Page 39 of Maneater
The rider looked down at us. “I am Sir Ulrich of Falhurst, sworn sword of the kingdom of Hyrall and loyal servant to the Crown,” he declared, leveling his blade in our direction.
“By the grace of the Gods and in faithful service to the King, I charge these women with high treason, forsaking their sworn duties and deserting their conscription to the Prince. They are fugitives of the realm, and by law, we claim them.”
The mounted sentries advanced a step in unison, tightening the circle around us.
I glanced left, then right. There was no escape.
I could feel the fear radiating from Leya.
Either she was the greatest actress in the realm, or she had been telling the truth all along. Leya had truly fled from Gadriel.
At last, she had seen him for the monster he really was.
“Seize that one,” Ulrich commanded, pointing at Leya. “Pull her down from the horse!”
“No,” Leya’s voice was frightened. “Stay away!”
“This one has special orders.” Ulrich thrust his sword in my direction.
“Seize her and take her to the menders. Have them see to her shoulder wound. This one is to be guarded at all times. A grand class knight will be arriving to take her into custody.” His eyes shifted back to Leya.
“Keep them apart. Another will come for that one later. Cause no more harm than necessary, but use force if you must.”
The next moments blurred past so fast I could barely keep up.
Behind me, Leya cried out, and I whirled around.
Two sentries had dismounted from their horses and seized her.
She kicked out hard, but that only gave one of them the chance to grab her ankle.
With a brutal tug, they tore her off Sigrid’s back.
The horse reared and whinnied in fear, but another sentry clamped tight on the reins.
I rushed toward Leya, but I didn’t even make it two paces before something yanked hard on the back of my cloak, snapping me backward.
Strong arms clamped around me. I hissed and wrenched my right arm free with a sharp twist.
“Stay still, whore,” one of the sentries spat at me.
“Don’t touch me,” I snarled.
“Or what?” he growled, grinning wide enough to bare his teeth. “You should be used to this by now.”
Something inside me snapped.
The wrath came first, then the darkness followed.
My left arm hung useless at my side, but my right hand found the hilt of my pocketknife.
Moving faster than I’d had any right to, I drove the blade into the gap between the sentry’s helmet and collarbone.
It sank in his flesh with ease, piercing deep before I withdrew it.
His eyes widened in shock as he released me, staggering backward before collapsing to the ground with a heavy thud.
To my left, the other sentry shouted, “Lant!”
My attack set off a flurry of movement as the others dismounted and rushed to aid. The one who had called out to the fallen sentry turned to me, his face twisted with rage. “You little bitch!” he seethed.
He grabbed my wounded arm and yanked it hard, sending a shockwave of pain through me.
I clenched my teeth, blinking rapidly as dark spots clouded my vision.
But he wasn’t finished, with a vicious shove, he slammed me to the ground and crushed my right wrist beneath his boot.
The bloodied pocketknife slipped from my grasp and clattered onto the stone path.
The sentry loomed over me, still burning with outrage, and drove a brutal kick into my torso.
The air was ripped from my lungs, leaving me gasping as I faintly heard Leya shouting my name.
Then he gripped a handful of my hair and rolled me onto my back, pinning me with his knee jammed hard into my stomach.
Through the slit of his helmet, I caught the raw sting of grief in his eyes.
Grabbing my cloak by the collar, he hauled me halfway off the ground, his blade pressed to my throat. Spittle sprayed as he roared, “You killed him! You killed Lant!”
A flicker of wrath lit my eyes. “Good,” I muttered, blood trailing from my split lip. “I’d do it again.”
“Sir Lothar!” Ulrich roared. “Stand down! Now!”
The sentry didn’t listen to his superior. “You killed my brother!” he shouted again, voice thick with anguish as he pressed the blade deeper against my throat.
“I said stand down, Lothar!” Ulrich barked again. “She is to remain alive! Release her, that’s an order!”
After a tense shuffle of boots, Sir Lothar was finally dragged off me. Sir Ulrich’s breaths were heavy, turning his attention to me. “You are illicit,” he growled, “and you will obey the law! ”
He wrenched my wrists together and locked them in shackles reinforced with leather and iron.
I fought him with what little I had left, but my right wrist gave out after the damage it had taken.
Behind me, I caught a glimpse of Leya, her face crumpled in silent tears. Her struggle was just as useless.
The sight of us both in chains allowed defeat to settle in my bones.
It was over. Gadriel had won.