moment, or else I would have been knocked unconscious as the blade struck my head.
"You're going to have to be faster than that," Rolan said as I clutched at my head. I had dropped one of my daggers in shock at the unexpected attack, but I quickly scooped it back up and faced the man again. This time I watched him warily as I assessed the situation as best I could.
I had won fights against larger opponents before. Even the men at the orphanage had learned not to attempt to quell my outbursts alone. This wasn't so different from those fights, except now I wasn't powered by rage, we had weapons, and I was knocked half to unconsciousness. Rolan's biggest advantage, with his sword, was going to be reach. Well, that and years of training.
This time, I didn't let him take the offensive. I rushed in, trying to take him by surprise and slip past the range of his sword. A flick of his wrist brought the tip of his wooden blade into my stomach before I could reach him. As I crouched, coughing and trying not to empty my breakfast on the floor, he spun and brought his blade down on my back, driving me to the floor.
"Dagger fighting's not easy, is it?" Rolan said. He made no attempt to help me to my feet. With difficulty, I regained my breath and stood, still clutching the practice daggers. "But you have the right idea. Get in close, strike quickly and get out. Like a snake."
All morning I practiced fighting, both against Rolan and the other man. I don't think I scored a single hit. Time after time, I ended up with a wooden blade at my throat, or lying on the floor clutching a bruised shin, or swatted in the ribs. Both men fought brutally, even deviously. There were no rules and no honour among these mercenaries. But every time I was struck down, I rose and fought again. It was only when we took a break for lunch that the abuse finally caught up with me.
Bruised and beaten, I found that food would be provided to the mercenaries at the inn where we were staying. Of course, the cost came out of our wages, but it was still a nice surprise. I think I caught a few surprised glances at my condition as I ate, but I ignored them. Likely they just hadn't expected a girl to get quite so involved with the training.
The afternoon brought in a few more sparring partners. I was still outclassed most of the time, but I felt better about my abilities. None of these men were anywhere near Rolan's skill. I think I even managed to strike one or two of them, though neither were killing blows. Fortunately, I don't think I gained any new bruises.
I fought anyone who was willing to spar with me. I didn't speak, and the few moments that I wasn't in combat, I still felt my face flush whenever anyone so much as looked at me. Good thing talking wasn't a requirement for fighting.
I stayed and practiced for as long as I could still stand, which turned out to be remarkably close to dinner time, once again provided generously by the inn and paid for out of our pockets. After I ate, I remained alone at my table for a time, slightly dazed from training all day. A few of the mercenaries tried to talk to me, to comment on my skill, or lack of it, but all eventually turned away from my table and went to join others who were somewhat more welcoming.
Alone in the crowded room, I turned to the one thing I had to keep myself occupied: training. There was just one problem - everyone else had chosen to remain at the inn, and I had nobody left to spar with. Even Rolan, it seemed, had chosen to spend the evening drinking. Having nothing better to do, I decided I should get more familiar with my own weapons. I drew the daggers from the sheaths at my sides to examine them. I hadn't given them much thought before, other than to keep them in a death grip as we escorted the merchant to the village.
The two blades were nearly identical. The one I had used to kill Paterik must have been a standard issue for the mercenaries, made by the same smith. Each dual edged blade, longer than my palm, was dull, I noticed now that I was expecting them. Not dull as in it wouldn't cut butter, but dull as in it would probably take a few tries to push it through a piece of heavy leather. That would have to be fixed.
The hilts were made of steel covered in rough leather, with a small crossguard. It was a simple design, but it was more effective than the twisted gold inlays that the merchant's weapon had. I hefted the weapons, one in each hand. They were heavier than the wooden blades I had been training with, though not by much.
I swung them through the air a couple of times, getting a sense for the feel of them. Though my muscles protested, I began to slash faster and in different directions, fending off imaginary opponents. After a short time, I started to get into it, twirling inside the reach of my foolish adversaries and slashing throats with abandon. It was no substitute for true combat training, but it allowed me to improve my speed an endurance in preparation for a real fight.
"You could probably throw some kicks in there, too." The voice surprised me so much that I lost my balance and sat down hard on the floor. I was on my feet in a second, glaring at Rolan, who stood by the door. "It would increase your reach," he continued, "though you have to be careful not to get your foot hacked off."
I said nothing, and he shrugged. "Just a suggestion. I'll see you tomorrow. Don't wear yourself out." He left without another glance in my direction.
I decided I'd had enough practice for one day.
"Keep your eyes open," Rolan warned us. "There's something wrong." He walked beside the cart, following his own advice and keeping a careful watch on the woods around us. The merchant had finished his business, and we were journeying back the way we had come.
The words had barely left his mouth when an arrow whistled out of the trees and caught him in the throat. Before the body hit the ground, the men had formed a protective circle around the merchant and his goods. The mercenaries knew their job, even when their leader was gone.
The arrows flew like rain. Some of our men tried to string their bows, but were shot down before they could fire a single shot. I watched as some of the men tried to run towards the attackers - others tried to run away as their discipline broke in the face of the unrelenting fire. All were shot down.
I was frozen. Amidst the shouts and confusion and sprays of blood, I stood motionless. An arrow flew past my ear, and a moment later I felt a sharp punch in my chest. The world went black. I don't even remember hitting the ground.
I woke to a hand pressed to my throat. "This one's alive!" a voice shouted. I forced my eyes open and found myself squinting in the light. Odd, since we had been attacked in the evening. How long had I been out? I wondered. And why wasn't I dead?
The arrow had hit me full in the chest. There was no way the leather armor would have stopped it. I sat up slowly, and found a skin of water pressed to my mouth. "Drink," said a voice. I looked over at the source, a young man I didn't recognize. I nodded in thanks and took a long swallow of the liquid.
I finally took in the scene around me. It had been a massacre. Bodies littered the ground, both mercenaries and merchant were full of arrows. Blood stained the ground, a dark red against the brown of the road. Other men and women wandered around the scene, talking quietly amongst themselves.
"You're the only survivor, it seems," the man said as I drank. "What happened?"
I handed him back the water skin. "Who are you?" I asked.
"My name's Roi. We're mercenaries from Tellar, the next town you were to pass through. When you didn't show up, we came looking."
"How did you know we were coming?"
He shrugged. "Each Guild office employs a Communicator so we can stay in contact with each other." His eyes narrowed, and I saw his sword hand twitch. "Why don't you know about that? What's your name?"
"I-I'm Ellis. I'm new. This-this was my first... Rolan - he said-" I swiveled my head around, hoping that he had somehow survived.
"Dead." Roi paused for a moment. "All right, I believe you," he said. "Come on, get up. We'll need an official statement from you." He extended his hand. I reached out to take it, but a sharp pain in my chest made me jerk my hand back down. Cradling that arm, I stood on my own.
"So you did take an injury, then," said Roi. "Let's take a look."
I glanced down at my chest. A small hole pierced through the leather, slightly to the right of center. I poked a finger through it. It should have been a killing blow.
With difficulty and Roi's help, I worked the chest piece off and threw it to the ground. The hole continued through my shirt. Aware that I had now attracted the attention of the rest of the mercenaries, I peered down the neck of my shirt to assess the injury. There was no blood, but a large bruise had begun to form on top of my breast.
"It's okay," I said quietly, rolling my shoulder and grimacing at the pain.
"It's okay?" Roi repeated. "Seriously? You take an arrow to the chest and walk away without a scratch? Do you have boobs of steel or something?" My face grew warm at the comment and I studied the ground.
"Back off, Roi," another voice said. One of the women among the group came to my side, and stooped to pick something up off the ground. "Look," she said, holding the arrow in front of his face. "The tip's off. This must have been the arrow that hit her. It would hurt like a bitch, but she'd live. She's a very lucky girl."
"Fine," Roi muttered. "Sorry."
I said nothing, continuing to focus on the man's feet.
"I'll take over from here, Roi," the woman said, dropping the arrow. "You go start collecting bodies. I want us out of here by nightfall."
"Yes, Jes."