'Fortunate for us both, because your death is what we have in mind. I'm just not sure which to eat first-your arms or your legs.'
Thorn wore a mithral bracelet on each wrist, hidden beneath the cuffs of her gown. She clicked them together and they unfolded along her forearms, becoming armored bracers.
What are you doing?
Steel whispered. Saying nothing, she stepped into the room.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The Great Crag Droaam Eyre 18, 998 YK
Ghyrryn had been badly beaten. One of his eyes was swollen shut, and his fur was matted and stained with blood. He'd lost more than one tooth since Thorn had seen him. He was being held against the wall by an ogre, whose snarl revealed a maw filled with long, yellowed teeth. The ogre pressed his forearm against Ghyrryn's throat, and he held the gnoll a foot above the floor. Ghyrryn was gasping for breath, his snout and nostrils flecked with bloody saliva.
The room was a barracks, with bunks for a dozen soldiers. Fortunately for Thorn, only two other creatures were in the room, and all eyes were focused on the ogre and his prey. A young man stood between Thorn and the gnoll-a man in black and gray. He was the elf from the Duurwood, as she'd suspected; he held a curved steel blade in one hand, and the scimitar's tip was stained with blood. The other occupant of the room walked on four legs-a lean gray wolf, sniffing at the captive gnoll.
Thorn gasped in horror, raising her hand to cover her mouth and bringing her other arm up to her chest, keeping Steel hidden against her bodice. 'What… what is going on?'
All eyes were upon her. The ogre snarled, and for an instant Thorn thought his teeth were growing, but it was surely a trick of the light. The elf spun to face her, lowering his sword and raising a hand to admonish the ogre. 'Don't!' he snapped at his companions. 'You have your orders!'
'Who are you?' Thorn said, filling her voice with shock and terror.
'This is not your concern,' the elf said, taking a step toward her. The wolf padded over to stand next to him. Not threatening, not yet, but an intimidating physical presence, yellow eyes boring into her own. 'How did you get here?'
As the elf spoke, a second voice echoed in her thoughts. Steel.
Get out of here. Now!
Thorn stood frozen in place, her eyes wide. A chill began at the base of her spine, the same sensation she'd felt in the Duurwood and when facing Zaeurl. It was painful, but it held a promise of energy and anger waiting to be unleashed. She held her ground, watching the elf, studying the way he moved, the way he held his blade.
She knew little about the hunter, but he was a man used to having his way; she'd seen his pride in the forest clearing. She was trusting that he wouldn't kill her right away. He apparently had his orders, and she might actually be a diplomat broken free from her guards. As long as she remained silent, he couldn't classify her as enemy or innocent, and she could see the frustration building in him.
'Speak, woman!' he snapped, taking another step toward her. 'What are you-'
That step was all she needed. Steel flashed in the torchlight as Thorn raised her hand and lunged forward. He was quick, and he tried to dodge as soon as he saw the glint of metal. But he'd come too close, given Thorn too much time to anticipate his motions. The dagger went straight into his left eye, and Thorn struck the pommel with the heel of her free hand, driving it deep into his brain. His right eye widened in shock, and for a moment it seemed to change, the white becoming darker, orange-then his muscles spasmed as the news of his death spread across his body.
In a situation like this, the first death was always easy. She had surprise on her side, time to study her foe, the chance to set the pace of things. That was over. She planted a hard kick in the chest of the dying elf, using all her strength to force her blade free from his skull. The gray wolf was leaping for her throat, a streak of fur and muscle. Thorn flung her arm up and the wolf sank its teeth into her forearm, only to grind against the mithral bracer. Thorn pushed against the wolf, pressing her armored limb into its jaw, and it staggered back and released her, spitting and choking.
What happened next made no sense, even to Thorn. She'd forced the wolf away, but she'd taken her eyes off the ogre. The brute dropped Ghyrryn and lunged for her. All she saw was a massive fist reaching for her face as the creature prepared to crush her head with its bare hands. She had no time to dodge, but she didn't have to.
Thorn felt a surge of power, as if her blood were on fire, then she realized that she'd caught the ogre's fist with her own tiny hand. It should have been impossible-the beast had more muscle in its right arm than she had in her entire body. Yet she'd stopped the blow and hadn't even felt it. She closed her hand around the ogre's fingers and felt flesh and bone give way. Then, throwing all of her newfound strength into the motion, she spun around, pulling the ogre and sending it tumbling into the snarling wolf. A startled yip mixed with a curse in the tongue of giants. Thorn lunged, driving her dagger into the ogre's kidney, and she felt the blade sink into the flesh of the fallen beast. Whatever the burst of strength had been, it passed; she landed a solid blow, but it wasn't enough to finish the job.
'Unwise.' The ogre drew an enormous cleaver as he rose to his feet. Next to him, the wolf circled around her, seeking to flank her, to force her into a position where she had to give one of them an opening. Thorn saw no communication between the two; the animal was well-trained in the art of war. 'You become our meat tonight. I even follow orders. I need no blessings for you.'
At least Steel was silent; whatever his opinions, the dagger knew better than to distract her in the middle of a battle. Thorn said nothing. She just waited, dagger in hand, as her two enemies circled her.
The wolf moved first. It had slipped behind her, and now it sought to tear at her tendons and drop her to the ground. But it underestimated her speed and her awareness of her surroundings. The beast's teeth tore at her dress, and she felt its breath against her leg, but she pulled away just in time. Turning in place, Thorn set her hand on the wolf's back and vaulted over the creature. The ogre's cleaver descended at the same moment, and he nearly struck his ally. As she spun through the air, she made a single thrust, catching the wolf at the base of his neck and pulling free as she landed.
It was a perfect stroke. She felt the blade against the spine; it wasn't a killing blow, but it should have removed the beast from the battle.
It didn't.
The wolf's fur hid the wound, but it spun to face her, and in her surprise she barely avoided its snapping teeth. Did I imagine-
She had no time to think. She was outnumbered, and both her enemies were upon her. The wolf charged again, and this time she jumped over the strike. She landed directly on the small of the beast's back and called on all her strength. She tried to leap up and over the ogre, to buy more time, to find a better position.
She failed.
Pain flared through her as the ogre's blade smashed into her chest, knocking her out of the air. A moment later, she slammed into the ground, her head bouncing against the stone floor. She was lucky-her foe had struck her with the flat of the blade. If he'd caught her full on, he might have split her in two. Thorn tried to gather her wits, to force herself to her feet. But the wolf was already leaping for her throat-the wolf that should have been dead. Teeth gleamed as they dived for her neck. She caught a flash of silver as warm blood spread across her chest.
It wasn't hers. Ghyrryn was standing above her, and he'd just driven a metal point through the wolf's throat. It collapsed atop Thorn, hot blood pouring from the wound and the stench of its flesh filling her nostrils.
Ghyrryn had saved her life, but there was a price to be paid. He'd left himself open to the ogre. Sparks flew as the cleaver struck Ghyrryn's shoulder. Blood dripped from the gnoll's mouth as he cried out in pain. His battered steel armor held, but the blow had dented the plates, driving them into the muscles of his arm.
The gnoll went on the defensive. His axe had two blades-the longer crescent blade and the smaller, curved spearhead he'd used to kill the wolf. Blocking the ogre's next blow, he retaliated with the smaller blade, slashing his enemy's arm. But the situation was hopeless. Ghyrryn was too seriously wounded. Blood was streaming down his injured arm and he was limping… and his enemy seemed to be an unstoppable wall of muscle.
