Matto looked blank. ‘Eh?’
‘That crier tellin’ stories back a ways. Don’t she look like …’ His voice dropped. ‘Don’t she look like the Lady Dragonslayer?’
Matto rolled his eyes and turned back towards Gwen. But then he paused, the sneering expression changing toone altogether different. As though Gwenwerethe dragon, all of a sudden, and he an entirely too flammable bit of debris in her path.
For a long moment, no one moved.
Exasperated, Gwen gave a lunging, feinting step forward.
As one, all six men jumped, scrambled and fled.
Gwen stared after them, left with a somewhat disconcerting mix of emotions as they hightailed it towards the forest up on the ridge. Chief among her turbulent feelings was an odd, sullen flicker of disappointment.
‘Well,’ she said, as Isobelle came up beside her, stifling a laugh as one of the bandits tripped and fell and scrambled several paces on all fours before he managed to get his feet under him again. ‘That was anticlimactic.’
They hurried over to the girl the brigands had been accosting, who had got to her feet and was hurling rocks after the bandits, along with a few oaths that made even Gwen blush.
‘Are you all right?’ Isobelle asked, half reaching towards the girl.
‘I’m fine,’ the girl snapped, turning a flashing hazel glare on Isobelle. She was strikingly pretty, with a tawny-brown complexion and thick dark-red hair, a combination of features Gwen had never seen before. Her high cheekbones were currently stained with bright, furious colour. ‘I can take care of myself.’
Isobelle took a step back. Gwen could almost hear the gears shifting in Isobelle’s head as she changed her tactics. Gwen sheathed her sword and stayed quiet. This was what Isobelle did best, and Gwen had merely to stand back and watch her work.
‘I have no doubt of that,’ said Isobelle with a smile. ‘My name’s Isobelle, and this is Gwen. Our friends are coming in a carriage not too far behind. Where are you headed?’
The girl glanced between them, and her hazel eyes lingered on Gwen’s face a touch longer than was comfortable. ‘I’m Tabitha,’ she said finally, grudgingly. ‘I’m bound for Galanty-Uponne-the-Sea.’
Isobelle let out a squeak of delight. ‘Why, that is whereweare bound, too! Perhaps you’ll journey with us? I do so love to meet other travellers. The carriage is full, but Achilles can carry two the rest of the way, can’t he, Gwen?’
The girl had turned, gathering up her belongings and beginning to tuck them back into her pack.
Gwen lowered her voice. ‘Are you sure?’ she whispered to Isobelle. ‘She doesn’t seem like she wants company.’
Isobelle flashed her a stern look. ‘She was scared. You do the same thing, you know – go all prickly when something’s bothering you. Come on,’ she added with one of her most winsome smiles. ‘She’s a damsel in distress. That’s what you do – save damsels.’
Gwen was helpless before that smile, and both she and Isobelle knew it. Isobelle’s expression took on a touch ofsmugness as she saw she had won her battle before it had begun.
‘Please,’ Gwen called, as Tabitha glanced their way. ‘Let us make sure you get safely where you’re going.’
‘She’s a travelling hero, you know,’ added Isobelle, eyes shining.
Tabitha hesitated, chewing at her lip. She was putting her last few scattered belongings into her pack, her hand grasping a twisted length of wood.
Isobelle let out a gasp and said, ‘Oh, I recognise that from the hedge witches at the market – that’s a wand, isn’t it? Are you a witch?’
Gwen’s gaze snapped back to the girl. Isobelle had been low-key obsessed with witches ever since she and Gwen had hidden in a thicket to watch a particularly beautiful ritual, the night of the dragon bonfire in Darkhaven.
Tabitha tucked the bit of gnarled wood carefully into her satchel and buckled it closed. ‘I told you, I can handle myself.’
‘Oh, but now you must travel with us!’ Isobelle cried. ‘I want to hear all about you.’
Isobelle turned to flag down the approaching carriage, and was soon busy explaining what had happened to the girls. Hilde’s head, crowned by her buckwheat-blonde braids, poked out of the carriage window and Gwen heard her cry, ‘Ach, how exciting!’
She glanced back at the red-haired girl, who was standing clutching her pack and looking a little bit stunned.
Gwen had seen that look so many times now – and had worn it herself – that she found herself smiling. Poor Tabitha, battered into submission by a storm named Isobelle.
‘It’s really best to just go along with her,’ she murmured, flashing Tabitha a sidelong grin. ‘Someone once told me I’d only hurt myself if I tried to fight it, and she was right.’
