She was deep in her head, and they were deep in the forest, when a strange whistle cut through the air. It was followed by a chittering sound that was much too loud to have been a squirrel.
She squinted up at the branches overhead, frowning. “Val . . . ”
“Shh,” he hissed, drawing his short sword.
The look on his face snapped her out of her reverie. Instantly, her body tensed. Her mare sensed the change and stopped, refusing to budge.
More chittering came, sounding like it was coming from that big oak . . . No, the copse of laurel . . . No, from behind them now . . .
“Blast!” Valenden cursed, wheeling his gelding around, circling Bryn’s mare protectively. He raised his sword.
“Valenden, what is it?”
“This road is known for banditry,” he said, keeping his eyes on the trees. “And I don’t think we’re about to be attacked by squirrels.”
Chapter
Eighteen
BANDITS ON THE ROAD . . . the woman in black . . . chances of escape . . . the rainbow forest
The bandits might not have been squirrels, but they swooped out of the trees just like them. Materializing out of leafy cover, dozens of figures dropped gracefully onto the road.
Bryn’s heart shot to her throat as she twisted in her saddle to try to follow their movements. The black-clad figures blocked the road ahead of and behind them. More figures appeared from deeper within the forest, cutting off the possibility of leaving the road and taking their chances in the woods.
At first, all the bandits appeared identical. They each were dressed in black trousers, black boots, black or gray shirts, and they all wore bandanas around their heads with eyeholes cut out. They had an arsenal of knives and swords strapped around their waists.
“Ho,” one of them called, a gray-haired man who’d been the first to drop down to block their path. He raised a hand asthough in a mockery of greeting. “Ho, there, travelers. May we have a word?”
“Have a word,” Valenden muttered low enough for only Bryn to hear. “More like have our heads.”
“Let us pass,” Valenden said louder to their leader. “We are newlyweds on our way home to Wollin. I’m a goatherd and have spent all my coin fetching my bride. We have nothing for you to steal.”
Their leader flashed a cruel grin. “You think us bandits? No, friend, we are nothing of the sort. In fact, we protect this roadfrombandits. You are in the territory of the Forest King. We wish to provide you with safe passage, especially on such a joyous occasion as your recent wedding!” He gave a more appraising smile in Bryn’s direction. “Andwhata bride . . . ”
Valenden grabbed the reins of Bryn’s mare on the off chance that the horse might bolt amid the danger. “Do you leer at my wife, sir?”
The bandit leader held up his hands. “Not I. But the point stands that we are protectors of travelers on this road. You are free to pass, of course. Though we do struggle to make ends meet out here away from our families, looking out for travelers such as yourselves. Could you but spare a few coins, we’d be grateful.”
Valenden groaned and reached into his shirt, coming out with a small sack of coins. “Here. For thegood defendersof the road.” He tossed the sack to the leader, who caught it easily in one hand.
Bryn sucked in a breath, hoping that would be the extent of their extortion.
Valenden said tensely, “Now if you’ll move aside . . . ”
“Ah, well,” their leader drawled. “You see, I have this bum leg of mine.” He lifted his pant leg to reveal deeply scarred skin and twisted bone as though he’d broken it long ago and it hadn’t healed properly. He stepped forward on a limp that Bryn didn’tthink was part of the charade. “What wereallyneed to do our jobs well is a pair of horses.”
Valenden went dangerously quiet. Bryn could feel him seething. In a low voice, he whispered to Bryn, “We cannot allow them to take the horses and all our coin.”
“So what do we do?” she whispered.
The leader cleared his throat. “Save the romantic chitchat for the bedroom, my friends. Unless you want to speak louder, that is,” he said with a winking leer. “My men haven’t heard such talk in quite some time.”
Valenden’s back stiffened. Bryn appraised the bandits, hoping to glean some advantage. The leader had seemed burly at first, but he clearly had a limp. The others had also all struck her at first glimpse as fit men in their prime, but now that she looked closer, she was surprised to find that at least half appeared to be women, though their baggy clothes and bandana face coverings made it hard to know for certain. One clearly female bandit had a rifle, but rifles were notoriously unreliable. She’d have to have exceptionally good aim to shoot them while they were galloping away on horseback.
“We make a run for it,” Valenden said quietly, Bryn’s mare’s reins tight in his hand. “You hold on to the saddle as tightly as you can. I’ll do the rest. We must hope this old mare has some life left in her.”
While they were speaking, Bryn became aware that one of the bandits, the woman holding the rifle, was moving determinedly toward the leader. The woman kept her back mostly to Bryn as she whispered something low to the leader.
