I nodded and moved forward. Time turned to syrup, every hoof fall amplified, one length becoming a mile. I steeled my eyes on the Rahtan ahead, as if that would keep them in place. They didn’t move, waiting for me to come all the way to them. Yes, Trahern and Iver, but now I could also recognized Baruch, Ferris, and Ghier, only cruel guards before, now elevated to ride with the Rahtan. The sixth one I didn’t know. But Malich wasn’t among them. If he wasn’t here, maybe he was the one ruling Venda now. I had sheathed my sword as Rafe had ordered, but the knife was still in my hand, hidden behind the pommel of the saddle. Two lengths. Their horses pranced, impatient. Three lengths. They looked between one another, victorious. Four lengths. I was close enough to see their faces. Each gleamed with satisfaction. Trahern moved forward to meet me. Another step. Five lengths. I stopped my horse.
“Keep coming, girl,” he called.
I didn’t move.
A question crossed his face only briefly before the battle cry of a warrior prince rent the air. The ground shook with the rumble of hooves. Flesh and shadows flew past me.
The Rahtan raced forward to meet them, Trahern leading the pack. Rafe maneuvered in front of me to block him. Swords flashed and axes swung. My horse whirled in the confusion, rearing back. I worked to regain control. Arrows flew, their smooth hiss singing past my ears. The Rahtan who had been behind now raced toward us too, but then Rafe and Tavish doubled back, arrows flying in the other direction, a circle of battle with me at the center. Dust rose in clouds, and the death ring of swords clanged against the air. Griz swung mightily, even with his weak side, bringing down Iver. Kaden fought beside him, his hands free for the first time in days. Blood spattered them both, but I wasn’t sure whose blood it was.
Kaden whirled on his horse, killing Baruch with a vicious stab to his throat, pulling the sword free and, in the same motion, blocking an attack from Ferris. Ghier advanced on Sven from behind, and I threw my knife, hitting him dead center in the back of his neck. I circled, the melee coming from all sides and swung my sword into another Rahtan as he attacked Orrin. The blade glanced off his leather armor, but it was enough of a distraction that Orrin was able to knock him from his horse. I drew a second knife from my belt, but then, hidden in the ruins, a flash. Color. Something else turning my eye. Movement. Charging.
A horse raced forward—with Ulrix guiding it toward me.
I raised my sword, but he was already upon me, his horse’s side ramming my horse, the impact sending my animal stumbling and the sword flying. His horse was still butting mine, not giving me time to reposition or gain control, every part of us, saddle and stirrup, seeming tangled. I still had the knife tight in my grip, and I slashed out at his arm, meeting only with a leather wrist cuff. I slashed out again for something more vital, but he blocked me with his sword and yanked me onto his horse with his other hand in a single violent pull. The pommel of his saddle slammed into my stomach like a fist, punching my breath away, punching over again and over again as I straddled the horse on my stomach. I couldn’t breathe, but I knew, he was riding away. We were disappearing into the ruins. I tried to force air back into my lungs, to roll away, free the arm pinned beneath me, I reached desperately for something to hit him with. Where was my knife? Air. I needed air. His fingers threaded through my hair, yanking my head back. “All I need is your head, Princess. The choice is yours. Submit to me or lose it.”
I gasped, my lungs finally filling, and I pulled my pinned arm free, something hard still in my grasp. I slashed upward. He struck at my hand, sending the knife flying, but it was too late. The blade had left a spurting line of blood from his collarbone to his ear. He roared with pain, grabbing my arm with one hand and lifting his sword with the other. I had no leverage to move, no way to push off, no way to protect my neck from his blade—and then he was gone.
Gone.
Ulrix’s crumpled body lay on the ground. His head tumbled down the incline into a rock. Rafe circled around, sheathing his bloody sword. He rode over, scooping me around the waist and pulling me sideways onto his saddle. His heart pounded against my shoulder.
His breaths were ragged from the exertion of battle. I turned to look at him. Smeared blood and sweat streamed from his face. He pulled me to him, holding me so tight there was no chance of me slipping off.
“You’re all right?” he said into my hair.
My words choked in the back of my throat. “Rafe,” was all I could say.
His hand stroked my head, crushed my hair, his breaths calming as he held me. “You’re all right,” he repeated, this time it seemed, more to himself than to me.
* * *
The Rahtan were dead, but our group had sustained more injuries.
When we got back to the others, Tavish had a gash on his forehead that he waved away as unimportant, wrapping his head with a strip of cloth to keep the blood out of his eyes. Jeb was lying on the ground, his face wet and waxy. My heart clutched, but Kaden assured me it wasn’t fatal. When Jeb’s horse was struck by the blow of a sword, he’d been thrown and his shoulder was dislocated. Jeb shuddered as they cut away his shirt so they could see his injury.
“That was my favorite shirt, you savages,” he said, trying to smile, but his breaths were strained and only agony registered on his face.
I dropped to his side, brushing back his hair. “I’ll buy you a dozen more,” I said.
“Cruvas linen,” he specified. “It’s the finest.”
“Cruvas it is.”
He grimaced and looked at Rafe. “Get on with it.”
We all stared at his shoulder. It was more than just a dislocation. Something had ripped inside. The skin swelled purple and blue, and the previous injury that Tavish had stitched was bleeding again.
Tavish nodded at Orrin and Kaden. They held him down while Rafe rotated Jeb’s arm off to the side, upward slightly, then pulled. Jeb’s scream was full and guttural, echoing through the valley. My stomach turned. Afterward his eyes remained closed, and I thought he had passed out, but when his breath returned, he looked up at me and said, “You didn’t hear that.”
I wiped his brow. “I heard nothing but savages ripping off a perfectly fine shirt.”
We made a sling for his shoulder from a dead Rahtan’s bedroll, and Jeb was helped onto one of the Vendan horses, his own now dead in the road and stripped of its belongings. We were on our way again, all of us spattered in blood, Griz favoring his wounded side again, making me fear he had pulled his stitches loose. The dead Rahtan lay scattered, a gruesome scene of butchered men, some of them stripped of their needed linens. As we took the supplies we needed from their dead bodies, I felt like a scavenger—the kind Gaudrel and Morrighan had feared. I prayed there were no more Rahtan lying in wait in another ruin. It seemed we would never be out of this hell.
I cry out and fall to my knees,
unable to go on,
weeping for the dead,
weeping for the cruelties,
and a whisper calls to me from far away,
You are strong,
Stronger than your pain,
Stronger than your grief,
Stronger than them.
And I force myself to my feet again.
—The Lost Words of Morrighan
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
RAFE
I couldn’t banish the sight of the barbarian yanking Lia’s head back by her hair, his sword rising, and in the flash of that moment, I saw the bounty hunter in Terravin again, his knife held to her neck, but this time I knew she was going to die. I was too far away. Terror had gripped me. I would never make it in time.