18 HER MEASURE
The village of Ardroth,
Northwest of Duncrag, The Borderlands
Three days later …
“YOU’RE A PRETTY one.”
“Aye, and out here all alone.”
The rough voices, appearing from nowhere, made Ailsa startle.
Turning, she made out three figures emerging from the shadows.
Ardroth hadn’t felt right from the start. On the way in, the village looked too quiet and shut up, the streets deserted. Watchful. However, she and Dale were exhausted. They weren’t going any farther today.
Her bodyguard had only been gone a short while, entering the village’s ale-hall to ask if they had any lodgings available. Meanwhile, Ailsa had wandered across the market ground, surveying the low-slung roundhouses.
But trouble had found her.
Ailsa slowly reached for the knife in her boot with her right hand. She flexed her fingers around its bone handle.
The men closed in. Their breathing steamed in the sharp air, their boots crunching on the silvery frost that settled over the ground.
Ailsa glanced around. She stood at the edge of a dirt market ground at the heart of the village. Only a couple of torches burned nearby, casting long shadows.
These three wore grimy fighting leathers, iron daggers tucked into their belts. They weren’t the men she was after though.
These individuals were smaller, leaner. Outlaws rather than warriors.
Opportunists.
Her gaze narrowed. She wasn’t in the mood to be messed with.
Three days of chasing shadows—and still Kayla was out of reach. Dale had pushed Rùn even harder after Gateway. They’d traveled late into the evening, with only starlight lighting their way.
But their quarry always outpaced them.
One of the outlaws gave a low chuckle. “Spirited too. We’ll have to tie this one down, lads.”
Ailsa cut a glance to the doorway of the ale-hall. The rumble of voices, punctuated by odd bursts of laughter, drifted out into the darkness.
“Shout for help, and we’ll cut your throat,” another of the outlaws, whip-thin with a wispy beard, warned.
Ailsa stared back at him for a heartbeat before she sucked in a deep breath. “Dale!” The cry tore from her, slicing through the wind.
The bearded outlaw lunged.
The instant he did, something broke free inside Ailsa.
It was shocking, just how quickly it surfaced.
Over the past days, ever since Gateway, the darkness had withdrawn.
She’d tried to fool herself, to tell herself it might never return.
Their journey from Rhu, although frustrating, had been largely uneventful.
They had passed a scattering of villages along the way, learning that Kayla was indeed still ahead of them, but no danger had crossed their path.
Until now.
One heartbeat, she’d been looking for an escape route, and the next, she was studying the thin bearded man’s throat—and calculating how deep she’d have to cut to bring him down.
She ducked his blade, the suddenness of her movement causing Rùn to snort and leap aside.
The thin man cursed and rushed her again, his friends closing the net.
She spun, slashing at his chest. Her aim was off though, and her blade ripped through his cloak instead.
And then, he caught her right arm, his hand clamping down.
Crimson washed across her vision, and she twisted in his grip. Her free hand struck upwards, fingers splayed, straight for his throat. That was better. Her hands moved faster than a blade.
“What the—”
Her nails dug into his skin and raked downwards.
He screamed, released her, and reeled backward, just as Dale burst from the ale-hall.
Things moved quickly after that.
Iron slashed, and grunts followed.
The man she’d ripped down the throat still tried to fight her, one hand clutching his neck where blood seeped through his fingers, the other stabbing at her viciously.
However, after a few tries, he started to back away.
Ailsa’s focus narrowed then. His mounting fear fascinated her.
Each retreating step he took drew her after him.
She wanted to see how much further she could push him.
She hacked with her knife once more, and this time she found her mark, cutting him on the thigh. Closing in, she opened up his arm.
Bleed!
She was dimly aware of Dale still taking on the other two just a few feet away, and out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed figures emerging from doorways, light blooming behind them.
The fight had drawn the locals. Faces pale and pinched, they watched the skirmish unfold.
Recovering his nerve, Ailsa’s opponent lunged for her again. He’d not be bested by a woman. Or humiliated by one.
Dodging the swipe of his blade, she ducked under his guard and thrust upward.
The point of her thin blade punctured his lower chest and drove between his ribs.
The force of her attack nearly ripped the dagger from her hand.
It wasn’t easy to puncture flesh like this, to push her way through sinew and bone. Yet a wild strength filled her.
Snarling, she drove the dagger home.
Her opponent roared in her face, spittle flying.
Her other hand struck upward once more, her nails raking.
His roar ended in a scream, cutting off as he fell backward. The moment he was on the ground, Ailsa yanked the blade free of his ribs, but instead of using it to finish him off, she leaned forward, slashing the fingernails of her free hand across his already ravaged throat. Again and again.
Sitting upon his heaving chest as his fists tore at her, she watched him die. Watched blood flow.
Ravenous hunger punched her in the gut then, making her gasp.
Feed!
Fighting the urge, she tore her gaze from his throat and looked up.
She realized then that Dale had already bested his opponents. Both men lay sprawled in the dirt, dark blood pooling under them.
Dale stood tall, panting. His gaze wasn’t on the outlaws he’d just slain, but on her. Wide-eyed, he stared at Ailsa as if seeing her for the first time.
Ailsa’s pounding heart lurched, the violence fading as quickly as it had risen.
When she glanced around, at the crowd that had gathered, she marked shocked stares.
“That was … quite a spectacle, lass.” A hunched figure, leaning heavily upon a cane, emerged from the crowd. An elderly man, most likely one of the village elders. “Where did you learn to fight like that?”
I don’t know.
That was the honest answer, but not one she was willing to give. It would make her seem even stranger.
Instead, she pushed herself off the man she’d just slain and rose to her feet.
Her body trembled in the aftermath of the fight.
Suddenly, she wished she could call that fearlessness back, that confidence that made her feel as if she could take on an army and win.
Bile surged up her throat then.
By the Five, she’d killed a man. And even worse, she’d enjoyed it.
Her fingers wouldn’t unclench from the dagger hilt.
“My mother taught me,” she replied, forcing the words out.
The elderly man continued to eye her, gaze sharp. Meanwhile, Dale still hadn’t spoken. His attention hadn’t left her face though.
Ailsa froze.
He saw.
He had her measure now.
How long before everyone else did?
“Och, there’s no need to look so worried, lass,” the village elder said, flashing her a gap-toothed smile.
“You have done something good tonight.” He gestured then to the bodies on the ground.
“These three have caused our village no end of strife of late. It’s like Gateway every night here.
No one dares venture out after dark. They lay in wait in the woods, attacking my people in broad daylight as well.
” His expression shadowed then. “We’ve had a few troublemakers here of late … but these three have been the worst.”
“Well, they won’t be bothering you again,” Dale spoke then, casting a glance over the bodies sprawled in the dirt. He then stepped up beside Ailsa and flashed her a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “They should have known better than to mess with my wife.”
The village elder snorted a laugh. “Aye, you’re right there.” He paused then. “On behalf of the folk of Ardroth, I thank you both. You’ve earned yourselves free ale and supper … as well as lodgings. Tonight, you are our special guests. Tonight, we celebrate!”
A cheer went up—the sound washing over Ailsa—the surrounding faces relaxing now, although she marked that some of the gazes lingered on her. A woman drew her child back behind her skirts as she stared down at Ailsa’s bloody fingers.
Swallowing, she curled her hands into fists.
“Earlier, you spoke of other troublemakers in Ardroth.” Dale took a sip of ale and eyed the village elder across the table. “What happened?”
Ailsa cut her bodyguard a grateful look. At least one of them was paying attention this evening. She’d been too shaken to remember that detail.
Everything blurred after the fight.
She remembered washing blood from beneath her nails—recalled scrubbing until the skin reddened—yet she could still feel the man’s pulse fluttering beneath her fingertips.
She could still remember how good it had felt when his resistance finally ceased.
But now, she was back in the ale-hall. Around her, music skirled. Mead flowed.
Everyone celebrated. But not Ailsa.
Her muscles wouldn’t relax. She kept checking the doorway and scanning faces.
Sweat bathed her skin, and her heart beat too fast. The room felt too warm, and every laugh assaulted her ears.
Every time someone glanced her way, she wondered what they saw.
The village elder sighed, gnarled hands tightening around his own cup. “Aye … Gateway brought its usual strife … and then we had a group stay here yesterday. Warriors. They took lodgings, food, and drink … and left without paying. They had a woman with them … a captive.”
Ailsa’s already unsteady pulse lurched, giddy relief flooding through her. Yesterday. Since finding that dead warrior and trows after Gateway, they’d pushed on in pursuit, always behind their quarry, yet now they were finally gaining on them. “When did they leave?”
The village elder glanced her way. “At first light this morning.” His gaze narrowed. “Friends of yours?”
“Only the woman,” she replied.
He grunted. “Aye, well … there was a scuffle just after they arrived. You’ll be glad to hear, she got free of her restraints in the stable yard and stabbed one of them in the leg with a pitchfork.”
Ailsa’s spine straightened, her breath catching.
“Did she kill him?” Dale asked. In the light of the lantern hanging overhead, his eyes looked almost gold. He hadn’t relaxed after the fight either. He gripped his cup tightly, and his shoulders were tense.
“No, he rode out with the others this morning … but the bastard bled all over the floor in the room. My daughter’s spent all day scrubbing and can’t lift the stain.
” The village elder’s face screwed up. “Relieved to see the back of them.” His features tightened then.
“I’m sorry to hear about your friend though. ”
Ailsa took this in, her pulse drumming in her ears now.
Kayla was just a day ahead.