Master of Iron (Bladesmith #2)(3)

“Kellyn!” I shout.

When Temra’s fit subsides, I lower her gently to the floor once more and leap over the other side of the cart, where the cut ropes dangle.

Once my feet hit the ground, they’re pulled out from under me. My hands catch most of my weight as I hit the ground.

I flip over to find the warlord under the wagon. She rolls out, clambers atop me, and jabs the flat of her arm against my throat. I claw at her face, try to roll the woman off. My lungs search for air that won’t come.

And then Kellyn is there, hauling her away.

Kymora elbows him in the gut, and Kellyn bends in half as the air leaves him. I roll up onto my legs as she begins to flee. For a woman with a shattered knee, she limps along at an impressive pace, as though she doesn’t feel pain.

I race after her, grabbing for my hammers once more. On anyone else, it might be excessive, but Kymora is the most fearsome warrior in the whole of Ghadra. She intends to overthrow all the royals, to subject all to her rule. In our last fight, it took Kellyn, Petrik, and me working together with our magicked weapons just to bring her down.

This woman who brought my sister to death’s doorstep. Who made me an orphan. Who thought to use me to make magical weapons for her private army so she could take Ghadra without any resistance.

There is no one more dangerous.

She cannot be allowed to escape.

I dare not throw a hammer at her, for fear of giving her a weapon. The woman could make a twig threatening. Instead, I slam into her from behind with my shield hammer, sending her careening to the ground. She crawls along the grass, not missing a beat, reaching for a large stick—

“Touch it, and I will break your other knee,” I say, my voice dropping to a tone I don’t recognize.

She ignores me, her hand catching hold of the branch. She uses it and a nearby tree to hoist herself to her feet.

By then, Kellyn arrives, his sword at the ready.

“Get behind her,” I order, but he’s already moving that way.

“There’s nowhere for you to go,” I say. “Surrender.”

Kymora flicks loose, greasy strands of hair out of her eyes. Her usual no-nonsense bun has come free, and she’s slipped off the gag that was hiding the smooth scar on her cheek. Somehow, her disheveled appearance only makes her look more intimidating.

“How much time will you waste chasing me when your sister needs to reach the capital?” the warlord asks. “I would have thought every second counted by this point.”

Her words do their job, infuriating me, renewing my sense of urgency, probably making me reckless.

I grind my teeth as I leap forward, and Kellyn does the same from behind the woman. She can’t properly deflect us both with only one good leg to stand on, but that doesn’t keep her from trying. Her stick catches my hammer, and she spins into me to avoid Kellyn’s strike. My instinct is to step backward, away from the hateful woman.

I ignore it and kick out at her shattered knee.

Kymora screams as she falls, dropping the stick.

I grab one of the warlord’s arms, attempt to pin it to her back. Kymora swings outward with her other arm, tries to catch me in the head.

I pull her pinned arm up higher, straining the muscle and bone. The older woman grunts as I shove her forward, forcing her to the ground. I fumble with her other wrist, try to also get it pinned to her back. Meanwhile, I’ve got my full weight pressing into the woman.

“Yield!” I shriek at her.

“Never!” She tries to throw her head back, the movement making her look like a beached fish.

“If it’s a choice between letting you get away and killing you, I will kill you,” I say. “You’ve taken everything from me, and you deserve to die!”

Kellyn adds his weight to mine, practically sitting on her legs so she can’t kick them outward. He produces a length of rope, and I use it to secure her wrists once more, tighter than is necessary.

We each grab an arm, haul her upward, and carry her back to the cart, Kymora fighting the whole way.

Petrik comes running out of the trees and bends over to rest his hands on the tops of his thighs. “The last man got away.”

“Never mind him,” I say. “Help Kellyn.”

Despite his fatigue, Petrik helps haul his mother into the cart. When she’s secured once more, he inspects the severed ropes. “How did she get free? She couldn’t have stolen a weapon during the skirmish. These men had clubs and staffs, and the ax is still on the ground.”

“Maybe somebody gave her something sharp,” Kellyn says.

“I would never.”

Ignoring the two men, I search under the wagon, looking for a dagger or something else to explain the warlord’s attempted escape.

“Blood runs thick,” Kellyn says.

“I hardly know this woman. She may have borne me, but there is no love between us. You know that. Why would I free the woman who hurt Temra?”

“Shut up, the both of you,” I say as I right myself. I hold out the sharpened metal. “Hair clasp. It was holding her bun in place. She took it out days ago. Must have been waiting for the right time to use it.”

Kellyn won’t meet Petrik’s eyes. “Sorry,” he grumbles.

“When are you going to trust me?” Petrik asks. “I’ve done nothing but help. I may have kept my parentage to myself, but I have never betrayed the Tellions or you.”