section of the army, I’ve always thought.”
Lowa jumped. For such a huge man it was uncanny how Carden always managed to creep up on her.
Carden Nancarrow, Zadar’s champion. As a teenager ten years before, he’d beaten Barton’s five best with ease. At the celebrations two nights before, and several times before that, he and Lowa had ended up together.
She smiled. “My horse farts a better tune.”
Carden leaned his head back and laughed like a god. His thickly muscled chest heaved as he guffawed, then he shook his long dark locks as the laugh became a chuckle. Lowa’s reply hadn’t been that funny. He was clearly after a shag again. Maybe that was what she needed? She felt a quiver in her groin. Yes, Carden was exactly what she needed.
“Lowa, you do know that women aren’t meant to be witty?” His dark eyes sparkled with mischief underneath the strangely protruding brow that stopped him from being typically handsome, and a spasm shot across his cheek. Even his face was muscular.
“And men are. Topsy-turvy situation we have here.” She raised an eyebrow.
Carden chuckled but less enthusiastically. He wasn’t a massive fan of having his own qualities brought into question, which didn’t, thought Lowa, make him particularly unusual.
“How was your battle?” he asked. “You and your girls opened up very quickly in the face of such stiff opposition.”
She ignored the innuendo. “You’re right to mock, Carden. Six archers attacking a few thousand soldiers is nothing to be impressed by.”
“The Fifty started the rout.”
“Yes. You came in nicely behind my archers.”
“Perhaps you’ll show me exactly how that manoeuvre works later on?”
This time, she smiled.
“Yes, that’s why it’s such a shame—” He stopped mid-sentence and shook his head sadly. The band’s song ended and trumpets blared a high-pitched fanfare. Lowa turned, expecting to see Zadar borne towards them on his golden shield. Instead, she flinched as Carden grabbed her from behind. Strong fingers dug painfully into her arms.
“What the Mother…?”
She watched as men and women near Cordelia, Maura, Seanna and Realin grabbed swords from hiding places under tables and behind screens. A sword lashed out and Seanna went down. The others saw it wasn’t a joke and formed a circle around their fallen comrade, brandishing nothing more than wine horns.
“Carden, what the fuck!?” Carden didn’t answer. She struggled ineffectively. The partygoers were advancing on the archer girls with grim-faced, united purpose.
“Carden! What the fuck is going on?! Let me go! Let me go!” she screamed. No response.
The attackers closed in and swords came down. A severed hand flew high, spraying an arc of blood. One of the Fifty – a man with a large head called Aydun who Lowa had never liked much – stumbled back, blood spurting from his neck. Cordelia Bullbrow hacked her way out of the circle. Somehow she’d got hold of a sword.
Lowa shouted and struggled, but Carden’s grip was iron and her legs were clamped between his knees. She slammed her head back, but it thumped harmlessly on his chest.
“Give it up, Lowa,” he said through gritted teeth. “I’m sorry. We have orders.”
Cordelia turned back on the circle hacking at her friends. Lowa felt hope surge. The big woman sliced a man two-handed across the back. He went down, limbs flapping. Another came at her with an upward sword thrust. Cordelia parried and slashed her blade across his face.
Weylin Nancarrow, Carden’s younger brother, son of Lowa’s friend and weaponsmith Elann Nancarrow, strode up behind Cordelia. He swung his sword and slashed the backs of her knees open. Lowa’s strongest horse archer, the last hope for all of them, collapsed like a sack of mud. Weylin raised his sword matter-of-factly, swung it down, and chopped her head off.
Lowa tried to wrench herself free again and failed. She was still holding her venison bone, a potential weapon, but
Lowa jumped. For such a huge man it was uncanny how Carden always managed to creep up on her.
Carden Nancarrow, Zadar’s champion. As a teenager ten years before, he’d beaten Barton’s five best with ease. At the celebrations two nights before, and several times before that, he and Lowa had ended up together.
She smiled. “My horse farts a better tune.”
Carden leaned his head back and laughed like a god. His thickly muscled chest heaved as he guffawed, then he shook his long dark locks as the laugh became a chuckle. Lowa’s reply hadn’t been that funny. He was clearly after a shag again. Maybe that was what she needed? She felt a quiver in her groin. Yes, Carden was exactly what she needed.
“Lowa, you do know that women aren’t meant to be witty?” His dark eyes sparkled with mischief underneath the strangely protruding brow that stopped him from being typically handsome, and a spasm shot across his cheek. Even his face was muscular.
“And men are. Topsy-turvy situation we have here.” She raised an eyebrow.
Carden chuckled but less enthusiastically. He wasn’t a massive fan of having his own qualities brought into question, which didn’t, thought Lowa, make him particularly unusual.
“How was your battle?” he asked. “You and your girls opened up very quickly in the face of such stiff opposition.”
She ignored the innuendo. “You’re right to mock, Carden. Six archers attacking a few thousand soldiers is nothing to be impressed by.”
“The Fifty started the rout.”
“Yes. You came in nicely behind my archers.”
“Perhaps you’ll show me exactly how that manoeuvre works later on?”
This time, she smiled.
“Yes, that’s why it’s such a shame—” He stopped mid-sentence and shook his head sadly. The band’s song ended and trumpets blared a high-pitched fanfare. Lowa turned, expecting to see Zadar borne towards them on his golden shield. Instead, she flinched as Carden grabbed her from behind. Strong fingers dug painfully into her arms.
“What the Mother…?”
She watched as men and women near Cordelia, Maura, Seanna and Realin grabbed swords from hiding places under tables and behind screens. A sword lashed out and Seanna went down. The others saw it wasn’t a joke and formed a circle around their fallen comrade, brandishing nothing more than wine horns.
“Carden, what the fuck!?” Carden didn’t answer. She struggled ineffectively. The partygoers were advancing on the archer girls with grim-faced, united purpose.
“Carden! What the fuck is going on?! Let me go! Let me go!” she screamed. No response.
The attackers closed in and swords came down. A severed hand flew high, spraying an arc of blood. One of the Fifty – a man with a large head called Aydun who Lowa had never liked much – stumbled back, blood spurting from his neck. Cordelia Bullbrow hacked her way out of the circle. Somehow she’d got hold of a sword.
Lowa shouted and struggled, but Carden’s grip was iron and her legs were clamped between his knees. She slammed her head back, but it thumped harmlessly on his chest.
“Give it up, Lowa,” he said through gritted teeth. “I’m sorry. We have orders.”
Cordelia turned back on the circle hacking at her friends. Lowa felt hope surge. The big woman sliced a man two-handed across the back. He went down, limbs flapping. Another came at her with an upward sword thrust. Cordelia parried and slashed her blade across his face.
Weylin Nancarrow, Carden’s younger brother, son of Lowa’s friend and weaponsmith Elann Nancarrow, strode up behind Cordelia. He swung his sword and slashed the backs of her knees open. Lowa’s strongest horse archer, the last hope for all of them, collapsed like a sack of mud. Weylin raised his sword matter-of-factly, swung it down, and chopped her head off.
Lowa tried to wrench herself free again and failed. She was still holding her venison bone, a potential weapon, but
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