Only three men, she reminded herself, and she was a gods-damned trained assassin. If she kept her wits about her, she didn’t need magic to defeat them.
Except her wits were already failing.
Brela tugged two knives free and closed her eyes against the burning. Focused on the sounds of the forest and the less than quiet approach of her attackers.
“Finally giving up?” Ripley asked.
She grinned.Idiot.
Her eyes flashed open, fingers releasing the blade perfectly. The water wielder swore just as her ears picked up the second man. She spun and flung the next knife. She knew it was off target the moment it left her fingers.
A step behind the knife she’d thrown, she drew Night Carver and a third throwing knife in a single motion. Dagger deflected Gerrart’s sword while the smaller knife bounced off the man’s chest armor.
Fuck.
Even off balance, she was quicker, and Gerrart had underestimated her coherency. She kicked and sliced at the same time, giving up her left shoulder blade to his fist but tearing through his forearm in response.
He howled and flung his arm wide at the same time her foot snagged on a root. Elbow met neck as she spun away from him, gasping for air and sucking in too much hellthorn.
Her limbs were becoming an unorganized disaster. She needed to stop the water wielder. Fast.
Once again, her blade flew toward Ripley, but she was already moving slower. Water deflected the knife just before it sliced his thigh.
She’d been aiming at his heart.
Gerrart was on top of her a second later, forcing her to turn her back toward Ripley. Dodge, strike, punch, weave, slice. Her dance was clumsy, legs barely holding up her body weight. For every strike she landed, Gerrart returned two and Ripley’s water returned another. Their blades and magic cut a lot deeper than her attacks.
Water laced with hellthorn tore the back of her leg open. She snarled and fell to a knee as blood spilled, dropping the last throwing knife to keep herself from collapsing completely.
She’d gone down too easily.
Reality burned through her like the hellthorn seeping into her bones.
This was how she was going to die.
It couldn’t be real. It had to be some sort of sick joke from Ryia to have her heart shredded and her freedom ripped away from her in the same day. ByRipley and Gerrart,of all people.
Brela scrambled to her feet and barely sucked in a breath before Gerrart’s fist connected with her nose.
Stars burst in her vision and blood poured as she stumbled back.
Into the third body.
His arm snaked around her chest as he yanked a short sword across her collarbone.
Fire erupted through her muscles as she screamed. Knees slammed into the ground as she clutched at the gash. Even her fingers burned as she pressed her hand into the wound.
It was over. These would be her final moments.
Brela tried desperately to accept it, arms trembling as she fought to keep her hold on Night Carver. She knew what she had to do. The only way to save herself.
With slow, painful movements, she lifted the point of her dagger. She thrust it toward her chest.
The third man’s boot smashed into her leg before the blade reached her skin. Bone cracked as she screamed again, white, blinding pain searing through her.
“None of that,” the third man snapped.
She blinked again, and suddenly she was disarmed, a hand ripping her hair back as a dagger pressed into her throat.
