The Dragon's Price (Transference #1)(52)

I cringe with dread as she opens the wagon door, wondering what else she can do to embarrass me. She steps back inside with my staff, and I gasp. I take it from her hands and run my fingers over it. Instead of prickly pine bark coating it, it is covered with a slick, polished wood that has hair-thin veins of silver. I almost hand it back to the woman, thinking she is mistaken, until I recognize the narrow spot near the top where I hacked the rough bark away with my hunting knife.

Melisande leaves, and I lay the staff across the table and sit studying the wood. Taking the spoon from my bowl of porridge, I try to gouge the staff’s surface but cannot. “What happened to it?”

“Don’t you know?” Golmarr asks. I shake my head. “I saw you throw it at the dragon when it blew its breath on you. It went into the dragon’s mouth and lodged in its throat until it coughed it out.” The color drains from his face. “I thought it killed you with its breath.”

“So did I.” I shiver at the memory and lean my staff against the wall. Scooting my chair up to the table, I look at the lumpy, pale porridge—a peasant’s meal—and frown. Leaning over the bowl, I sniff, and my mouth starts to water.

“Have you never eaten porridge?” Golmarr asks. I shake my head. “This is how you do it.” He puts his spoon into his bowl and lifts a glob of the sticky food to his mouth and swallows without chewing. “It’s good,” he says, watching me with amusement.

I put my spoon into the bowl and lift a smidgen of porridge to my mouth. It is soft, and warm, and salty, and mixed with cream and cinnamon. I dig my spoon in again and lift a mountain of porridge to my mouth and proceed to devour it, savoring the feel of it sliding down my throat and into my hollow belly. When I have finished eating, I lean back and look into Golmarr’s surprised face. “I know your education was sorely lacking in certain areas—like self-defense, and what is and is not proper—but were you not taught table manners?” Golmarr asks, laughing. His bowl is still half-full.

“Are you going to finish that, sir?” I ask. He puts one finger on the lip of the bowl and slides it across the table to me. I laugh. “I was just joking. I’ve had—”

From outside, a bell starts clanging, and then another, and another. Golmarr and I lock eyes for a heartbeat, and then we are both on our feet, I with my staff and him with his sword.





We rush outside, and I look immediately to the stark blue sky, expecting to see the dragon appear above the broken trees. Golmarr slams into me and wraps his arm around my waist, and as we tip forward, I feel a gust of air swipe against my cheek as an arrow flies past. It lodges into the wagon behind us.

With a grunt, I land belly-down on the damp ground, and Golmarr lands on top of me. “Are you okay?” he asks. I nod. “We’re being attacked by renegades. Get back inside of the wagon!” With those words, he leaps up and starts running toward a group of fighting men, his sword held high.

I lay on the ground and watch as armed men with red bands tied around their biceps pour into the clearing from between the wagons. Edemond’s people are rushing to get children out of the fighting zone, or are running to wagons to arm themselves more fully. And while they do this, their unarmed people are not protected. I can see it all so clearly, how with the men running for their weapons, and the women trying to protect the children, the attackers have a moment to take or kill whatever they want.

To my left, a woman screams. Melisande is running with a toddler in her arms, but a man has caught her by her braid. He kicks her in the small of her back, and she lets the child down with a command to get inside of a wagon. Whirling around, Melisande pulls a dagger from her belt and slashes at her attacker. Her weapon clangs against a sword and is knocked from her grasp. The man kicks her again, a boot to her stomach, and she crumples to the ground. He lifts his sword and grits his teeth, and I am already running, my staff gripped in my hands like a weapon. His sword swings downward, and Melisande screams, struggling to pull herself out of the way. Just as the weapon comes flush with her body, I thrust my staff in the way and knock it aside, and Melisande crawls away.

I do not wait for the man to recover from the shock of my attack. Using both of my hands, I swing the staff in a fast circle and slam it into the side of his chin, then thrust it forward into the soft space just below his ribs. He grunts and hunches forward, and I put all of my body weight into swinging the staff at the back of his knees and knock him off his feet.

As soon as he is down, another man with a red scarf tied to his arm takes his place. This man is younger and has thicker shoulders than the first man, and his biceps bulge against his sleeves. He’s holding a short sword and wearing leather armor. Our eyes meet, and the man grins, motioning me forward with one hand. “Here, pretty girl, fight me and I will teach you how to deal with a real man.”

I thrust my staff forward once and watch to see how this man fights. In spite of his large size, he is quick, his movements precise, and I know enough to realize that without strength to equal his, I am at a major disadvantage. A twinge of fear travels down my spine, but before I can run, the man lunges at me, but not with his sword. He reaches for my staff, and I can tell by the predatory way he is looking at me, he doesn’t want to kill me. He wants to keep me.

Before he can wrap his fingers around my weapon, I swing hard and knock it against his knuckles. I pivot and thrust, aiming for his neck, but his sword is up and blocking me before I make contact. The metal clangs against my staff, and sparks fly. I attack again, our weapons meet, and he bears down on my staff with his sword. My arms tremble beneath the power of this man. Lower and lower he pushes me, his sweaty face mere inches from mine. When my knees are about to buckle, he grins, and I can see the lust in his eyes. I dive to the side and twist my staff so it catches his short sword, and the blade is yanked from his hand. As I try to spring to my feet to run, my red shoes tangle in my skirt. With a thud, I fall to the forest floor, landing on my back.