Cringing from pain, I clutch the shaft of his spear in both hands. Larn bashes a fist to the Murkovin’s face, knocking him towards me. I yank the spear out of my thigh and throw an arm around the beast’s neck. Clenching his throat, I twist my body to the side and pull him off Larn.
As we fall to the mud, he latches his hands to my arm. He must outweigh me by at least forty pounds, but I fasten my free hand to my wrist and secure him in a stranglehold. Wriggling in the mud, the brute begins to pry my arm away from his neck. Larn gropes for his spear, finally cinches his fingers around the shaft, and hops to his feet. Just as the Murkovin breaks free from my grip, Larn plunges his spear into the beast’s head.
“Can you run?” Larn asks, glancing at my leg and wiping blood from his face.
“I can try.”
He reaches a hand down and takes hold of my arm. When he pulls me to my feet, pain sizzles through my wounded leg. I desperately pour sap from my canister onto my palm and spread it over the hole in my thigh. The rain quickly washes the sap away, and blood continues to flow from the wound.
“Sash!” Larn shouts. “We need to get out of here!”
I fix my eyes on the top of the hill again. With rain splattering on them, Sash and the woman are still immersed in an unending duel. After a flurry of spears clacking against one another, they both take a few steps backwards. Their chests heave as they try to suck in air.
Sash doesn’t take her eyes off the woman or acknowledge that she heard Larn in any way, but she abruptly rams her weapon at the woman. As the woman whisks her spear up in defense, Sash wheels away in our direction. Like the head of a snake striking out of nowhere, the tip of the woman’s spear flashes towards Sash.
Trying to dodge the point, Sash flings her hips back. As the steel slices into her stomach, Sash drops her spear and grips the shaft of the woman’s weapon in both hands. The woman powers forward, trying to drive her spear deeper into Sash’s gut. Larn charges towards the hill.
Using my spear as a crutch, I hobble behind Larn. With her hands locked to the shaft of the woman’s spear, Sash digs her feet into the mud. Countering strength with strength, Sash inches the woman’s weapon out of her belly. When the woman bulldozes forward, Sash wrenches her stomach to the side. She frees the tip from her stomach, but it rips an even larger gash.
As blood gushes from her wound, Sash keeps her grip on the woman’s spear with one hand and whips her other hand behind her back. The moment it slaps to the handle of the knife, she tugs the woman’s spear by her side. Still hanging on to the weapon, the woman pitches forward. With a fierce roundhouse motion, Sash slashes the knife blade across the woman’s face. The blow stands the woman upright.
Leaping straight up in the air, Sash cocks her knees to her chest. Exploding out of her tuck, she batters both feet against the woman’s chest. The woman tumbles backwards and falls behind the crest of the hill. After rolling her body in the air, Sash lands on all fours.
Larn halts in his tracks about halfway up the hill. Barely at the edge of the upslope, I stop and lean on my weapon to support my weight. Sash sheaths the knife and snatches her spear from the mud. With one hand pressed over the wound in her stomach, she makes a mad dash down the hill.
“Tela left the camp!” she shouts. “The tall Murkovin went after her!”
When Sash reaches Larn, he turns and runs down the hill beside her. I look up and down the valley to see if any Murkovin are nearby. Other than the endless torrent of rain, I don’t spot anything moving. Larn and Sash grind to a stop in front of me. Sash immediately notices the blood all over my thigh.
“Give me the rope,” she says. “I’m going after Tela.”
I glance at her stomach. Blood leaks from between the fingers of her hand covering the wound.
“You can’t,” I argue. “You’re injured.”
She hands her spear to Larn, tears a flask from her belt, and pours sap all over the laceration in her gut. “The tall Murkovin could kill her,” she says. “We’re wasting time.”
“We don’t have time to argue!” Larn yells.
“Give me the rope!” Sash orders.
I clench my jaw, knowing that she’s not about to back down. “I’m going with you.”
“You can barely walk with that wound,” Larn says to me.
Sash grabs the coil of rope hanging around my neck, but as she tries to pull it over my head, she winces from pain and locks her hand to her belly.
“It won’t scab in the rain,” I tell her. “The water is washing the sap away.”
“I’ll be fine!” she blares.
“You’re the most stubborn person alive!”
“Stop your bickering!” Larn intervenes. “We need to get out of here. Give her the rope or I’ll take it from you.”
Glaring at Sash, I remove the coil of rope from my neck and hold it out to her. She hangs it over her shoulder and then takes her spear from Larn.
“You might need this, too,” Larn says.
He hands her his canister. She takes it from him, twists off the top, and gulps down a big swig. After pouring more on her palm, she holds her hand in place over the wound.
“Get Chase back to the Delta,” Sash says to Larn. “I’ll stay with you until we’re clear of the camp.”
“Hop on,” Larn says, turning his back to me. “I don’t think you can run.”
Ignoring Larn, I keep my eyes focused on Sash. “Don’t do this.”
“This may be our only chance to get her,” she replies, surprising me with the calm tone of
