“Cowards!” he roared. “Face us with honor! God’s judgment will find you!”
He pointed the blade at me, the signal clear. His men rallied, closed ranks, and pressed forward. Bullets did damage, but steel and numbers still counted for a lot. I felt the old thrill, maybe terror, maybe joy, of knowing we were up against it.
A man with a halberd charged, screaming for the church. I ducked the blade, cut his hamstring, then left him for Shivs to finish. Scarlette covered my left, swinging the sword in tight arcs, her movements clean and practiced. She fought like a woman who’d spent her whole life running from violence and had finally decided to stop.
One of the soldiers broke through and went for Scarlette’s throat. She blocked with the flat of the sword, the impact shuddering up her arms, then parried and drove the pointthrough his mail. Blood poured out, and she shoved him off with a grunt, then turned to help me with another attacker.
Vin and Shivs had their own hands full. A pair of archers had found cover behind one of the oaks, firing wild shots that sometimes glanced off the bark and sometimes found flesh. Shivs caught one in the knee, dropped him, then finished him with a double-tap to the chest. Vin never stopped moving, never let his back go unguarded, the pistol barking out commands the enemy couldn’t ignore.
The fight was a blender—no sense, just speed, sweat, blood, and the feeling that any second could be the last. My knife was red up to the hilt. My hands were shaking, but it didn’t slow me down. I felt Scarlette at my back, alive and burning, every breath a promise.
We made it to the center of the circle, the old stones underfoot slick with gore and snow. For a second, it was just the dead and us. The air rang with the echo of gunfire and the shouts of the dying.
Then Aldric rode in, dismounting with a flourish that would have looked heroic if the ground hadn’t been slick with his men’s blood. He drew his sword, leveled it at me, and bared his teeth.
“Face me, you cur,” he said. “No more hiding behind women and witchcraft.”
I wanted to answer, but I was out of words.
Vin called out, “We’re thinning, Sarge. If you got a plan, now’s the time.”
I nodded, eyes on Aldric. “Cover her,” I said, jerking my chin toward Scarlette. “This is mine.”
The soldiers, or what was left of them, formed a loose perimeter, too afraid to close in, too proud to run. I squared up, knife in hand, and let the wolf rise behind my eyes.
Scarlette, panting, blood running down her arm, caught my gaze. “Don’t die,” she said.
I smiled, feral. “Only if he kills me first.”
Aldric lunged.
The fight wasn’t clean or pretty. It was a knife against a sword, muscle against training, hate against something older. He was fast, but I was faster. I let him get close, let him see the kill in my eyes, then twisted inside his guard and raked the blade across his face. He roared, swung wildly, and caught my shoulder, but not deep enough to stop me. I punched him in the gut, doubled him over, then went for the kill.
He blocked with his forearm, but I buried the knife in the soft flesh above his elbow, then ripped it out and stepped back. He stumbled, blood pouring from his face and arm, but didn’t fall. Instead, he dropped the sword, tackled me to the ground, and tried to choke the life out of me with his bare hands.
We rolled in the blood and snow, his grip iron, mine desperate. I clawed at his face, but he held on. My vision tunneled, darkness creeping in. Then, out of nowhere, Scarlette drove the stolen sword point through Aldric’s ribs. He gasped, let go, and sagged.
I shoved him off, gasping, lungs on fire. Scarlette knelt by me, eyes wild, breath ragged.
“Did I get him?” she said.
I laughed, or tried to. “He’s not coming back.”
Vin and Shivs finished the last of the soldiers. The clearing went silent, and only the crows were left to judge us.
I looked up at the ring of oaks, the light slanting through them like a benediction. Scarlette’s hair was a mat of blood and sweat, her face streaked and raw, but she was alive.
I squeezed her hand. “We made it.”
She smiled, then collapsed against my chest. “Next time, we pick the fight,” she said.
“Next time,” I agreed, though I doubted there’d ever be another like this one.
The air in the circle shimmered, the space between the stones flickering like heat off asphalt.
Vin holstered his weapon, then nodded to me. “You ready to get out of here, Sarge?”
I glanced at Scarlette, at Shivs, at the dead and the dying.
