Chapter 7
‘There’s a sign,’ Levi says, pointing to the painted board on a stick. ‘Entering Notting Militia territory. Use only official entrance road or be shot.’
‘Look at that,’ Sam mutters. ‘He can read.’
‘I can – want me to teach you?’
I drop the map to my lap and glare in their direction.
Thankfully, they both shut up. ‘The map doesn’t mention a militia or any name.
But this should be it.’ It had better be.
After five days of travelling – three since the middle-of-the-night raid – I’m twenty reps past I-can’t-take-these-people-anymore.
I squint at the jagged hills up ahead. The landscape has changed again.
Now, we’re surrounded by patches of bare land and forest but just in front of us are some rocky highlands.
The militia must occupy the higher ground.
‘Do you think the mine could be up there?’
‘That looks like a tomorrow problem,’ Sam says. ‘We’re losing light. We should make camp and risk trespassing in the morning.’
‘Or …’ Levi says, ‘we could ask that wagon.’ He ticks his head at the travellers coming down the official Notting entrance.
Sam and I draw our bows, encouraging our horses more into the trees.
‘Or … we wait,’ Sam says. ‘What part of let’s-not-get-shot-tonight don’t you understand?’
‘Maybe the tonight part,’ Levi mutters.
‘You know what?’ Sam huffs. ‘You two are the ones with the magical healing powers. So have at ’er. I’ll watch from here.’
We don’t have – ‘Wait.’ I turn to Levi. ‘You have the connection?’
Really, none of us have magical healing powers.
Or, at least, not yet. He’s talking about the connection, a boon that started showing up in the founders of Kingsland and their family lines, which allows for some …
supernatural sharing between partners. You can split injuries.
You can share a lot of things, both good and bad.
So I guess magical healing powers isn’t a total misnomer.
Unless you’re talking to my mother.
‘It’s practically a curse, Ryland. How would you ever be certain a woman wants you for you when she knows marrying you could be life-changing? Life-saving?’
That is the question, and one I haven’t found an answer to, other than …
I guess fate. I mean, it seemed pretty fated that my uncle Farron, our founding leader, had a dream that led our families to safety in Kingsland.
Then out of nowhere, another way to help them survive appeared, with the connection.
That doesn’t exactly scream coincidence.
So if destiny is part of the equation, you’d think at the right time, with the right person, I’ll just know.
That’s how it happened with my cousin, Tristan.
‘Yeah, my father is – was Ban Benwick.’ The corners of Levi’s mouth pull down. ‘He arrived at Kingsland with Farron in the first wave.’
‘Same,’ I say. ‘I’m a descendant through my mum’s side.
But then her sister married Farron.’ I leave out that I’ll be the first in my immediate family to use the connection.
There isn’t a soul in Kingsland besides my mother not excited to get it – including myself – so Levi wouldn’t understand why she’d throw it away.
Now Sam looks even more annoyed.
‘Look, no one’s got a magical anything yet. Right?’ I throw Levi a questioning look, even though he said he’s only sixteen.
‘Not married,’ he confirms.
‘See?’ I say to Sam. ‘We’re all still easily killable.
’ I return to studying the two men riding horses and pulling a covered flatbed trailer.
They don’t have that chaotic, rundown look of vagabonds, and they’re riding out in early evening, probably to reduce visibility.
‘I’d bet they’re traders, which means they could be friendly.
’ I exhale and ready my weapon. ‘But you’re right.
It’s not worth the risk for some directions. ’
Suddenly a man – a raider – springs out from the ditch and blocks the road. The horses pulling the trailer startle and immediately shy back, but the riders fight to keep control, pushing them to speed up and go around.
The raider wields some sort of rope and swings it around his head – wait. ‘Is that a whip?’
As if in answer, he snaps it and a loud crack booms into the air.
‘Okay,’ Levi says, sounding impressed. I might be a little, too.
The sound startles the horses, especially the one closest to the whip.
It rears up, dumping its rider. The horse next to it veers off to the side, trying to run away.
The wagon twists, tipping, before righting itself and falling back to the ground.
Our horses shuffle under us, nervous.
‘I’d just like to remind everyone how our last good deed turned out,’ Sam mutters.
‘Sam.’ I shoot him a look. ‘Come on.’ My grip tightens on the reins. ‘We can’t watch these traders get slaughtered – through honour we prosper.’
He scowls at me for throwing our elite guard creed at him as if he doesn’t live it. He does, but for him it applies only within Kingsland. ‘We don’t know that they’re –’
With a kick of my heels, Duke launches forward. But by the time I’ve crossed half the distance, one driver’s already been hog-tied on the side of the road. The other takes a vicious kick to the chest, before receiving the same fate. Damn, that raider’s efficient; I’ll give him that.
Duke’s hooves pound like thunder, but I yell louder, ‘Halt!’
The hooded man spins to glance at me, then sprints after the trailer the horses have dragged away. I ride up close, blocking his path, but it’s not until I aim my bow that he stops, reluctantly giving me his attention.
‘Good choice,’ I say, voice hard. ‘Now make another one and leave. You’re not taking this trailer.’
Under the raider’s deep hood is a bandana covering the lower part of his face. It seems like overkill. Nobody’s wandering the badlands checking faces.
Sam rides up beside me, alone. ‘Where’s Levi?’ I ask.
‘He said this looked like an elite guard kind of job.’
That doesn’t –
The bandit draws his whip from his belt, and all Sam and I have time to do is duck before it cracks above us with an explosion of sound. Smoke bursts from the tail. My ears ring as our horses panic. Duke rears up. Sam’s horse kicks, then takes off galloping.
The raider stalks towards me as Duke continues to melt down. I try to steady him while readying my bow.
The whip flies again, this time wrapping around my arm like teeth from a wild animal. I look down at it. Look up. Then I’m ripped from my saddle. The hard ground meets my shoulder at bruising speed.
The tail of the whip starts to release, but I grab on to it and yank angrily. The man stumbles towards me as I jump to my feet.
Now that we’re on a level playing field, I see he’s actually short – not to mention a persistent little bugger as he runs at me, going low. We collide in a full tackle and land on the ground, my back taking most of the blow. We roll and …
Wait …
Is the raider a woman?
She comes at me like a wildcat, diving for my neck.
I roll us again and use my weight to pin her to the ground.
It’s relatively easy, until I grunt as she knees me.
She gasps as I press harder into her, flattening her, then reach and pull her mask down – a lesson I learned long ago: always memorise the face of an attacker.
Her eyes go wide, and so do mine as I take in her vexed expression.
With a growl of frustration, she swings again with her knee, but this time somehow sweeps my leg, tipping us sideways.
I fight to stay on top of her, but she’s too quick and slips out.
Like a spider, she climbs across my back.
Her arms lock in around my neck and tighten – that’s going to be a problem.
Still, I fight the chokehold, using brute strength.
But it’s useless against her rather excellent grappling technique.
Slowly, my vision goes dark.