Mary Herbert - Legacy of Steel

Eight days after she arrived in Palanthas, Sara realized with a start of disappointment that she had been gone thirteen days. She had promised Cobalt she would be back in fourteen; now she would be late, and there was no telling how he would react. She wasn't certain whether to be discouraged or relieved at her lack of information. Was no news good news? Or were the knights keeping their dark secrets carefully hidden?

That evening she closed her booth and packed her belongings in the panniers. She knew it would be safer to leave Palanthas with a caravan again, but she couldn't find any merchants or travelers who were leaving for Daron the next day. She made up her mind to go anyway and hope she could find someone on the trail.

Early the next morning, with Crysania's blessings and a stocked food bag, Sara led her horse out of Palanthas and hurried north on the trail for home.

A cold, blustery wind swept up the mountain trail sweeping golden aspen leaves and dust before it. Sara put up with it for a few hours, then changed out of her skirts into a pair of durable pants that were not only warmer but also easier to wear on the steep slopes. With her hair braided under her loose knit hat and a heavy cloak over her tunic, she looked more like a man than a woman.

She had seen no one else that day but a few shepherds with their flocks in the distance and a small party of travelers trekking south to Palanthas. There was no one in sight going north. Sara mentally shrugged and pushed on. Cobalt was waiting, and she didn't want to worry the dragon into doing something stupid.

The day passed uneventfully, and Sara found a sheltered place to camp for the night. She passed the iron mines the following day, and still she found no other travelers heading toward Daron.

Except for the possibility of danger from thieves and highwaymen, Sara actually preferred solitary travel. She liked picking her own pace suitable to her horse and herself; she liked the dust-free air and the tranquility of the mountains, without shouting drovers, bellowing beasts of burden, complaining merchants, and whining servants. She did not have to carry on meaningless conversations with companions she did not like or waste endless time waiting for the caravan to get ready to move. The only thing she missed was the time spent by the campfires at night, when instruments were inevitably brought out and musicians played rollicking tunes for hours to enliven the cold mountain nights.

She crossed the pass safely during an afternoon of gathering clouds and gusty winds, and that night a light snow began to fall. Snow was still falling in the morning when Sara packed her gear and fed her horse. She eyed the sky warily, for no one in her right mind wanted to be caught on the open mountain trails in an autumn snowstorm. Fortunately the clouds seemed tattered and the wind brisk, leading her to hope the snow showers would end soon.

She filled her water bag from a nearby stream and loaded one of the panniers with dry firewood from a sheltered deadfall. If she were forced to stop somewhere unprotected, she wanted to be prepared. Clucking to her horse, she headed down the mountain.

The snow did end soon, several times. It was one of those days when the sky was a swiftly moving panorama of brilliant sun and dark clouds and intermittent showers of sparkling snow. Cloud shadows scudded over the mountain faces, pushed by a capricious cold wind.

A snow shower had just ended, as abruptly as it began, when the hairs on Sara's neck began to prickle in that uncanny warning she well remembered. Someone was watching her.

Sara's head went up, and her eyes moved along the stony slopes around her. She was walking on an open section of the trail that hugged the side of the hill. There were no trees or large stone outcroppings for cover. There was nowhere she could hide, and nowhere anyone else could hide to ambush her. Yet she still felt the presence of someone close by.

Her pulse quickened. Her right hand slid closer to her bow that hung from one of the panniers. She kept walking beside the horse, trying to look casual, as if she had no hint of danger. The sun burst out of the clouds at that moment, its bright light dazzling after the snow squall.

Something moved to Sara's right. She spun around in time to see a patch of snowy grass and vines suddenly thrown aside to reveal a hole dug in the earth. A man in dirty armor burst out of the hole and lunged at her, a sword in his hand. He was too close for her to use her bow, so Sara snatched her dagger from its sheath, and before the man could lay a hand on her, she flipped off her cloak and slid beyond his reach. Her reflexes may have slowed from age, but her speed and her balance were finely tuned from years of practice.

Her attacker, expecting slow, easy prey, met instead a furious dagger-wielding opponent. His heavily bearded face registered surprise. Then he sneered and moved in to disarm her. Pulling his lips back over broad, yellow teeth, he raised the blade of his sword and brought it whistling around to strike her arm.

Sara heard shouts behind her from several directions, and she realized she needed more than a mere dagger to defend herself. Instead of ducking her assailant, she slipped under his blade, dipped her shoulder, and crashed into his belly. He grunted in surprise. His sword whistled over her head.

Her blade slipped under his armpit, where the breastplate ended, and rammed deep into his flesh and muscle. Sara wrenched it out and stabbed again. The man howled with pain.

Sara rolled over him as he crashed to the earth, then bounced to her feet, snatched the sword from his weakened grasp, and spun on her heel to meet the other attackers.

There were three more, all as lean and hungry as wolves, all dressed in ill-kept armor. Shocked by the fall of their comrade, they slunk forward, studying Sara warily.

"Look" one of them shouted in surprise. "It's a woman!"

Sara dodged behind her horse and grinned wickedly at the men. Her hat had been knocked off in the struggle with the first brigand, and now her braid swung loose like a silver horse's tail.

The old bay, panicked by the shouts and the smell of blood, reared in fright. One of the men tried to grab his headstall, but the gelding whipped his head aside and bolted away down the trail. Sara was left facing the three men.

They slid to a stop and slowly edged around her until she was surrounded.

"Come on, be a good girl and give us that sword," the shortest man wheedled.

Sara glared at the men, her eyes narrowed, her lungs breathing hard. Their armor was rusty and dirty and badly dented, but beneath the grime, she could make out the death lily, the emblem of the Knights of Takhisis.

"Swine," she hissed. "Groveling in dirt for those lilies you wear. How many backs did you stab to get those?" She rose on the balls of her feet and crouched forward, her bloodied dagger in one hand, the sword in the other. Her blade sliced the air to keep the men at a distance.

Two of the men laughed. The third, a tall, darkhaired half-elf, studied her moves with a sense of growing recognition. He was about to say something when a shadow passed over their heads.

Everyone looked up simultaneously. A powerful downdraft abruptly smote them all, and a ferocious roar reverberated in the air. Blue wings sailed overhead.

"Cobalt!" Sara cried in delight.

The blue dragon roared again. His teeth snapping, he dropped like a sapphire fury out of the sky and landed with an earth-shuddering thud beside Sara. The three me were too terrified to move. With a snarl, he snatched the shorter man in his front talons. He tore the man to shreds with tooth and claw, then grabbed at a second. He was about to rend that man, too, when Sara cried, "Wait, Cobalt!"