Her blade caught him in midswig, head back. The damn bottle fell and rolled away, but the man slid down, silent but for the gurgle of his dying.
Red dragged him over to the wagon and stuffed him under it. She crouched there, bloody dagger in hand, trying to listen over the beat of her heart. The bottle rolled to a stop in the center of the courtyard.
Silence.
There was a whine from within, questioning, and a snuffling noise as claws dug at the wooden walls of the wagon. Red’s throat closed, expecting a baying at any moment. Dogs, it had to be, and slaver dogs would take a scent and run their prey to ground.…
Still, only silence.
Red dared to breathe, taking in cold air tainted with the strong smell of piss and wet fur. Whatever was in the wagon had not been cared for, that was sure. She ran her hands over the dead man’s body, more from habit than anything else. Never knew what you might find—
Her fingers brushed over two keys on his belt. She held them tight so they didn’t jangle, and cut them loose, tucking them into the top of her glove.
Then the faintest of whispers from the wagon. “Who’s there?”
Slaves in with dogs? If there was a slave dog-handler in there … Red could not believe her luck would run that good. Still …
“You’re not one of them.” The sound was so soft that she had to strain to hear it. “They’d be … is it … are you?” The voice paused, then rushed on, heavy with hope. “Rescue?”
“Quiet,” she breathed. The snuffling continued for a moment, the animals taking in her scent.
“We can help,” the whisper continued, pained and excited. “Unlock the—”
“Gar?” The door to the stables opened, slamming against the wood. “You finish that—”
Light spilled out onto the courtyard. The bottle sparkled.
Then a muffled voice, from the guardhouse. “Help! A woman warrior. She’s killed—”
Red grimaced. So much for showing mercy.
The guard in the doorway uttered his curse, and started to call for his fellows.
Red leapt up and ran for the door, both daggers in hand. She surprised the man standing there, peering out into the darkness. She lunged, going for his eyes, more to force him back then anything else.
The blade caught the bone, and sank deep within. He sagged, and she pushed his body back as it fell. She stood in the doorway, and brandished her two blades with a laugh as another charged.
She kept herself back just enough that the doorway hindered their movements. The man’s sword swings hit the wood, and he was forced to use his sword to block her blows. Her blades were swift and small, and she didn’t hesitate to go for any target he offered. The shouts from behind him were a relief; she’d feared another exit. If she could keep them coming at her one at a time …
But that mucking dicer was still yelling in the guardhouse. Then shouts came from the main house. From the corner of her eye she saw a door open and movement, and knew she was done.
She focused back in time to see a spearhead thrust at her.
She dodged, but too late. The blade sank deep into her shoulder, and the wielder twisted it as he forced her back, out into the courtyard.
Red clamped her jaw against the pain and pulled away, getting herself off the blade. The pain was bad, but she could still grip the dagger. She skipped back, conscious of the shouts and pounding feet from the main house. Her foe came after her, and the spearman right behind, all spilling through the stable door, spreading out.
Red charged right into them, using the daggers to feint at their faces, dodging the few that managed to swing swords. Her speed and their confusion allowed her to pass through the group. She’d some vague idea of running into the stables but the body in the doorway changed that plan. So she turned as she passed the last man and lashed out with her strong hand.