The dark figures approached slowly, their own swords and knives drawn. Jahrra tamped down her fear and panic, reminding herself she would not freeze up like she did at the crossroads. Drawing in a quick breath to calm her nerves, Jahrra focused on her enemy, taking a moment to count them. Six she could see, including the one who blocked her exit, and an unknown number waiting beyond the rocks with Keiron. Were they hoping to kidnap the regent’s son, and her as well? If they wanted to kill him, why would they bother to bind and gag him? Did they plan to do the same to her? Jahrra shook her head. Over thinking would only sap her energy. It was time for action.
She slid from Phrym’s back, grabbing the hilt of her own sword and drawing it from its scabbard as she did so. Jahrra sent up a quiet thanks to Ethoes for giving her the sense to bring it along this morning.
Remain calm, she told herself. Remember your training and trust in your fighting skills.
For a split second, her mind wandered back to the day Jaax had watched her defeat Pendric in the ring. The Tanaan dragon believed so strongly in her ability that he’d wagered a month’s salary in favor of her win over the captain of the guard. Despite her recent anger and irritation at Jaax, the memory of his pride and confidence gave her strength.
In a move meant to take her by surprise, the first figure in black darted forward. Using her many years of training to guide her, Jahrra parried the first attack that came her way, and then the second. Adrenaline pumped through her veins, and soon, the lingering fear and anxiety gave way to determination and speed. The third attack came a little more slowly, from a man using a dagger. She took a quick, but subtle, step to the side, employing a rapid twist of her wrists to dramatically change the direction of her sword, catching her assailant’s hand with the tip of the blade. He cried out, dropping his dagger and grabbing his wrist, stepping away before she could do any more damage. The tallest assassin, the one standing in the gap they had come through, merely watched as if he found the entire display amusing.
Gritting her teeth, Jahrra met the next few assaults, blocking their strikes in quick succession. At one point, Phrym grew tired of these annoying creatures in red and black and reared up, punching one in the chest with his front hoof and snapping his teeth dangerously close to another. The attacker he kicked was thrown against a nearby rock, sliding to the ground in an undignified heap. Jahrra didn’t wait to see if he stirred again. A garbled command came from the one holding the wicked sword. Phrym’s act seemed to have garnered his attention.
More figures climbed over the rocks like oversized ants on the charge, each of them carrying a sword similar to the one their leader brandished. Jahrra paled, but held her ground. They began closing the circle, now ten of them, moving in toward her and her semequin. She had the advantage of being next to Phrym, who was pivoting around the point where she stood, kicking and biting and using his body to knock away their attackers and miraculously avoiding her.
Despite his fierce efforts, the semequin could only hold off so many at a time. Every few seconds, someone would move in while Phrym was preoccupied and try to get at Jahrra. She figured out early on they weren’t trying to kill her. A kidnapping then. She ground her teeth together. She would not let them take her. She kept pace with Phrym, blocking and striking at the attacks that came her way, but never able to get in a good strike. The space was just too small, Phrym too much of an obstacle. And, the kidnappers moved too swiftly. They were trying to tire her out, and she was beginning to grow weary. Perhaps, if she could get back up on Phrym, he could shove his way through the opening in the stones and make a run for it.
Jahrra met the next assault with an attack of her own, kicking out with her leg and striking the man in the chest, sending him flying backward. She reached up with her left hand and grabbed Phrym’s mane, pulling herself up onto his back while using her blade as a makeshift shield.
One of the attackers managed to move in close and quick, his short, serrated sword coming down and raking across Jahrra’s calf. She screamed out in pain as the blade cut through fabric, skin and muscle. Her vision blurred, and her grip on Phrym slipped. Someone took advantage of her shock and knocked her sword from her hand with their own. Realizing his master had been injured, Phrym tried to rear in order to keep Jahrra from being cut once again from the front. As he moved, another one of those terrible black swords came down upon his shoulder, cutting a jagged gash in his skin. He whinnied in rage and pain and lost his footing on some lose stones hidden under the snow. Phrym went down, taking Jahrra with him, the bulk of his weight crashing down on Jahrra’s injured leg.
A dull pop sounded in her ear and a white-hot pain pulsed through her knee. Jahrra opened her mouth to scream, but nothing came out. Phrym rolled away from her and regained his feet. Despite the pain, she was relieved to see he hadn’t injured himself in the fall. Jahrra, on the other hand, was suddenly having trouble seeing straight. She gave her left leg a quick glance and nearly became sick. The lower half was covered in blood and the pain in her knee was so great, she could not bend it. Not good.
Her attackers swarmed in, doing their best to get to her and avoid the angry semequin at the same time. A slice on the arm, a kick to the ribs, a lash of pain along her jaw, a punch barely missing her face and connecting with her neck ... She fought back, as fiercely as she could, but the feat was nearly impossible since she couldn’t stand up. They would not take her without a fight, but these soldiers were well-trained and they outnumbered her. And she was currently crippled.
A rough, garbled voice shouted something at the others, and the attacks abruptly stopped. Someone grabbed a huge chunk of her hair, close to her skull, dragging her up so that she was in a sitting position. Jahrra protested, trying to punch at the man; trying to wrench her hair free, but her leg hurt too much, the pain washing over her in black waves that threatened unconsciousness at any moment. Too bad the dagger she usually kept tucked in her boot was stored safely in her pack back in the cabin. Stupid. Why had she thought only to bring her sword? It did her no good now, tossed aside in the snow somewhere. Her eyes darted around, frantically looking for something, anything, to use as a weapon. All she caught sight of was a blur of black, shapeless figures dancing about and a long, red streak staining the pale snow. Jahrra felt herself pale. Blood. Her blood.
Without warning, Jahrra’s head was wrenched back with a painful jerk. The leader of this squadron had exposed her throat, and he was lifting that terrifying sword of his high above his head. So, not a kidnapping after all. This was it, she thought, the panic overwhelming her thoughts, he is going to kill me.
Vaguely, Jahrra could hear Phrym crying out, and she wondered what would become of him. How had she ended up here? What would they do to Keiron? He was the son of a regent, a regent whose goal it was to become king. Would they kill him too or take him for ransom, somehow use him as a pawn in this deadly game she had been born into? What would happen after she died in this meadow surrounded by standing stones? Would Jaax be able to continue the fight against the Tyrant without her? Jahrra swallowed back a sudden surge of emotion. Jaax. He would be so disappointed in her. Gods and goddesses, she would die and leave him to face the Crimson King alone. This, above everything else, pained her the most.