Chapter 6
We swept under the trees, and his men veered into the woods around us. Harthon’s firm arm roped around my stomach as he yanked us to a stop.
“Cal!” he bellowed, and a second later, the green-eyed man was beside us.
Harthon gripped my sides and all but tossed me into Callen’s waiting hands. “Stay on the outskirts. Keep alert. There could be a secondary group with a planned delay.”
Callen planted me in front of him, and then we split away from Harthon, moving too fast for me to track. We passed a row of familiar men behind a group of trees, but Callen kept going, pushing up an incline. He pulled us to a halt behind a thick tree trunk.
Heavy breathing met my ears, and I realized it was mine. Not a sound came from Callen. I turned to face him. Lethal focus etched his features as he watched the direction from which we came.
Okay, so this was Callen, third-in-command.
“What did he mean, about the secondary group?” I whispered.
He didn’t move as he answered. “They could have a few men wait behind the others and circle around the fight, assuming their target is sitting on the outskirts or running away.” Gone was the happy-go-lucky ease with which he usually spoke.
“What do we do if that happens?”
“You do exactly as I say, and I kill them,” he instructed, meeting my eyes for a brief moment.
My nod was jerky.
Although our view was obstructed, it was clear when the band arrived.
First, stomping hooves became a rumble as they neared.
Soon, there were shouts as arrows whistled through the air.
And then the bone-rattling sound of Harthon’s men crying out, the noises more animal than human, as they surged in, leaping from their horses as our attackers did the same.
From where we sat, we could see only the edge of battle before trees obstructed our view.
Three of Harthon’s men fought in a triangular formation, taking on five men in blue tunics and metal chest plates.
One of the attacker’s hits struck, but Harthon’s man merely countered with a slice to the neck.
“Are these Koerlyn’s men?” My voice shook with adrenaline.
“Most likely.”
“Who’s their target?”
“You. Though killing Harthon and the rest of us would be a massive bonus,” he said, confirming what I’d already assumed.
Harthon’s comment about Koerlyn torturing me after capture rang loud and clear.
Callen whipped his head around, scanning the empty woods behind us. “Off the horse. Don’t move.”
He didn’t give me time to follow his order. Planting a hand on my shoulder, he shoved me from the saddle. I landed in a stunned heap as he leapt from the horse and drew two short swords from his hips.
Three men appeared out of nowhere and charged.
Three against one. How would Callen survive that?
I crawled back until I was plastered against the tree trunk, my eyes glued to the scene.
Callen readied himself and met the first sword with an easy deflection. With the speed of a striking snake, his other sword stabbed deep into the man’s thigh. He fell.
Two against one, then.
Having watched their friend fall, the two remaining men slowed to attack at the same time.
They sliced at Callen simultaneously, and the green-eyed man deflected both before launching into a series of spins and jabs.
He’d clearly done this before. Metal clanged as they traded blows, Callen showing no signs of slowing.
A deep, pained cry came from behind me, just down the incline. I peered around the tree to find Joris, the man who’d given Harthon the healing supplies, splayed on the ground before a massive, metal-armored man. Joris’ hands were empty, his brown and gray hair speckled with blood.
The attacker lifted his sword high with both hands.
Joris was going to die. Right in front of me. Another body, slain.
I didn’t think.
I launched to my feet.
“Hey!” I screamed, running a few steps forward.
Koerlyn’s man froze, beady eyes finding me. Recognition flared as he locked onto my eyes.
Clarity washed in as I shrunk back. I didn’t know Joris. He was technically one of my captors. There was no logical reason to do what I just did.
And Joris was not as helpless as he’d seemed. Taking advantage of his attacker’s hesitation, he rolled, pulling a knife and stabbing it under the man’s armor into his belly. The massive sword fell, and Joris stabbed him again, this time in the neck. Blood sprayed. The man collapsed.
But my yell had brought more attention to me than I knew.
Two attackers broke from the thinning fray and sprinted toward me, vicious intent plastered on their faces. Joris lunged toward them, but a wound in his thigh slowed him to a stunted limp.
The urge to retreat rode me hard, but if Callen was still fighting two men, I couldn’t bring two more to him. So I ran hard to the right.
The sounds of fighting weakened as I sprinted away, the men’s metal armor making their pursuit obvious. I had no weapons. No way to defend. All I could do was run. Metal flashed in my periphery just before a third man cut in front of me. I slid to a stop, panting hard as panic gripped me.
Heavy weight crashed into me from behind, and then I was crushed into the ground.
Hard metal edges dug into my back as I struggled against the suffocating bulk.
Rough hands flipped me. I didn’t even see the fist before it crashed into my cheek, bone hitting bone.
Stars burst as the hideous smile above me blurred.
“Got you.” Spit landed on my face as I fought the dark edges of unconsciousness.
Two meaty thuds sounded in succession. Then the man on top of me hooked an arm beneath my neck and dragged me to my feet, my back flush against him. I struggled to straighten my legs as the world spun.
Cold metal bit into my neck, not breaking skin, but pressing.
My vision cleared, and I saw two of my pursuers crumpled on the ground.
A dagger protruded from each man’s head.
Harthon was in front of us, fury etched into every terrifying plane of his face.
His cloak was gone, bearing those muscled, scarred arms slick with sweat.
His eyes, dark and lethal, flicked to the knife at my throat before returning to the man at my back.
“Drop the dagger,” the man demanded, digging the blade into my skin.
My eyes trailed to the small dagger in Harthon’s hand as a thin line of hot blood trickled down my neck. Relaxed fingers held it by the pointed tip.
“If you kill her, Koerlyn will make you his plaything. I don’t think it’d be as fun for you as it would be for him,” Harthon said, the casual tone a stark contrast to the tension coiling his body.
The knife’s pressure eased just so. It was apparently all Harthon needed.
Those relaxed fingers were no longer at his side, holding the dagger.
I heard the moment the sharp edge whistled past my ear and into the man’s face. There was no terrible arc of blood—just the feeling of his body turning limp against me before crumpling to the ground.
Dazed, I didn’t move an inch as Harthon stalked toward me. The threat was gone, but the violent mask remained, veins straining against the skin of his arms. Skies, he was so big, so damned good at killing.
Those arms moved, and I flinched. It was a natural response for anyone who’d just seen the man kill three men with no effort.
His hands only grasped the sides of my face in a gentle hold.
With light pressure, he turned my head, studying the welt that throbbed on my cheekbone.
I didn’t think it was possible for that chiseled jaw to get any harder, a muscle throbbing in his cheek.
I remained still as he ducked his head to examine the cut on my neck.
It stung, but I no longer felt the trickle of blood.
Harthon straightened and dropped his hands. “Are you hurt anywhere else?” His voice was only soft in volume. He was livid, and that anger was probably directed toward me.
I shook my head, which swam with the movement.
He likely thought I’d run away from Callen in an attempt to escape. Swallowing my trepidation, I met his intense gaze. “I wasn’t trying to run away.”
“I know. I watched what you did for Joris.”
“I—”
Harthon cut me off. “It was stupid. Definitely fucking stupid.”
I closed my mouth. Though he wasn’t wrong, the words still struck me.
He tilted his head. “As reckless as it was, you might have saved his life,” he admitted, shocking the sense out of me. “But don’t pull a stunt like that again, or I’ll have to think of more creative ways to keep you out of trouble. You’re too important.”
I doubted those “creative ways” would be anything remotely enjoyable.
“It would be nice to know why I’m so important.”
Harthon stepped out of my personal space and placed a hand on my back, guiding me with light pressure. “You’ll know when we return home.”
“My home is in Second. You mean your home,” I corrected.
Harthon didn’t respond to that. Not a minute later, we were back where I started.
The fight was over, having ended as quickly as it began.
Blue tunics and pools of blood littered the ground, but I didn’t see any tan leathers among the fallen.
All of Harthon’s men still stood, though some were bleeding from various places.
Relief flooded me, leaving confusion in its wake.
I shouldn’t care about these men.
Callen and North strode up to us as soon as we arrived. There was no warm greeting from the former. He avoided my gaze, looking only at Harthon.
“Send two men to scout for stragglers. I want to make sure word doesn’t get back to Koerlyn sooner than it should. We leave as soon as we can. Don’t bother hiding the bodies,” Harthon swiftly instructed, and the two men departed.
He turned to me. “Stay here. Someone will bring something to clean your neck.” Then he left, presumably to do whatever a leader does after battle. Beat their chest, bathe in their enemies’ blood, kick a few bodies—things like that, probably.