The Forsaken Throne (Kingfountain #6)(36)

“What do I see?” said one of the rabble. The man was wearing mismatched leather armor and holding a crossbow. His tunic was muddy and ripped, the once-white fabric a dingy gray, and the brown-and-red cross-shaped design in tatters.

“I think we caught us another pair of mastons,” said another man in a dangerous tone. The word was said with such contempt and hate, it filled Trynne with unease.

“They’re not the first we’ve caught,” the first said, leering at her.

“And they’ll meet the same fate as the others.”





CHAPTER FOURTEEN


Hunted


Trynne heard the subtle noise of grating metal as Fallon drew his sword. She quickly followed suit, crossing her arms and drawing both of her blades.

“Oh, ho ho!” one of the brigands crooned. “They have some fight in them! Most start babbling and sniveling before they die.”

Fallon pitched his voice low for her. “Do you want to take the ones on the right?”

“Yes,” she answered. “But let them attack first.” Her magic was strongest when she was acting in defense. There were at least a dozen men coming at them, and a few more were ghosting through the trees. If they remained still for too long, they’d be boxed in.

Fallon flourished his blade, cutting two sharp circles through the air. “I anticipate some blood, lads. Ours or yours is the question.”

The grimy-faced attackers continued to converge. “He’s got a mouth on him. Bold as a rooster. Pluck him, then. Now!”

The man with the crossbow hefted it to his shoulder, aiming at Fallon first. Trynne stepped forward, putting herself in the line of fire.

The crossbow twanged and time seemed to turn sluggish. She saw the shaft streaking toward her, then arced her blade to intercept it,

deflecting it off its course. It struck an oak tree with a loud thunk. The marauders raised their battered weapons in stunned surprise. The swords all had nicks and dents and clearly hadn’t touched a whetstone in ages. The men shuffled forward and roared in challenge, attacking as a mass.

Trynne lunged forward, ducked the first swipe at her neck, and scissored her blades in front of her, slashing her assailant’s armor open and following up with a swipe of her boot to send him crashing down. Her training with Captain Staeli rushed into her mind, along with the memories and experiences of Oath Maidens from the past.

She’d defeated greater odds than this. She and Fallon fought back-to-back, protecting each other from the onslaught.

Fallon smashed the pommel of his sword into a man’s skull, dropping him like a stone. Every now and then, there was enough of a lull in her own battle for her to glance back at him. He’d proven himself more than a match for his foes. There was a graceful elegance in his attack, the sign of a man who had trained in his craft for years. But he was also not afraid to use brute force when the need arose. She watched as he stomped on a man’s boot and then cocked the brigand’s head back with an elbow strike that literally sent him spinning into the grass.

Trynne used both her weapons equally, cutting at wrists and hands to disarm rather than slay her opponents. They were bumbling fools, accustomed to winning through sheer force of numbers.

“Flee!”

The shout was quickly taken up, and the ill-trained men scattered like roaches caught feasting at the dregs on a table.

Trynne and Fallon stood side by side, watching their assailants flee.

“Get the sheriff, get the hounds!” one of the men shouted as the group melted away into the woods.

Several hours passed as Trynne and Fallon groped their way through the tangle of the woods, tracking the sun through the snarled branches overhead and trying to bear eastward. Clouds of gnats and mosquitoes swarmed, drawn to their warmth, to their blood. It was a miserable slog that brought them up and down little hills, thick with mossy trees that clawed at them.

Then they heard the baying of hounds in the distance.

A sour expression twisted Fallon’s mouth. “They found the dogs,” he muttered. He sniffed the air. “They’ll be able to track us at night now.”

Trynne looked back, the direction the sound had come from.

“How far away do you think they are?”

He cocked his head. “Still a ways. Ah, there’s the hounds’ call again. Now that they’ve found our trail, they’ll converge.”

“Do you think they’ll catch up by darkfall?”

Fallon scratched the back of his neck. “The trees will slow them down, as they did us. But I don’t want to roam these woods for weeks. We don’t have time to get lost.”

“I thought all the soldiers were being gathered for the war,”

Trynne said. They kept walking, hiking through the dense thickets, not bothering to hide their tracks.

“They are likely deserters,” Fallon said. “They don’t want to fight for the king. I don’t blame them. They were pathetic.” He flashed her a knowing smile.

“They could hunt us for days,” Trynne said with growing frustration. “All the way to the city where Myrddin said the ships are.

How many will we have to fight off next time?”

Fallon shook his head. “Nary a one.”

“How can we avoid them if they have hounds?” she asked.

“I might not play Wizr as often as you do, Trynne, but these men rely on the dogs. What do dogs rely on?”