least, she thought she was.
She would have to be, if she wanted to join the Knights of the Spur. Just the name of their order made Erin’s heart leap. They were the finest warriors of the realm, every name among them a hero. They served her father, but also rode out righting wrongs and fighting foes that no others could. Erin would give anything to join them.
That was why she was riding north, to the Spur. That was also why she was taking this route, through parts of the forest long thought dangerous.
She rode on, taking in the place. Any other time, it would have been beautiful, but then, any other time, she wouldn’t have been here. Instead, she looked around, eyes darting, all too aware of the shadows on each side of the path, the way the branches brushed at her as she rode. It was a place where she could imagine someone disappearing, never to return.
Even so, it was the route she had to take if she was going to reach the Knights of the Spur. Especially if she wanted to be able to impress them when she got there. Set beside that, her fear didn’t matter.
“Why don’t you stop there?” a voice from further along the forest path called.
There. Erin felt a brief thrill of fear at the words, the flutter running up through her belly. She drew her horse to a halt, then swung down from the saddle smoothly. Almost as an afterthought, she took down her short staff, gloved hands carrying it lightly.
“Now, what do you think you’re going to do with that stick?” the man from further down the forest path said. He stepped out, dressed in rough-spun clothes and holding a hatchet. Two more men stepped out from the trees behind Erin, one holding a long knife, the other an arming sword that suggested he might once have fought on behalf of a nobleman.
“Back in a village I passed through,” Erin said, “they told me about bandits in the forest.”
They didn’t seem to think it was odd that she’d come here anyway. Erin could feel the fear inside her. Should she have come here? She’d had plenty of training bouts, but this… this was different.
“Looks as though we’re famous, boys,” the leader called out with a laugh.
Famous was one word for it. In the village, she’d spoken to a young woman who was traveling with her husband. She had said that even when they gave these men everything they had, they still wanted more, and they took it. She had detailed all of it to Erin, and Erin had wished she’d had Lenore’s way with people, or Nerra’s compassion. Erin didn’t have either; all she had was this.
“They say you kill those who fight,” Erin said.
“Well then,” the leader said. “You’ll know not to fight.”
“Barely worth it,” one of the others said. “Hardly a girl at all.”
“You’re complaining?” the leader shot back. “The things you’ve done with boys as well?”
Erin stood there, waiting. The fear was still there, and it had grown into a monstrous thing, a bear-sized thing that threatened to crush her into immobility. She shouldn’t have come here. This wasn’t a training bout, and she had never truly fought anyone before. She was just a young woman who was about to be killed, or worse…
No. Erin thought about that, thought about the woman from the village, and she forced the fear down, under the anger.
“If you want to make this easy on yourself, you’ll hand over everything you have. The horse, your valuables, everything.”
“And take off those clothes,” the other who’d spoken said. “It will save us getting blood on them.”
Erin swallowed, thinking about what that might mean. “No.”
“Well then,” the leader said. “Looks like we do this the hard way.”
The one with the long knife came at Erin first, grabbing for her and slashing with it at her body. Erin broke the grip, but the blade slid through her clothing as easily as it might have through a milkmaid’s butter. The man’s leer of triumph quickly turned to shock as the blade stopped, caught with the sound of metal on metal.
“Taking off a coat of mail is hard work,” Erin said.
She struck out with her staff, smashing the man in the face with the haft, causing him to stagger back. The leader came at her with his hatchet and, bringing her weapon across, she knocked it to one side. She struck out with the end, jabbing it into the man’s throat so that he gurgled and stumbled away.
“Bitch!” the knifeman said.
Now Erin twisted the staff, drawing off the end to reveal the long blade beneath that ran almost half its length. The dappled light of the forest shone darkly from it. In the weird, calm space that followed, she spoke. No point in disguising anything now.
“When I was young, my mother made me take sewing lessons, but the woman who taught us was nearly blind, and Nerra, my sister, used to cover for me while I ran out and fought the boys with sticks. When my mother found out, she was angry, but my father said that I might as well learn properly, and he was the king, so…”
“Your father’s the king?” the leader said. Fear crossed his face, closely followed by greed. “If they catch us, they’ll kill us, but they would have done that anyway, and the ransom we’ll get for someone like you…”
Probably they would pay it. Although, given what Erin had overheard and the amount they’d been prepared to pay to get rid of her…
The bandit lunged forward for Erin again, interrupting her train of thought by swinging his hatchet and then kicking out at her. Erin swept the hatchet blow aside one-handed, pushed at the man’s elbow, and then kicked him in the knee as he tried to kick her, sending him stumbling to the ground. Her teacher would probably be angry that she hadn’t followed up.
Keep moving, end it quickly, take no chances. Erin could almost hear the words of her teacher, Swordmaster Wendros. He had been the one to tell her to use the short spear, a weapon that could make up for her lack of height and power with its speed and reach. Erin had been a little disappointed by the choice at the time, but she wasn’t now.
Taking a two-handed grip on her weapon, she spun, covering as the one with a sword came at her. She set blows aside one after another, then aimed a cut of her own at him. A spear can cut as well as thrust. He went to deflect the strike, his sword rising up to meet it, and Erin rolled her wrists to send her blade dancing under the block, the spear’s point lancing forward to thrust through his neck. Even as he died, the man flailed another blow at her, and Erin struck it aside, already moving on.
Do not stop. Keep moving until the fight is done.
“She’s killed him!” the knifeman shouted. “She’s killed Ferris!”
He lunged at her with the long knife, obviously trying to kill, not capture. He rushed in, trying to get in close where the greater length of Erin’s weapon wouldn’t count. Erin made to step back, then moved in even closer than he expected, wheeling him over her hip so he landed with a whoosh of escaping air…
Or he would have if he hadn’t dragged her down with him.
Showy, girl. Just do what’s needed.
It was too late for that now, because she was on the floor with the knifeman, caught there while
