and another bow thumped to the ground, followed by the body that had held it. The shadows moved, inseparable from the sway of leaves in the wind, and the last archer lost his life.
Vern no longer wore his cloak. The encumbering fabric got in the way; her own had been left on her horse as soon as they'd ridden into the trees.
She cut through to her father as the remaining fighters grouped together. Numbers were on the militia’s side – if they were well-trained.
Instinct had her turning. A woman leaped from a tree, landing several feet away. But before the ambusher could take a step, she lurched forward and stopped. Jutting from between her ribs were several inches of a bloody blade. The steel jerked back. Her body fell.
Jerome examined Anais swiftly, then turned back to the fight. Pelios flanked him.
Anais nodded her thanks. Twisting to meet another attack, she grinned at her father. “See? Jerome’s fine!”
Perhaps he hadn’t seen. Occupied with three brigands, Vern retreated a step, then another, and flipped his sword to slash clean through one of their calves. That man crumpled with a cry. Vern slid back another step. The remaining two chased with a predator’s gleam in their eyes, but her father wasn’t retreating. Their eagerness made them sloppy, and with two simultaneous strokes, they caught Vern’s steel in their throats.
He withdrew his weapons, tossing over his shoulder, “Yes. And he’s still only using one sword.”
Nothing ever satisfied him.
Cutting his way between them, Jerome said in a cautious tone, “I normally only use one sword.”
Together with Pelios, they formed a circle with their backs to each other. Vern flung a dagger. “We were discussing the consequences of a lack of proper planning.”
Jerome grunted. “I do prefer a shield.”
She dodged a jab and grumbled under her breath, “For once, it would be nice if one of you defended my honor.”
A man yelled and charged them. Vern dispatched him with a disdainful flick of his wrist and a knife to the eye. “That’s your job.” His face was grim, but a hint of humor in his eyes lightened the remark.
She smiled in kind. Honest battle, fighting for their lives with blade and muscle, was exhilarating. She felt alive. Sweat dripped down her back, and tension fled with each swing of her sword. Killing was grim work, to be sure, but far, far preferable to the battles she fought with her council of snakes. It would have been so much easier to cut their throats and be done with it.
Bleeding bodies lay at their feet. Their attackers began to flee. Anais signaled to let them go. Even if Yelena's soldiers tracked her this far, the locals might not have recognized her. Her Escorts were still wearing the Nadraken royal insignia. Attacking the Queen's own? No, of course not. Just a feud. The risk of discovery was worth sparing a few lives.
A quiet grunt alerted her to Jerome clasping his wrist to his chest. His face was pale as he studied the trees. Vern glanced at him with a wordless, blank expression. They were in no shape to chase soldiers through unfamiliar territory.
Claiming a few passable weapons, arrows, and other supplies from the fallen, they returned to the horses. The sounds of chirping birds and calm nature had resumed. Jerome carefully unwrapped his wrist.
The river came into sight. All of them halted. She stared. “What is he…”
Down by the water, Castien had a sword in his hand. A bow lay on the ground. Zara kneeled beside her brother, her body hiding him from view.
The courtesan saw their approach. His posture was tense. He surveyed their group, his shoulders falling when he found her.
Pelios practically flew down to the water. By the time he reached them, Castien had thrown his sword onto the dirt and raised his hands. The rebel captain wasn't satisfied.
“What did you do!” His blade still in hand, he pressed the edge of it to Castien's throat, his face inches away.
Beside Castien, the wolf snarled.
Anais opened her mouth to snap a command, but Zara called out first. “Pelios! Pelios, stop! He didn't do anything!”
The rebel only held his weapon tighter. “Why did you have her sword? Did you take it from her?”
Castien said nothing, his hands still in the air, his dark eyes fixed on the other man's face, and a sad smile on his lips.
