“You know, I like you better this way,” she murmured to the horse, stroking his mane.
Swiftly whinnied, and she giggled.
Brine clucked his tongue, his expression one of utter distaste. “So easily won over, Swiftly. Do not forget who she is.”
Sweet poison. This again.
“Considering how you all attacked me earlier this year, I doubt he does,” Tempest fired back, though there was no genuine anger behind her retort.
She and Brine had formed an uneasy alliance during their three-day journey so far. While they could hardly be considered friends, nor even acquaintances, she no longer considered themselves strictly enemies. It had been tough, but she had kept up with his brutal, unforgiving pace without complaint and, in turn, Brine had limited his threats and insults.
It was progress… no matter how small it was.
She eyed Brine as he prowled through the trees, his ears perking every time he heard something she couldn’t. “Why are you so on edge, Brine?” Tempest asked after a short while of observing the wolf shifter from her vantage point on Swiftly’s back. The wolf’s mannerisms were stressing her out. She forced herself to release her tight hold on the reins and muttered a quick apology to Swiftly.
The wolf froze and glanced back at her, his ears pricked up to attention. “Hush.” He sniffed the air, turning from her to investigate the left side of the narrow path they were following. His gray eyes moved to her face, and his lips thinned. “There’s something—someone—nearby. But I don’t…” Brine trailed off, which only served to unnerve her.
She frowned and pulled her bow from her shoulder at a rumbling sound that set her teeth on edge. No, it wasn’t a rumble… more like a bone-rattling roar. She scanned the trees around them, trying to find the source of the sound. Brine ran to a gap in the trees and glanced at the sky. Tempest urged Swiftly ahead and followed the wolf’s gaze. She stiffened, and her heart began to race. It couldn’t be.
“A dragon,” she breathed, equally terrified and in awe. The dragon roared again and disappeared from sight. It was a bloody dragon. She wasn’t prepared to take on a dragon. Her arrows would just bounce off its scales like a child’s toy. “Have you ever—”
The whistle of an arrow passed her ear. Tempest’s attention snapped from the sky to the forest, and she held her bow higher. Dragons didn’t wield bows. People did. A dark smile curled her lips. She was ready for people.
Brine partly shifted, his claws lengthening from his fingertips. The dragon called again, and it was as if it was right above them. The sound rattled her teeth. She glanced at the wolf and spotted a shadowy figure just as it leapt from the trees.
“Get down, Brine!” Tempest yelled, firing her arrow at the shadowy figure who was getting ready to impale the wolf shifter with his sword.
Brine ducked, and her arrow struck true. She didn’t spare them much attention as they collapsed to their knees and then crashed to the forest floor.
Tempest released an embarrassing squeak when she swiveled, and another figure bore down on her. There wasn’t enough time to ready another arrow. Swiftly sidestepped and then bucked, striking his back hooves against the assailant’s chest. She winced at the sickening crack and tumbled over Swiftly’s head. She groaned and rolled out of the way. That hurt.
“A warning next time,” she wheezed.
Swiftly tossed his head and whinnied loudly.
“He needs to shift,” Brine said, his words more of a growl.
Tempest stood just as the horse became a man. He snatched a dagger from her waist and threw it over her head. A dull thud sounded behind her, followed by a scream. She yanked her other dagger from her hip and handed it to the tall, lanky man with shaggy black hair. He flashed her a smile with very straight, square, beige teeth. She grinned back and let another arrow loose as Brine loped after one of their attackers.
Another dropped from the trees. And, so, it went on. She kept shooting until Swiftly cried out. Tempest spun on her heel and nocked another arrow just as another assailant pulled a dagger from the horse man’s back before landing a blow to his head. Swiftly was unconscious when he hit the ground, his assailant following behind him, but in a more permanent sleep.
“Swiftly!” Tempest yelled, moving to his side. She touched her fingers to the base of his throat. He still had a pulse, but they would need to bandage his wound. Brine jogged back into the meadow a bloody mess. “Who are they?”
“Bandits,” he grunted. “Three more. We can handle them!”
A surge of pride moved through her at the statement. She wiped the sweat from her eyes as a small, male bandit charged at her and maneuvered herself away from Swiftly. She danced around the bandit and used the tip of her bow to swipe his feet out from under him. He growled and rolled onto his belly to get up. Tempest darted in and slammed her bow into the back of his head twice. He slumped into the foliage. He didn’t get up.
The dragon cried again so loudly that her ears rang. Her eyes widened. Wicked hell. It was right above them. The world seemed to slow as a gargantuan, emerald shape descended upon them, blocking the sun and causing Tempest to shiver.
“Fall back!” she yelled. It couldn’t navigate through the trees.
Brine let out a snarl of surprise that made her blood curdle. Across the glen, he limped toward one of the two remaining assailants, a dagger lodged in his calf and another protruding from his left shoulder blade.
Tempest’s eyes watered as leaves and debris filled the air as the dragon tried to land. They were all going to die.
The dragon crushed several trees as it finally landed. It was as if they were twigs. Tempest faltered, and took a step away from the fight, then another and another. A wise soldier knew when to retreat. Now was the time. She took another step then halted, her fingers clenching around the bow.
“No!” she cried, shaking her head, ashamed. Brine needed her help. She left no one behind. Swiftly was defenseless, but Brine’s condition was deteriorating; if she didn’t stay to help, both of them would die. And they didn’t deserve it. They were not the Jester.
She turned on her heel and sprinted back into the fray. Screaming, she caught the female bandit’s attention. The woman smiled, revealing rotting, yellowed teeth as she swung her short sword and raced to meet Tempest. Tempest dropped her bow and pulled her sword from the scabbard. The woman swung, and Tempest dropped to her knees, skidding over the wet plants beneath the woman’s guard and slicing the bandit’s Achilles tendon. The woman howled and dropped to the ground.
Tempest launched to her feet and kept going. Brine faced her, and his eyes widened just as her cloak snagged on something. She choked as the metal clasp dug into her throat. She spun, lifting her sword.
And everything just stopped.
She couldn’t even breathe as she came face-to-muzzle with the dragon.
The beast puffed out a metallic breath, blowing the hood from her head. This was how she died. Her periwinkle hair blew across her eyes, but she never took her gaze from the beast. She held up her sword, at a loss for what else to do. Running wasn’t an option. Her sword could not pierce its hide. A hysterical laugh built up in her chest. Oh, how the bards would sing about the female lion slayer who was eaten by a dragon.
The beast didn’t attack. She tucked her chin and glared at it. “What are you waiting for?” she screamed. Not her finest moment, taunting a dragon, but she didn’t want to draw this out further than need be. Already, her legs were beginning to shake.