Queen's Hunt (River of Souls 2)

“A thousand,” Zinsar said. “Provisions extra.”

“For the hire of a single ship?”

“We don’t run a service for marooned foreigners,” Zinsar said. “Pay us, or send word to your king to supply your needs.”

Ugly murmurs broke out among the Károvín soldiers. The officer gestured sharply toward another woman, who rapped out orders in their own language. Galena stirred uneasily. She glanced up toward the fort, wondering if they would send reinforcements down the side roads. Or had they decided to set up their defenses in the fort and the city be damned?

Falco eased back along the files, speaking softly to each soldier. “Did you bring your flask?” he said to Galena when he reached her. “Good. Drink all your water.”

“Do you think we’ll fight?”

He glared at her. “Don’t sound so happy about it. Fighting isn’t—”

He broke off and spun around. The Károvín had crowded forward, their voices raised in angry protests. That officer shouted back, but their voices drowned his out. Galena was about to ask Lanzo if he understood their language, when sunlight glinted off a swiftly drawn sword among the Károvín.

“’Ware!” cried out a soldier from the front.

A feathered shaft hissed through the air—an arrow shot from the city walls.

“No, you fools!” Zinsar shouted.

Too late. A patrol leader from the wing opposite waved his arm. Soldiers surged forward from both sides. Back in the rear of her file, Galena could see nothing as she marched forward, but she heard the thundering crash as the front patrols met up with the leading Károvín. “Move, move, move,” she chanted under her breath, trying to see her way clear to the enemy.

And then, almost before she realized it, the first Károvín broke through. Automatically she swung up her sword to parry and strike. It was just like the drill and nothing like it at all. She deflected a sword that grazed her forearm, brought the flat of her blade against another’s helmet, barely escaped a dagger thrust. Her head rang from the noise, and sand dust choked her throat. There was no time for terror, and yet she could feel it pulsing, just beneath her consciousness.

She killed her first opponent with a stab into his belly. Blood spilled onto the ground, bright and red in the sunlight. For a moment, her vision wavered. Then she gasped, pulled her blade free.

Just in time. Another Károvín stepped over the dead man and swung his sword around in a short deadly arc. Galena beat away his first attack, but though she made a thrust or two, he was much faster and stronger, and she could not break through his defense. For every time she pressed forward, he drove her back twice as far. Soon they were beyond the mass of fighting. Behind her lay the narrow spur of the highway leading west and north.

The Károvín swung at her neck. She leaped back and crouched, waiting for his next attack.

He hefted his sword and approached. “Let me pass,” he said in Veraenen.

“No.” She swallowed back the bile in her throat. Surely the fort would send reinforcements, but they had to battle through the enemy before anyone could reach her.

The man lunged toward her. Galena brought up her sword barely in time. Their blades met in a jarring crash. With a wrenching twist, the Károvín bent her wrist to the side. Galena jumped away before he could thrust against her undefended body. She turned his attack—just—but the next one nearly gutted her. He was faster than any of her drill partners. Stronger. He would kill her—

Again he swung his blade under her defense. Again she twisted hers around in time. Before she could jump away, he hooked his hilt with hers and pressed forward until her sword touched her own throat.

She had all the time to memorize that face—the swift sharp angles of cheek and jaw, the black eyes with the faintest cast of blue, a full mouth drawn tight in what might pass for anger, but what she knew was a soldier’s grim expression in the face of war. This close, too, she caught the rich scent on his clothes. It was the same green scent the wind had carried in from the storm. Magic.

“You should have let me past,” he said.

“Why?” she whispered. “You would have killed me anyway.”

His expression went blank, as if her words had struck a wound. With a grimace, he thrust her to one side. Galena fell hard against a rock. Stunned, she lay breathless and motionless, waiting for him to run her through with his sword.

The blow never came. With a gasp, she rolled over to see the man’s shadow as he rounded the highway leading north.

Galena staggered upright. Follow him. Stop him from getting away.

Her feet refused to move.

He’s too good a fighter. I don’t want to die.

A scream yanked her att

ention back to the fighting. She twisted around in time to see Piero falling to the sand. Lanzo rushed to Piero’s defense. Another Károvín intercepted him; a second one stood over Piero with his knife raised. Galena snatched up her sword and sprinted toward the battle. Her indecision had vanished: she felt reckless, invincible, as if she could live forever or die that same instant. Either would be perfect.