Chapter Three.
He barely got a glimpse of her beautiful, smooth face before her legs shot out and wrapped around his. She twisted like a snake and he tumbled, landing heavily on his back.
The air escaped his lungs with a whoosh. He rolled away, but as he did so one of her flailing feet connected with his cheek. Stars erupted before his eyes. He tasted blood. Tom cried out as the smell of burning pervaded the air.
Dazedly, Merric pushed himself to his feet. He gripped the side of the wagon, swaying unsteadily, forcing his eyes to focus.
The blurry shapes in his vision slowly took form. Before him stood the woman, blazing eyes focused on Merric. She had her left arm wrapped around Tom's neck, a dagger at his throat. A gag lay around her neck like a scarf, and the chords she had been bound with were scattered in charred pieces at her feet.
She was unlike any woman Merric had ever seen. She wore all black: leggings, knee-high leather riding boots, a long sleeved blouse, leather jerkin and a wide leather belt cinched tight about her slender waist. Her long, dark brown hair tumbled in careless abandon over her shoulders. Eyes blue as the summer sky burned like gems in her heart-shaped face.
She was incredibly beautiful, but that wasn't what took Merric's breath away. It was her very aura: one of power and assuredness. The muscles he could see lightly chording her legs beneath the cloth looked to be hard earned. Her face and neck were tanned a delicious golden brown, and the hands that held the blade to Tom's throat were not delicate and painted. From the way Tom was wincing, Merric judged her strong.
He stared slack-jawed at her, rendered incapable of acting. Disconnected thoughts chased each other through his head.
The clatter of chain mail and heavy boots announced the arrival of a squadron. They came at a parade-ground jog-trot and spread out, surrounding the wagon. Each aimed their crossbow at the woman. The commander, a short, rat-faced man wearing the stripes of a corporal, stepped forward. He had a riding crop in his right hand, and a sabre sheathed uselessly at his left hip.
"Drop the hostage or you'll get a half dozen bolts in your flesh," he announced loudly. Neither the woman, nor Merric, moved. Tom let out a small whimper as the ride of his Adam's apple cause the sharp blade to dig slightly into his skin. A small rivulet of red ran down. Merric watched it as though mesmerised.
Angry at being defied, the weed-like man slapped his crop against his boot. The crack made Merric jump. "Last chance, wench."
The woman finally acted, taking her gaze from Merric's face and flicking it to the corporal's. He drew back a step, unease shadowing his expression as those beautiful eyes bored holes in him. He looked over his shoulder to one of the men, whose finger twitched ever so slightly on the catch. The woman shifted her weight slightly, putting Tom between her and the bolt.
"Leave me be and I'll go peacefully," she said. Her voice was a gilded sword; simultaneously beautiful and deadly. The corporal wavered, unused to dealing with women in this manner.
He looked once more to his subordinate, noting the way the man's finger was curled over the lever. It would take a split-second for him to exert enough pressure to loose the arrow. This small fact gave the leader courage. "No," he replied, but it sounded like a question.
She tilted her shoulders in the ghost of a shrug. "Then you deem this man's life worthless." Her grip on the dagger tightened and she drew it an infinitesimal measure across Tom's throat. He cried out, struggling. She jerked his head higher, making it difficult for him to resist. Her dagger finished the journey, gouging a tiny, thin red line in the skin. It wasn't enough to kill him, but it was enough to show that she meant business.
The corporal was ghost-white. His men snatched sideways glances of one another, lowering their aim hesitantly. None of them knew what to do. They had never been in such a situation before.
With great effort, Merric finally found his voice.
"Step down, Corporal," he said. The small man gratefully obeyed, turning a delicate shade of pink. "Lower your aim," Merric added to the squad. They, too, followed his orders.
The woman returned her gaze to Merric. She looked unsure, was he saving her or condemning her? Merric took a careful step forward raising his hands to show her he was unarmed. Like a cornered deer she seemed ready to flee.
Put Tom down," Merric asked her gently.
She shook her head back and forth slowly, never taking her eyes from him.
"Please," Merric added.
Another shake of the head.
"You're only making things worse for yourself. Do you want to add kidnapping to attempted robbery?"
"I'm leaving here," she replied, voice strong despite her unease. "You'll not charge me for either."
"Do you really think you can escape this fortress?" Merric asked, incredulity sneaking into his tone. "The walls are solid stone. There are three portcullises to pass through. Even if you manage to pass through the first one, the next two will trap you. It was designed to keep people both out and in."
Her answer was to stare blankly at him. Silence descended like a black cloak, the only sound being Tom's panicked gasping. The blood which had seeped sluggishly to his collar was now drying black in the heat. It seemed that the entire compound was waiting on tender-hooks for her answer.
"Let Tom go, and I promise no-one will harm you," Merric said, breaking the hush.
She flicked her eyes to the men surrounding them, noting the slack way they held their weapons. The bombastic corporal seemed to have lost his nerve and was content to let Merric negotiate. He stood idle behind his troops, hands clasped. Next she looked to the battlements, and it was only then that Merric realised that other soldiers had taken interest in their standoff. The men who had taken over guard-duty were now staring down their crossbows, directly at her.
"Lower your weapons!" he called to them. "Lower them right now or I'll court-martial the lot of you!"
They hesitated, reluctant to obey. This woman was obviously a threat, to have over-powered two such strong men as Tom and Merric. Not a man in the camp could equal such a feat. They continued to keep their weapons trained on her, debating whether or not it was worth it to obey.
"Now," Merric commanded in a powerful voice. His words echoed around the silent courtyard, and in their wake the guards slowly lowered their aim. A few kept their fingers near the lever, but Merric could live with that. He was proud that they were so suspicious, that was what made good guards.
He turned back to the woman, feeling perspiration dripping down the back of his neck. She was watching him with an intense look that made her icy eyes seem like they were piercing his very soul. Tom was steadily turning red under the pressure of the woman's arm around his neck. Nervously, he swallowed and Merric watched the red line, product of the dagger, ride the wave of his muscles. It was disturbingly fascinating.
"Please ... put Tom down," he pleaded, trying not to sound desperate. He was, Tom was a good friend.
The woman hesitated. She looked once more to her horse, and then again to the battlements. "Promise me safe passage out," she said, turning back to Merric. Though she did well to mask it, he could see how frightened she was. He admired her tenacity under such circumstances.
It would almost be a pity to trick her.
"I promise," he said.
Slowly, cautiously, she released her stranglehold around Tom's neck and withdrew the dagger. Tom fell to her feet, gasping for breath, and scuttled away on his hands and knees, falling off the back of the wagon in his haste to get out of range.
The woman looked like a scared fledgling without her hostage, alone in a nest of dragons. She shifted the dagger to her right hand and wrapped her slender fingers around the hilt for reassurance. Merric took a careful step toward her.
"Now lay down the dagger," he said gently, with his hands still raised, but this time ready to grab her. She seemed to note his change of body posture with some alarm.
"You promised," she said. "You promised you'd let me go."
Merric shook his head wearily, sadly. "I'm sorry," he replied. "I can't let such a dangerous person as you roam free. You prey on innocent people like Tom. You murder and pillage, taking what isn't rightfully yours. What sort of man would I be to let you go? What would happen if I did? You would go straight back to Funnel Pass and rob the next wagon to pass through it. I'm sorry, but you are a threat to the safety and sanctity of the people of Ohadi, and as a soldier of this great empire I am employed to protect such virtues.
"Arrest her."
The soldiers surrounding the wagon jumped into action, eager to get their revenge for being shamed. The woman also acted, leaping quickly over the front of the wagon and into the driver's seat. She landed with a thump and grabbed for the reins. A soldier came for her, reaching up to grip her arm. With a flash of silver she spun the dagger in her hand and slit his arm from the wrist to the elbow. The man fell back with a howl, hand gripping the wound.
Merric jumped for her now, determined that she wouldn't escape. As he did so she slapped the reins against the rump of the tired old chestnut. The alarmed horse leapt straight from a sleepy stance into a wild gallop. It careened directly through the wall of terrified soldiers, trampling some and knockings others aside. The ones that had been attempting to climb the side of the wagon were thrown off as she wrenched the horse's head and made a drastic turn to the left to avoid a stack of barrels.
Merric hit the bed of the wagon, whacking his already sore head against the hard, unforgiving wood. For the second time that day he saw stars, and this time he tasted blood.
"Shoot her!" he hollered, scrabbling for a handhold to keep from bouncing around. "Shoot her you fools!"
The whistle of arrows overhead told him that his fellow guards had heard him, but a good proportion of the shots were falling too far behind. Merric staggered to his feet, holding the side of the wagon for dear life, and almost copped a bolt in his own chest. He ducked and swore, then began inching his way toward the front of the cart, using the wagon's walls as a shield against friendly fire. He could see the woman ahead, her long dark hair whipped behind her like a battle flag as the wagon lurched around the courtyard.
An arrow thudded into the wood of the wagon bed, inches from Merric's leg. Muttering curses about ineptness, he finally reached the front.
The woman chose that moment to look back. Alarm mixed with admiration crossed her face.
"Don't give up that easily, do you?" she yelled over the thunder of hooves.
Despite himself, Merric grinned. "If I want something, I never stop until I get it."
"Stubborn," she tsked, flicking the dagger to her left hand, which was closest.
Merric dodged the wild swing intended to ward him off and ducked close to her. He gripped her knife-hand by the wrist, fingers wrapping all the way round, and wrenched her arm behind her back. She lost her balance and grabbed for his lapel to keep from falling out of the wagon. Falling at such speed would surely result in death, if not from the wheels and hooves then from being dashed against the rock-hard ground.
Merric twisted her wrist to dislodge the knife. It clattered to his feet, sliding to the corner as the wagon swung wildly to avoid a well. A terrified horse, which had been drinking from a nearby trough, reared, snapping its tether. It kicked out and hit a neatly stacked array of support poles. The pile teetered and tottered, then tumbled and rolled straight into the path of a pursuing squad of soldiers.
With screams and the horrible crunching sound of bone being crushed, their chase was halted. Merric couldn't help himself, he looked back. The carnage reminded him of the time a dam had burst near his home and killed a lot of the workers. Broken and snapped poles stood up like grave-markers, while limbs stuck out awkwardly from beneath.
The woman used his distraction to her advantage. With a sharp jab she rammed her bony elbow straight into his gut. Merric doubled up with a groan, releasing his death-grip on her wrist to cradle the affected area. She groped for his belt, fingers closing around the hilt of his sword. His father's sword.
"No," he gasped, but too late. With the musical sound of steel on steel, she unsheathed it and stood, light dancing off the blade. Helpless, unable to get his breath, he stared up at her, framed by the towering walls of Fort Savar. The light was behind her, giving her the look of a divine being as she smirked down at him.
"You know what's most fun about dealing with stubborn people?" she asked.
Merric shook his head. Words wouldn't come.
"Denying them," she hissed. And with that witty repartee, and a mocking salute, she leapt from the driver's seat, straight onto the back of her black stallion. Her feet found the stirrups with practised ease, and a quick slice downward with her stolen sword severed the tether holding the horse to the side of the wagon.
Merric could only watch powerlessly as she reined her steed toward the portcullises. The great gates had been winched closed, the gatemen standing before them with lowered pikes, but that didn't seem to deter the woman. She galloped straight toward the exit, dodging the wild shots of the archers on the battlements with absurd effortlessness.
Merric chose that moment to take his eyes off her and watch where the panicked chestnut was headed. It was thankful that he did, as the terrified beast was running straight for Berta's kitchen building.
With a holler, he leapt for the reins. But it was too late. With a nightmarish crunch the horse rammed into the side of the building. Its neck broke instantly as the wagon crushed it against the solid wall. Merric was flung violently forward.
The last thing he remembered was seeing the wall rushing for him like a charging bull. Then all went black.