Then the buildings thinned, replaced with gardens and low stone fences as they passed out of the village, and an unmown field of autumn gold came into view. Vineyards filled the leagues beyond, between them and the sprawl of Amberlin.
Traffic was sparse, with only a few folk heading home from the festivities still in full swing behind them.
Just south of the path, a windmill rose over the dead grass, tattered canvas clinging to its blades.
In front of it, clearly visible from the road, Nigel’s starburst hilt and about a foot of steel stood tall above the rustling seed-heads.
There was no sign of Astryx, Zyll, or the horses. Fern had no idea what was going on, but some intention was plain. She rejoiced inwardly.
“I should be disappointed,” muttered Tullah. “But I’m not, really. I never liked doing things the easy way. Come on, you two.”
She nudged Fern to get her and Quillin moving again, directly toward the longsword in the field. The blades of the windmill creaked mournfully, rocking slightly on their axle.
“My lady, I see them,” bellowed Nigel, startling everyone. Fern felt Tullah twitch and savored a moment of grim satisfaction. In lower tones, but no less commanding, he called, “Approach no further. Set free our companion, and you may go on your way.”
“I don’t think so,” hollered Tullah, not slowing. “Behind the windmill, eh, Oathmaiden? That’s a clever way to set a lookout.” She squinted over her shoulder toward the village. Fern turned to follow her gaze, and at first saw nothing . . . then a black shadow on a rooftop in the lee of a chimney.
The archer.
“Leaves you unarmed, though,” continued Tullah. She quietly ordered Marv, “Go. Grab the sword.”
The red-haired man nodded once and began to jog toward the upright Elder Blade, looking left and right for any sign of an ambush.
Fern held her breath as he closed in, expecting . . . she didn’t know what.
When the moment arrived, she still gasped.
As Marv came within a few strides of Nigel, already stretching out his hand, the grass on the far side stirred. Silver hair and a single ear breached the golden surface as Astryx pushed herself up and tore into a dead sprint. She reached the starburst hilt an instant before Marv, grasping it with her left hand and ripping Nigel from the earth in a spray of grass and dirt.
Marv squawked, grabbing for the shortsword at his waist, but the Oathmaiden let her momentum flow into an upward sweep of Nigel’s pommel, clubbing the man in the skull. Temple bloodied, he dropped bonelessly in a heap, disappearing into the grass.
Astryx stooped quickly and seized him by the collar, dragging his unconscious head up beside her hip and laying Nigel across his chest. “The archer. Call her down. If I see her again, Marv here will regret it.”
Fern fully expected an arrow to sprout in Marv’s chest, or for Tullah to laugh and tell her to go ahead. That’s certainly what would have happened in any number of adventure stories she’d read. The henchmen werealwaysexpendable.
Instead, Tullah gestured at the archer with a move-it-back motion. The woman melted away from the rooftop.
“So, you’ve got one of mine, and I’ve got one of yours,” said Tullah. “Where’s Zyll?”
“She tends to disappear,” replied Astryx coolly. “Hard to keep track of, to be honest.”
Tullah started pushing them forward again, pulling her axe from her belt. “Now what? I’ve got plenty of patience, and I don’t plan to leave without the little demon.”
“That’s close enough,” said Astryx. “Now we don’t have to shout. But I imagine if we wait much longer, we’re going to draw a crowd.”
The orc stopped and studied her. “I notice you’re using your left hand now. Something wrong with the right?” She shrugged. “We both know who won the last time we met, and you look worse off than before. I like my odds. Still, I’ll suggest a trade. Let Marv be, and hand over the goblin. These two go free. We head our separate ways. You’re out a bounty, but I guarantee, my need’s greater. What do you say?”
“I’ll happily exchange this one for my friend,” said Astryx. “But as you can see, I don’t have a goblin to barter.”
Astryx wasn’t wrong about drawing a crowd. Already, Fern saw that a few villagers had stopped on the road and were pointing. This wasn’t lost on Tullah, who squeezed the haft of her axe until it creaked.
“I hate a fucking impasse,” she growled. “But they always break, in the end.”
And as though her words were prophetic, at that instant, it did.
“Hey!” cried Kell, pointing with his mace at the stone wall running alongside the field.
Zyll was sprinting across the top with Fern’s red cloak billowing out behind her. Even as Fern caught sight of her, Zyll leapt spread-eagled from the fence and plunged into the grass, which rippled like water with her passage as she made a beeline for Tullah, pigtails flying.
