The general said, “Yes, there are pretty fighters who know all the moves but let some country-bred farmer plant an untrained fist in his face, and the fight is over.”
“We’d better move,” Brice said.
But the general didn’t move. His eyes followed Prin as she mounted, his expression blank, hiding his thoughts. He finally climbed into the saddle and pointed out the way. Brice was already moving ahead.
The next attack on them came as they passed a thick stand of undergrowth a few minutes later. There was a shrill shout and seven men in dull green uniforms trimmed in red appeared. One dived from the bushes on a small hill and tackled Brice from his horse. Both of them fell to the ground from the saddle. The others surrounded Prin and the general, with drawn weapons, swords and arrows pointed at them.
Brice rolled as he struck the ground, taking his attacker with him with his arms wrapped around the man in a bear hug. Brice twisted and squirmed until he was on top, and a single blow of his fist ended the fight. He came to his feet, his throwing knife in hand, eyes searching for a target.
A young lieutenant stepped behind Prin, using her as a shield. He said as if speaking to friends on a picnic, “Everybody calm and we will all live to see the sun come up in the morning.”
The smugness and near humor in the voice stilled Prin. Brice and the general were ready to fight, but common sense told them they couldn’t win.
The Ansel uniforms of the attackers were new, clean, and the men looked the part of victors instead of soldiers at war. They were dressed for the parade ground. Prin realized they expected to defeat Peermont—and soon.
But they were young, common foot soldiers, not highly trained warriors. Brice left the man on the ground and moved to join the others, looking very young and defeated, but the knife was still in his hand. Prin winked at him and waited until he reached the ring of five soldiers surrounding her and the general, and the officer hiding behind her. He slipped the knife into his waistband, so both hands were free. The others interpreted the action as him putting away his weapon, a diversion he surely intended.
The lieutenant stepped from behind to her side, a wide smile indicating he knew his raid had been successful. He said, “So, you are the princess the entire world is searching for?”
Prin returned the smile, as she shifted her weight slightly and raised the foot nearest him. In a single motion, she drove her heel into the side of his knee and felt a sharp crack.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Brice backhand a soldier across his face, while his other hand yanked the sword from the soldier’s grip. Brice continued moving in the direction of the startled soldiers instead of backing off. Balance. Prin already had her throwing knife emerging from between her shoulder blades, and an instant later it struck the chest of the lone archer who was drawing his arrow as he aimed it at Brice.
Prin grabbed the lieutenant by his hair and pulled him close to her chest before he could fall. The edge of the short knife from inside her waist was held against his throat, her other hand full of long hair holding his head back and exposing the neck. Her eyes flashed to Brice, but he had already moved out of her direct sight.
Instead of fighting the soldiers individually, he’d done as taught and used the sword almost as a scythe. He’d sliced across the upper arms and chests of three men as he moved, sweeping the blade across them as he spun. None were in danger of dying, but all were examining their wounds instead of entering the battle—because it no longer existed. Besides the men Brice cut, one man lay on the ground, blood streaming from his nose. The general nursed the knuckles of his fist.
The lieutenant wailed in pain, finally managing to rip free of Prin’s grip and fall. He wrapped both arms around his knee, screaming and cursing. The general picked up a fallen sword and used it to intimidate the soldiers still holding weapons and forced them into dropping theirs without a word.
It had taken the space of perhaps three breaths.
Prin replaced her small knife in her waistband and retrieved her throwing knife from the chest of the dead archer. After wiping both sides of the blade clean on his shirt, she replaced it in her scabbard and walked back to the silent crowd, all but the officer who still moaned in pain. None of the other wounded wept, cried, moaned, or yelled. She placed a foot on his neck and pushed down until he quieted.
“Do you really want to live to see the sun in the morning, like you said?”
He nodded almost violently.
“Then shut up.”
His cries turned into whimpers.
Prin said to Brice from the side of her mouth, “He knew who I was. He didn’t ask me. He knew.”
The general said, “I’ve never seen them this far across the lines. They grow bolder with their raids every day.”
“They were searching for me, not raiding,” Prin said.
“You two go on ahead, and I’ll dispatch them,” the general said.
Prin shook her head. She turned to the lieutenant under her foot. “You had orders to find me?”
He nodded but said nothing.
“The name you were searching for?”
“Princess Hannah of Wren.”
“How did you know it was me? You never asked if I was her, but you knew.”
“There are mages circulating the army camps with drawings of you that are so lifelike they’re magic, I suppose. A man can have all the gold he can carry if he catches or kills you.”
She moved closer. “Everyone in Ansel sees these images?”
“And Peermont, too.”
Prin said, “General, do you have the authority to commandeer troops? I think we may need an escort to pass our own people and gain entrance into the capital. Calverton may be as dangerous to me as the war zone.”
He said, “I can, and will. The next patrol we encounter will travel with us. And maybe the one after that. But, I have one more question. You just walked right through the enemy lines. Why didn’t those men stop you and collect the reward?”
Prin turned back to the three sword-wounded soldiers and mentally evaluated their injuries. Painful, but not serious. Two were still on the ground from punches from Brice and the general. One lay dead from her knife. The lieutenant. And two more stood aside, their weapons on the ground.
She turned back to the lieutenant, “You heard the question.”
“We only saw the pictures yesterday morning and raced here to find you. The mages have not reached the men in the field yet. But they will.”
The general said, “We should hurry before more show up.”
Prin knew he intended to stay behind and kill them all, but she wouldn’t allow that. They were soldiers doing their duty. Battle and fighting were honorable, killing defenseless captive another. She said, “You and Brice go ahead, I’ll be right behind you.”
The general pulled in his chin and stiffly said, “I’d better do this. It’s not a task for a young girl or princess.”
“I’m not going to kill them, but for reasons I cannot explain, I will deal with them. I know how to keep them here without hurting them.”
The general looked dubious, but Brice said, “She knows what she’s doing. You and I must respect the wishes of the princess.”
They rode off as Prin rummaged in her backpack to remove a pair of the purple ampules. She ordered them all to sit in a small circle surrounding her, and suddenly said, as she looked off to one side, “See that?”
Her voice was animated and excited, her eyes peering to one side of the road. The men all turned to look as she let the first of the ampules fall to the ground. She stepped on it while holding her breath.
A soft breeze defused the purple cloud too fast, the soldiers on her left catching only a whiff. All but the ones who received the least of the purple mist were already droopy-eyed, and looking confused. She moved upwind and stepped on another grape. Again, the cloud enveloped the men, and their faces relaxed, a few smiling.