Realm of Dragons. Морган Райс

one holding a long knife, the other an arming sword that suggested he might once have fought on behalf of a nobleman.

      “Back in a village I passed through,” Erin said, “they told me about bandits in the forest.”

      They didn’t seem to think it was odd that she’d come here anyway. Erin could feel the fear inside her. Should she have come here? She’d had plenty of training bouts, but this… this was different.

      “Looks as though we’re famous, boys,” the leader called out with a laugh.

      Famous was one word for it. In the village, she’d spoken to a young woman who was traveling with her husband. She had said that even when they gave these men everything they had, they still wanted more, and they took it. She had detailed all of it to Erin, and Erin had wished she’d had Lenore’s way with people, or Nerra’s compassion. Erin didn’t have either; all she had was this.

      “They say you kill those who fight,” Erin said.

      “Well then,” the leader said. “You’ll know not to fight.”

      “Barely worth it,” one of the others said. “Hardly a girl at all.”

      “You’re complaining?” the leader shot back. “The things you’ve done with boys as well?”

      Erin stood there, waiting. The fear was still there, and it had grown into a monstrous thing, a bear-sized thing that threatened to crush her into immobility. She shouldn’t have come here. This wasn’t a training bout, and she had never truly fought anyone before. She was just a young woman who was about to be killed, or worse…

      No. Erin thought about that, thought about the woman from the village, and she forced the fear down, under the anger.

      “If you want to make this easy on yourself, you’ll hand over everything you have. The horse, your valuables, everything.”

      “And take off those clothes,” the other who’d spoken said. “It will save us getting blood on them.”

      Erin swallowed, thinking about what that might mean. “No.”

      “Well then,” the leader said. “Looks like we do this the hard way.”

      The one with the long knife came at Erin first, grabbing for her and slashing with it at her body. Erin broke the grip, but the blade slid through her clothing as easily as it might have through a milkmaid’s butter. The man’s leer of triumph quickly turned to shock as the blade stopped, caught with the sound of metal on metal.

      “Taking off a coat of mail is hard work,” Erin said.

      She struck out with her staff, smashing the man in the face with the haft, causing him to stagger back. The leader came at her with his hatchet and, bringing her weapon across, she knocked it to one side. She struck out with the end, jabbing it into the man’s throat so that he gurgled and stumbled away.

      “Bitch!” the knifeman said.

      Now Erin twisted the staff, drawing off the end to reveal the long blade beneath that ran almost half its length. The dappled light of the forest shone darkly from it. In the weird, calm space that followed, she spoke. No point in disguising anything now.

      “When I was young, my mother made me take sewing lessons, but the woman who taught us was nearly blind, and Nerra, my sister, used to cover for me while I ran out and fought the boys with sticks. When my mother found out, she was angry, but my father said that I might as well learn properly, and he was the king, so…”

      “Your father’s the king?” the leader said. Fear crossed his face, closely followed by greed. “If they catch us, they’ll kill us, but they would have done that anyway, and the ransom we’ll get for someone like you…”

      Probably they would pay it. Although, given what Erin had overheard and the amount they’d been prepared to pay to get rid of her…

      The bandit lunged forward for Erin again, interrupting her train of thought by swinging his hatchet and then kicking out at her. Erin swept the hatchet blow aside one-handed, pushed at the man’s elbow, and then kicked him in the knee as he tried to kick her, sending him stumbling to the ground. Her teacher would probably be angry that she hadn’t followed up.

      Keep moving, end it quickly, take no chances. Erin could almost hear the words of her teacher, Swordmaster Wendros. He had been the one to tell her to use the short spear, a weapon that could make up for her lack of height and power with its speed and reach. Erin had been a little disappointed by the choice at the time, but she wasn’t now.

      Taking a two-handed grip on her weapon, she spun, covering as the one with a sword came at her. She set blows aside one after another, then aimed a cut of her own at him. A spear can cut as well as thrust. He went to deflect the strike, his sword rising up to meet it, and Erin rolled her wrists to send her blade dancing under the block, the spear’s point lancing forward to thrust through his neck. Even as he died, the man flailed another blow at her, and Erin struck it aside, already moving on.

      Do not stop. Keep moving until the fight is done.

      “She’s killed him!” the knifeman shouted. “She’s killed Ferris!”

      He lunged at her with the long knife, obviously trying to kill, not capture. He rushed in, trying to get in close where the greater length of Erin’s weapon wouldn’t count. Erin made to step back, then moved in even closer than he expected, wheeling him over her hip so he landed with a whoosh of escaping air…

      Or he would have if he hadn’t dragged her down with him.

      Showy, girl. Just do what’s needed.

      It was too late for that now, because she was on the floor with the knifeman, caught there while he stabbed at her, only her coat of mail keeping her from death. She’d been overconfident, and now she was in a space where the man’s greater strength was starting to tell. He was on top of her now, pushing the knife down toward her throat…

      Somehow, Erin managed to get close enough to bite him, and that gave her enough room to scramble free, no art or skill to it now, only desperation. The leader was back on his feet by now, swinging his weapon again. Erin parried the first blow, barely, on her knees, took a kick to the midsection, and spat blood as she came up.

      “You picked the wrong people to mess with, bitch,” the leader said and went for an overhand stroke, aimed at her head.

      There was no time to dodge, no time to parry. All Erin could do was duck down and thrust up with her spear. She felt the crunch as it went through flesh, expected to feel the impact of her foe’s weapon in her own body, but for a moment, things just froze. She dared to look up, and he was there, transfixed on the end of her spear, so busy staring down at the weapon that he hadn’t finished his own attack.

      It is a fine thing to be lucky, and a stupid thing to rely on it, Swordmaster Wendros’s voice sounded in her mind.

      The knifeman was still down, struggling to rise.

      “Mercy, please,” the knifeman said.

      “Mercy?” Erin said. “How much mercy did you show to the people you robbed, and killed, and raped? When they begged you, did you laugh at them? Did you run them down when they fled? How much mercy would you have shown me?”

      “Please,” the man said, standing. He turned to run, probably hoping he could outpace Erin in the trees.

      She almost let him go, but what would he do then? How many more people would die when he thought he could get away with it again? She reversed her blade, hefted it, and flung it.

      Over a long distance, it wouldn’t have worked, because the spear was shorter than a true javelin, but over the short space between them it sailed through the air perfectly, plunging through the bandit point first and bringing him to the ground. Erin stepped over to him, set a foot on his back, and dragged it out. Lifting it, she brought it down sharply on his neck.

      “That’s as much mercy as I have today,” she said.

      She stood there, then moved to the side of the track, suddenly nauseous. It had felt so right