She stared into the dank night, breathing shallow and legs shaky. Trisha forced herself to stand still. She touched the tip of her bow before dropping her hand. It wouldn’t serve her without a clear target.
All she had was her hiding place.
As if to remind her of its presence, the magic rose. A rush of comfort uncoiled up her spine.
Let’s sing them into oblivion,it cooed.
Trisha’s throat tightened. The dormant stone circle lay so temptingly close, yet the land beyond seemed further than ever in her life. A frustrated exhale escaped her.Too risky.Exposing her abilities under the knowing eyes of Eichlandt’s Warlord was an invitation for trouble. The darkness hid her scowl, as if she weren’t already in enough trouble.Curse Blainor and his smug certainty.
The touch of Dapple’s soft coat eased the knot in her stomach.
“Shh. Stay calm, friend. Stay,” Trisha whispered. “Tonight our lives may depend on it.”
He gave a gentle nudge with his muzzle.I’ll do it for you.
“Sugar afterward.” She wanted to bury her face into his hide and drown herself in the warm scent of his musty horsehide. “But you must remain still.”
The campsite looked undisturbed. Smoke from a low-burning fire reached her hiding place, the weak flames illuminating motionless forms beneath their covers. Above the treetops, the sky was lightening. A lone watchman yawned, as though half-asleep.
Trisha’s clammy hands gripped Dapple’s bridle. Her legs cramped, but she didn’t dare move. In the expectant silence, she imagined her heartbeat rippling the earth miles away for everyone to hear. The hoot of another owl bounced through the rustling leaves as the wind swept overhead.
Dapple exhaled softly. She smiled; he’d fallen asleep. Better that way.
A faint sound or a movement in the dark tensed her shoulders. Trisha’s grip strained, pulse spiking. The campfire still burned low, figures remained under their covers, and the guardrubbed his eyes. A twig snapped. On the other side of the clearing, shadowy forms emerged from the forest’s clearing. A group of silent men stepped into the light. Their weapons glinted, sharp and ready.
Everything froze. It felt as though the world had ceased breathing. Even the trees waited, dark and silent.
Trisha’s trembling legs felt like they’d grown roots; all warmth had fled her body. She clenched her jaw not to shake and awaken Dapple. For all her promises to Blainor, she knew her horse. Dapple wasn’t a warhorse. He despised the smell of violence. At the first draw of blood he’d surely make a sound, exposing them both.
The men of Normark drew closer. With their swords and drawn bows, it was easy to forget that they, too, may have someone waiting for them—children and wife, perhaps.
Camouflaged by the nondescript clothes of dark colors, the soldiers spread around the clearing like a ghostly fan. Their steel swords flashed eerie smiles.
The leather of Dapple’s bridle sank into her skin. Guilt twisted her insides. She didn’t wish for their deaths. But it was either them or her.
A muffled sound came from the direction of their horses. In spite of her hammering heart, a small smile teased her lips. Whoever they’d sent to kill the horses had met an untimely end. The soldiers slowed, as though hesitating.
Before they could act, Blainor’s command shattered the silence. “Now.”
Hell broke loose. Those under the blankets swiftly threw their covers aside and pounced. The other men, hidden from prying eyes, released their arrows at once. Choked cries of pain echoed through the clearing.
The Normark’s soldiers hadn’t expected it, and Blainor’s men didn’t allow them time to recover. Like a wave crashing onthe shore, they met their assailants. The opening became a swarming mass of limbs and weapons. Steel clashed against steel, and bowstrings sang. The thick tang of blood, sweet and coppery, overpowered the fresh wind and the forest’s resin. Bile rose to Trisha’s throat, almost making her retch.
She pressed her mouth tightly shut as Dapple stirred. Her horse tossed his head, snorting.
Shh. Shh.“You promised.” Trisha turned to him, forcing herself to ignore the clangs, the grunts, and other sounds of violence. She kept murmuring words of endearment—nonsensical topics, things he’d love, anything to draw his attention away from the thick odor bleeding to the ground.
And, in some ways, to distract herself.
This distraction worked too well. A rustling sound and hurried steps grew louder. She released the bridle like it burned, spinning around as panic raced through her. The remaining soldiers, escaping the bloodshed, had picked her direction.
Fear lashing at her, Trisha snatched her bow and nocked an arrow. She didn’t even have a chance to take proper aim before they were already in her view. Three men: flesh and skin made into shadows. A quiet moan escaped one of them. In the night’s cover, she couldn’t discern the reason, but she felt she’d be happier never knowing.
“Back off,” Trisha commanded with more pleading than threat. If these men lunged, she’d be done for.
Dapple moved, nervous, but it was his presence that lent her a flimsy certainty. She’d promised to protect him. Trisha’s hand steadied as she let out a loud exhale.
“I don’t want to shoot.” Her voice cracked. “Just… go.”
