Page 9 of Crown of Iron
“Perhaps I'll carve?you?to pieces instead.” I plunge forward, slicing through the ragged sleeve of his open shirt, leaving a wet, red line.
“Bitch,” he spits, cutting his blade through the air.
“You're not having fun?” I ask.
He's not as formidable as I thought he would be. Perhaps it's the stale whiskey wafting from him or the constant twitching of his limbs. Either way, I'm glad all his faculties aren't at their best.
The sharp edge of my sword runs over the back of his hand, and his weapon tumbles to the ground. I cut through his thigh, sending him to his knees. Feeling empowered, I toss my sword from hand to hand and smile.
“Who's next?” I ask over the wails of my first challenger.
The standing men exchange glances and charge at me. One opponent I can handle, but two? I'm completely out of my skill level. My smugness vanishes and I sprint through the woods.
“Come on, little girl.”
“We won't bite unless you beg us to.”
My chest tightens like a heavy ball expanding within me, and I swat away the sweat trickling down my face. My legs quicken as the men's calls bounce through the trees from every direction. The rocks and vinesblanketing the forest floor command my focus, and the leaves from the thick canopy block the sun. I'm trapped within a dark, unending labyrinth.
Whipping my head side to side, I examine the thick brush surrounding me. If I continue into the dense forest, I risk becoming tangled in the vines. Their sharp thorns will dig into my skin and snag my clothes. I tilt my head back and stare up at the sturdy branches crossing over each other, and my stomach somersaults.
“No, no, no,” I chant, searching for another escape route, but I’m falling short. My options are limited, continuing further through the thorns or heights. I actually consider letting the brush rip at my skin for a moment because my best bet for survival… I glance up at the branches above me. One slip of the hand and I’ll be sent plunging to my death.
“Fuck!” I whisper to myself.
I dig my fingers into the bark, clinging to my sword, and the soles of my shoes find enough purchase in the jagged trunk to push me up. My muscles tremble under the strain, and my palms grow slick. It's a fight to keep my gaze from wandering as I move higher, looking no further than the next branch within my reach. I stretch toward the first limb, my fingertips grazing the underside.
“Oh no, you don't, lass.” A pull at my ankle breaks my hold, and I scream. My sword slips from my hand, and my fingers scrape against the bark before my arms and legs flail. I plummet toward the ground, where a plump body breaks my fall. I swing my fists, hitting any part of him I can as we thrash around in the thorny vines. When I'm free, my knuckles plow into the man's hairy jaw.
“Feisty little twat,” the man with missing teeth says, jumping behind me and restraining my arms.
I kick and land the heel of my boot against the temple of the man below me. His pupils grow wide, and he mutters a string of incoherent words before his head lolls to the side. My captor presses his front to my spine and buries his face against my neck, taking a deep breath. I arch my back, trying to put some space between us, but it's not enough to stop the pungent scent of his body odor from making my stomach turn.
I twist and fight against the urge to vomit and scream, “Let me go! I demand you let me go.”
His torso shakes with laughter, and he lifts one of my hands to his lips. “So soft,” he says and shoves my finger into his toothless mouth,swirling his tongue around it. I wiggle and kick backward, but it's useless.
“I suggest you let her go.”
Both my attacker and I pause. I yank my finger from between his lips, and his grip on me intensifies. His fingernails dig into my skin, and I bite my lip to keep from crying out.
“Get the hell out of here. She's none of your concern, boy.”
“I beg to differ; she is very much my concern,” Leif says, drawing his sword and flashing a wide smile.
I roll my eyes. This isn't a position my best friend has ever seen me in. I've held the upper hand over him many times while training. Even though I know he is aware of how serious this is, a small part of him is thrilled to see me in a bind I couldn’t fight my way out of.
The man pushes me to the side, and I stumble to the ground next to his unconscious accomplice.
The clink of clashing swords resounds through the trees, accompanied by the rapid shuffling of their feet. If I didn't know better, I would think Leif was dancing with the man rather than defending himself. Every swing of his sword is effortless, and his brawny frame moves with such grace. He skips forward two steps and jabs, and the man reacts with a sloppy slash through the air. Leif swiftly takes advantage of the opening and embeds the end of his weapon between his opponent's ribs. The man screams and falls to his knees, clenching his side as blood seeps through his fingers.
I scramble to my feet and kick the outlander in the back. He falls face first into the dirt with a thud.
“All right, you got the last hit. Now let's get out of here,” Leif says, pulling on my upper arm.
We don't run far before my runaway horse tied up next to Leif's comes into view. Embarrassment churns inside me. Leif must think I’m completely incompetent. I lost my horse, my sword, and I let my attacker corner me. The humiliation sits heavy in my chest, but I push it down. We don’t have time for me to wallow in my shame.
I work fast to release Nortus and climb into his saddle but fall short when piercing pain shoots up my thigh. Countless thorns protrude from my pants, running from my knee to hip.
