I do not wait for the man to recover from the shock of my attack. Using both of my hands, I swing the staff in a fast circle and slam it into the side of his chin, then thrust it forward into the soft space just below his ribs. He grunts and hunches forward, and I put all of my body weight into swinging the staff at the back of his knees and knock him off his feet.
As soon as he is down, another man with a red scarf tied to his arm takes his place. This man is younger and has thicker shoulders than the first man, and his biceps bulge against his sleeves. He’s holding a short sword and wearing leather armor. Our eyes meet, and the man grins, motioning me forward with one hand. “Here, pretty girl, fight me and I will teach you how to deal with a real man.”
I thrust my staff forward once and watch to see how this man fights. In spite of his large size, he is quick, his movements precise, and I know enough to realize that without strength to equal his, I am at a major disadvantage. A twinge of fear travels down my spine, but before I can run, the man lunges at me, but not with his sword. He reaches for my staff, and I can tell by the predatory way he is looking at me, he doesn’t want to kill me. He wants to keep me.
Before he can wrap his fingers around my weapon, I swing hard and knock it against his knuckles. I pivot and thrust, aiming for his neck, but his sword is up and blocking me before I make contact. The metal clangs against my staff, and sparks fly. I attack again, our weapons meet, and he bears down on my staff with his sword. My arms tremble beneath the power of this man. Lower and lower he pushes me, his sweaty face mere inches from mine. When my knees are about to buckle, he grins, and I can see the lust in his eyes. I dive to the side and twist my staff so it catches his short sword, and the blade is yanked from his hand. As I try to spring to my feet to run, my red shoes tangle in my skirt. With a thud, I fall to the forest floor, landing on my back.
My opponent growls with fury and leaps at me, crushing my body to the ground with his. I stare into his dark eyes as cold steel presses against my throat. “Seems I caught myself a warrior woman,” the man growls, pressing his dagger harder against my skin. “If I take you home with me, do you think your family will pay to get you back?”
I feel sick at the thought of this man taking me and holding me for ransom. What’s worse, if this man discovered I was a Faodarian princess and held me for ransom, I do not know if my mother would pay anything to get me back. She might leave me to a life of slavery. But there is something about me that the brute overlooked. I quietly thank Melisande for buckling the belt around my waist earlier as I pull the hunting knife from it and quickly drive it into the man’s side. “You are not taking me anywhere,” I say, and yank it back out.
His eyes grow wide, and he lurches away from me. “You wench!” He swings his dagger at my face, but I block it with my knife and quickly roll to my feet. He stands and swings the blade at me again, but wobbles. Pressing a hand to his side, he holds his bloody fingers before his astonished eyes. “You cut me good, and you’re going to pay for that.”
“No, I am not,” I answer. I dealt him a death blow, and even if he doesn’t know it, I do. It is only a matter of seconds before he bleeds out. He lifts his knife and runs at me.
“Sorrowlynn!” Golmarr screams from behind. I don’t look at him because I know—thanks to the dragon’s treasure—to never take my eyes from my opponent. Before the man’s knife is close enough to cut me, I whip my staff against his hand, and his weapon goes flying through the air. He loses his footing and falls to the ground at my feet just as Golmarr reaches me.
With a gut-wrenching jolt, I feel the man die and grip my stomach as his knowledge and memories fill my brain. A horrifying realization hits me: not only did I absorb all of the knowledge that Zhun possessed, but I inherited his means of gathering what he considered treasure—when I kill, I steal my victim’s knowledge. I fall to my knees and groan. Golmarr puts his sword tip between the man’s shoulder blades and flexes his muscles to deal a death blow. “He’s already dead,” I blurt, loath at the thought of watching the man get stabbed again.
Golmarr looks from the thick set of shoulders beneath his sword to me. “You killed this renegade?” he asks.
I squeeze my eyes shut and nod. “I killed him, but he is no Trevonan renegade. He’s a mercenary, born and bred here in the forest, and more are coming. All of the vilest men who hide in the forest are coming.”
“Why?”
“The glass dragon. Somehow it is speaking to their minds and sending them to kill me.” I look around the camp. The fighting has ceased, but there are a handful of dead bodies lying strewn on the ground. “We need to leave right now, Golmarr.”
“Let’s quickly help them bury the dead first.”
I stand and grip the front of his light brown shirt in my fists. “If I stay, more people will die, and it will be because of me.” My eyes fill with tears. “I am leaving with or without you, if it means saving these people, even if I die!” The tears spill down my cheeks.