Page 308 of Of Empires and Dust

Owen and his group hid inside and under the wagons, some of them holding their ground, pitchforks and scythes in hand. The warriors of Salme gathered around Dahlen, Nimara, and the Belduarans.

Souls with steel in their hands were always dangerous, but these men were brigands, not soldiers, and they moved as such. Dahlen leapt forwards, sliding his blades from their scabbardsand twirling them. His father had always hated when he’d done that. It was unnecessary and pointless, but it was habit.

The first brigand stabbed at him with their sword, but he twisted at the waist, turned the blade downwards with the sword in his right hand, then plunged his second into the man’s chest. He ripped it free, then opened the man’s throat with his other blade, blood splattering across a second brigand’s face.

Before Dahlen could take another step, Erdhardt and Tharn Pimm charged from the trees behind the brigands, two score warriors with them. Erdhardt smashed a woman’s face to pieces with the jagged face of his hammer, then swung the spike into another’s chest.

Shouts rang out behind Dahlen as Jorvill Ehrnin, Kara Thain, and a handful of others attacked from the opposite flank. The best way to beat a trap was often by setting another.

Panic flared through the brigands. They were now outnumbered, outmanoeuvred, and utterly outmatched.

A scream rose to Dahlen’s left, and he twisted to see four men in dark leathers, faces smeared with dirt and sweat, dragging two children and a man away from the wagons, knives and axes held to their throats.

“Make another fucking move and we’ll slit their throats!” one of the men shouted, his hair shaved back with a blade, eyes wild.

Even as the man roared the threat, Erdhardt kicked another man in the chest and brought his hammer down on an exposed throat. Crunch. The body went limp. He lifted his hammer and pointed at the four men with the hostages. “You touch a hair on their heads, and I’ll break every bone in your body. I’ll start with your toes and work my way up.”

Dahlen glanced sideways at Erdhardt. The man was a different beast in the heat of battle, as though a spirit took hold of him.

“You're outnumbered,” Dahlen said, taking a step forwards, holding his blades out wide. Several of the brigands knelt around him, sharp steel at their necks. “You harm them, and we will run you down, and you will die. Let them go now, leave, and we’ll settle your fate a different day.”

The four brigands stared back at them, each unsure what to do.

The man who had spoken spat in the dirt, pulling the blade of his axe tight enough to draw blood from the throat of the young boy he held in his grip. “I don’t fucking trust you as far as I could throw you. Lay your weapons down and get on your knees, or this boy will bleed.”

“You think this is a negotiation?” Dahlen took another step, his gaze never leaving the man’s. “You kill them, you have nothing. I’ve seen a lot of dead men in my life. You look like them.”

He continued to move closer, the brigands shifting backwards.

“Your hand is shaking,” Dahlen said, tilting his head to the side.

“Shut the fuck up!” the brigand roared, pulling his blade again and eliciting a scream from the child. The other brigands did the same, but instead of drawing tighter together, as trained soldiers might, they pushed further apart.

“I can tell the difference between true warriors and scum quite quickly in situations like these.” Dahlen took another step, seeing the brush shift behind the brigands, everyone else standing and watching, Nimara drawing up only a few paces behind him, Erdhardt circling. “Would you like to know what it is?”

“Shut your fucking mouth, and drop your weapons!” one of the other brigands snarled, digging his fingers into the face of the man he held. “I swear to the gods!”

“True warriors shift inwards and stand tall. They look to those around them. Cowards, like you, assess their own chance of survival, of running, of leaving their companions to die.” He pointed his blade at their feet. “It looks to me like you’re each ready to run, but not one of you is thinking of the others. Not the kind of companion I’d want at my back.”

As the brigands all looked at each other, Yoring and Almer leapt from the bushes behind them, axes hacking into flesh. Two of the men fell, captives jerking free with yelps.

Dahlen surged forwards and slammed his shoulder into the captive man, knocking the brigand off balance. He threw his weight into his left arm and slid his blade through the gap between the captive’s arm and torso, finding flesh on the other side.

He pulled the blade free and turned to face the last man, only to watch in shock as the brigand drew the blade across the child’s throat, blood spurting.

The child fell forwards, grasping at his neck. Dahlen froze for just a moment, his heart sinking. He saw the blood, knew the boy had no chance.

When the child hit the ground, he pushed everything down and leapt forwards, sliding his swords back in place and sprinting after the brigand. Dahlen caught the man in a matter of moments, slamming into his back. Both of them crashed to the ground, but Dahlen was quicker to react. He grabbed the brigand by the collar of his shirt and slammed a fist into his face. Again and again, bone crunched against bone and Dahlen felt his skin split. The boy’s eyes flashed in his mind, blood pouring.

Something within him took over, something primal. He couldn’t stop. By the time Dahlen found himself straddling the brigand’s chest, hand throbbing, chest heaving, the man was a corpse with a face that looked as though it had been smashed by a horse’s kick.

He dragged himself to his feet, turning to see Erdhardt standing behind him, the wails of a grieving father piercing the woodland.

“You all right?” Erdhardt asked, looking down at the battered corpse.

Dahlen shook his head. “Are you?”

Erdhardt did the same.

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