Page 34 of Deadly Maiden

This is a northerly direction of travel. To the north-west lies Tensorga. And Landos is at Darsum, somewhere to the south, depending on the town’s movements. I dearly want to go there, to see him, to stay there with him. I would leap on that if offered. But as secure and safe as that used to be, it is no longer that.

And this dragonshifter? He offers something entirely new that stirs my blood and sets my mind to imagining.

My nipples dig into my wraparound bandeau bra. I glance down. It’s either Rorsyd or the cold wind. I’m rather hoping it’s the wind.

Where are we going next? I really do not know. Is this freedom? Is it adventure or danger? If I expect nothing more than to bounce from one bit of wickedness to the next, I’ll wear myself out.

Nimue and I catch up and ride alongside Rorsyd and Brinks. I don’t try to talk. For this moment, simply being here, with the hooves clopping, the birds calling, the sweet scent ofwildflowers, it is worth something amazing. My heart is beating strong and fast, and… I am loving this.

I guess I’m choosing adventure.

I smile at Rorsyd, and he looks at me as if puzzled, reins in hand, thighs clamped on that horse. Black shirt and dark brown breeches, sword across his back. His hat has been blown off and is somewhere behind us, and he hasn’t noticed. The rush of the wind stirs his hair as if they truly are flames.

Gods, he’s a fine companion. No matter if he’s going to be testing me for evilness. Does that require him to stick pins in me or what?

I blow him a kiss just to stir the demons, as they say, then I let out a whoop and ride ahead.

Trees close in a half a mile further, oaks that spread out and cover the sky with their wayward branches until only patches of darker blue are visible. Rorsyd and Brinks have caught up, and we ride side by side.

He leans over to offer me a canteen. “Drink?”

I shake my head. “I’m good.”

“The river where we will camp should only be another?—”

Something flutters darkly in my mind, and I scream a warning. “Duck!”

“Duck?” He’s frowning then he’s moving. An arrow flits. My eyes latch onto that sputter of movement. It’s a dot closing but even as he said the wordduckhe reached for me. I’m pulled from the saddle, and we hit the ground in a muddle of limbs. Or I do. Rorsyd is sprinting to the tree line.

I had a warningbeforeit was fired.

If the arrows hit the horses…I don’t want to see that, and I’m running, following him. I guess making distance between us and the horses is the best tactic. We’re the target and the forest offers cover.

Two more arrows flit by, skimming Rorsyd’s back, coming from somewhere ahead. We reach the edge of the forest and plunge in, grass rustling, snapping. The shadows are dank with decaying vegetation, the leaves wet, as if it’s rained recently. Above, a bird cries in a shriek then flutters away, still crying.

This forest is where the enemy hides. I stay as quiet as I can be, brushing through a screen of leaves and yielding foliage.

I stumble into a small battle—violent, stifled movement.

Rorsyd has someone down and throat clubbed. Another thud sounds as fist meets neck and the man gasps and rolls on the ground, wheezing. He’s dying, and I’m ignoring that. This is so screwed up. They shotarrowsat us. How many are out there, waiting, aiming to surprise us?

Two archers, judging by the angles. I’m pleased I can remember this and figure it out.

I heft the sword, adjust my grip, minutely, and leave the dead man. We forge onward, sneaking parallel to the road.

A whinny says the horses are back there somewhere and alive. If they’re struck with an arrow, I imagine they’ll run.

Rorsyd rasps, “Hide!”

I squat, going really low, focusing in an arc from left to right. I twist to check the rear.

Where does one hide in an ambush? The trees are thick around us and above, ancient branches wreathing and winding. Twigs crunch underfoot as I creep after Rorsyd, who is on the move again. We’re moving in a half-crouch.

I adjust grip again. My sword is out, and I don’t recall unsheathing it.

A row of questions rack up and flow inside my head. I’m calmer than I should be, though my heart is bumping at my temple, my chest.

Am I going to die? I don’t know. Should we have tried galloping instead of dismounting? What’s that noise? I’m alertand running on multiple threads of thought like an abacus gone crazy.

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