A Dance of Dragons: Series Starter Bundle (13 page)

A deep yell interrupted her focus, and Jinji
stood swiftly, swinging the knife into the throat of the man
reaching for the weapons at her feet. Blooded spurted out, raining
on her like a wave as he crashed to the ground.

Before it was too late, Jinji gripped
another knife from the pile, this one smaller and more like the
ones she was used to.

Another man turned from the darkness,
looking straight at her, and she acted out of reflex.

The blade landed with a thud against his
forehead, sinking until only the hilt remained. All life left his
face before he fell, knees first, to the ground.

The last two men spun, taking Jinji in with
surprise. She was small, she knew, but that didn’t mean she wasn't
threatening. And two of their companions were already down.

They stepped apart, circling her, coming
closer at two different angles, and her heart sank.

These men were trained—intelligence
reflected in their eyes, their movements. She had never been in a
real fight before, not one against people. Animals were different;
they tried to run. But these men had turned in challenge.

She brought the curved knife up in front of
her face, flicking her gaze from side to side, never taking either
man out of sight.

They were creeping in.

The man who had saved her before was
wriggling his body, trying to get free of his bindings, was yelling
out to her, but she couldn't hear his words.

Jinji's own breath filled her ears, loud and
ragged. Her heart hammered with the decision to move left or right.
Which man would she face and which would she turn her back on? She
had to choose soon before they were both on her, unchallenged.

One.

She flicked to the smaller man, coming in
from the right.

Two.

Her attention shifted to the larger man on
the left, his eyes more unfocused, and his footing a little more
unsure.

Three.

Jinji jumped and feigned right before moving
all of her weight to the left. The man was slow, but his bicep rose
just in time to block her blow with his forearm. The knife dug deep
into the leather strapped to his skin, and though blood seeped
through, it was not enough.

She pulled, but the curved side of the knife
had dug too deeply and Jinji could not get it free.

The man reached with his uninjured arm,
wrapping long fingers around her throat. He was too big. She kicked
as his grip tightened. Her breath wouldn't come. His fingers
squeezed, lifting her onto her toes as she tried to fight.

Did I survive just to die like this?
Could life really be so cruel—to give a glimmer of hope and then
take it so swiftly?

Over her shoulder, the other man grabbed a
weapon and raised it high over his head.

She tugged at the hand trapping her, but it
did not budge.

The other man readied his aim, preparing to
lunge the metal straight through her back.

Jinji closed her eyes, prepping for the
blow, her family's faces flashing in the darkness. A new sense of
failure and loss penetrated her heart.

But the pain never came.

Instead, pounding hooves broke into the
clearing and the crunch of shattering bones sounded in Jinji's
ears.

The grip on her throat tightened.

She opened her eyes, looking over her
shoulder at the broken body under the horse's feet. The man's skull
had caved in—his insides oozed out onto the grass.

She looked forward into the fearful eyes of
her captor, and knew what to do.

His muscles held her, so Jinji jumped, using
his arm as an anchor, and kicked both of her feet against his
chest.

A second later, she landed on the ground,
banging her already sore head against the dirt.

The man stumbled back, and the body of the
horse soared into Jinji's view, ramming into his chest.

The man fell, coughing up blood.

Jinji reached for the knife that the other
captor had dropped and stood.

He was already dying, she could see. The
strength had left his limbs, the knowledge of his own mortality
seeped into his features.

She arched back, brought the knife deep down
into his chest, and twisted until the body stilled.

Jinji dropped the weapon and stumbled back,
shuffling her feet closer to the stools by the fire until her body
fell heavily on top of one.

Her hands were red, wet.

She wiped them on the ground, trying to
fight the sudden awareness shocking her senses.

She had killed people. Killed them like they
were food. No, like less than food. Animals at least served a
purpose; they were not wasted. Their bodies fed the tribe, their
skins clothed the tribe, their bones made weapons, and whatever
remained was given back to the earth, to other animals that might
use it.

But these men, these four bodies were like a
weight on the world. Useless and heavy.

And why had she killed them?

Jinji's eyes moved across the dirt, over the
fire, and into the wary expression of the only other living person
around.

For him.

For a guide.

For answers.

The horse had moved closer, nudging its head
against the man's thick shoulder. He whispered something into the
animal's ear and it stood, backing a foot away as though standing
guard.

He turned, looking through the flames and
right at Jinji.

When their eyes met, the spirits jumped into
Jinji's vision, reaching out to her in a way they rarely did,
making their presence known even in the darkness. And she winced at
the brightness.

Fire.

All she saw were strands of fire, swirling
and circling his body, spirits alive and constantly weaving new
forms around his torso.

It was dizzying.

The bright red threads muted all of the
other spirits, almost like he himself was a walking flame. She had
never seen the spirits cling to a living being like this—they lived
in the earth, in the soil and the leaves and the air and the
streams, not in people.

Jinji blinked and the spirits
disappeared.

The clearing was just a clearing, the fire
just a fire, the trees just the trees. But the man was not just a
man, not anymore.

The spirits were guiding Jinji's path
now—they had enshrouded her in the image of her brother, they had
brought her to this man, they had circled him in fire. They were
the only things left in the world that Jinji trusted, and they were
telling her to trust him.

She didn’t.

Not yet.

But still, Jinji stood and grabbed the
knife, cutting his bindings free.

4

Rhen

~ Northmore Forest ~

For a third time that day, Rhen thought he was going
to die.

The first, perhaps obviously, was when he
had been knocked unconscious.
Always check behind you
—the
lesson had been drilled into him since infancy, and still he had
forgotten in his excitement.
Idiot
, he cursed as the
pounding in his skull continued—the pain a constant reminder of his
stupidity.

But then he woke, bound and bruised, yet
somehow alive. And he cursed his awareness, because he knew his
entire family and kingdom were at risk, yet there he was, powerless
to stop it.

The second time was when the boy had been
seized by the neck, his weightless body dangling from the ground as
the two remaining Ourthuri tried their best to kill him. And Rhen,
trained as a knight by the best Whylkin had to offer, could do
nothing but watch and wait for his turn on the sword.

But then Ember, beautiful horse that she
was, swooped in to save them both with the most perfect
head-bashing stomp Rhen had ever seen.

And the third was now as the boy knelt,
staring at the blood on his hands with emptiness in his eyes. He
was young and the Arpapajo were a peaceful people—those four men
were most likely the only he had ever killed. And sometimes, that
feeling could swallow a man, could make him lose his sanity, could
make him lash out at the nearest living being…which just happened
to be Rhen, still bound like a babe on the ground.

He sighed, wriggling his wrists one more
time.

If his brothers saw him now, Rhen shook his
head—he didn’t even want to imagine the endless banter, the
ceaseless taunts.

Ember knelt, nudging Rhen's shoulder with
her forehead as if to ask, "What is taking you so long?"

"Well fought, girl," he whispered, returning
her nudge with one of his own. Pleased, Ember neighed softly and
stood alert at his side.

When he turned, the boy was staring at him.
As their eyes met through the flames, the boy winced, jerking back
ever so slightly, but not breaking contact. And then those dark
brown eyes, flecked with gold, illuminated by the fire, jumped
wildly around Rhen's figure, circling him.

Rhen watched, unmoving, not wanting to break
the trance. What did the boy see? What had him so wide-eyed? So
intrigued?

For a moment, Rhen's eyes flashed to the
fire. But it was at least a foot away, and he had not touched it,
despite the pull he felt in his bones.
No
, he mentally shook
his head. There was no way the boy could know about that. It was
his own paranoia sneaking up on him.

Movement caught his attention. Rhen pulled
his gaze from the flames back to the boy, who had stood. His
features had hardened, resolute. He gripped the knife, stepping
closer to Rhen, who leaned into the log at his back. Did he need to
sic Ember on the boy? Or was he being freed?

Sad, really, that he couldn't tell, but the
boy was iron, hard to crack. Either that, or Rhen had simply lost
his touch—a very poor spymaster in the making.

No
, Rhen sat up and shifted his feet.
He had saved the boy, and the boy had saved him. There was trust
there, thin maybe, but existent.

And a second later, the binds around his
ankles had been slashed. Leaning forward, Rhen moved to give the
boy access to the ropes tying his wrists behind his back.

Free at last.

Rhen sighed, rolling sore bones, and stood
to stretch his muscles.

"Thank you," he said, sounding loud against
the quiet night.

Silence answered him.

Rhen spun to find the boy sitting back down,
his gaze fastened on the hilt protruding from one Ourthuri's skull.
It had been a nice hit, something to be proud of.

"Did you know these men?" Rhen asked. "Were
they the ones who destroyed your village?"

The boy twisted, looking into the dark
forest and away from him, but Rhen continued, urged on by the lack
of a response.

"Did they fight you? Surprise you? Is there
anyone else alive? People who were away, who might have run from
the fire? People who fought? Anyone we need to find?"

"Please," the boy said, his voice ragged and
scratchy, still high pitched due to his youth, "no more."

Rhen sat still. His mouth had run away
again. The urgency to save his own family, to gather as much
information as possible, to fill this painful silence—it had stolen
his common decency.

It was a boy. Only a boy. And his silence
assured Rhen that he was definitely alone in the world.

"I'm Rhen, from the Kingdom of Whylkin. Do
you have a name?" He reached out, touching a bony shoulder, but the
child flinched away. Rhen pulled his hand back and settled it on
his own lap.

He waited, very much against his instincts,
until the boy glanced one wet, lost, crinkled brown eye over his
shoulder.

"Ji—" he started and then paused. "I am
called Jin."

"Jin," Rhen said, stumbling over the strange
word before nodding. "Well, Jin, it seems we're stuck together,
unless you have some place better to be?" He raised an eyebrow in
question, hoping to lighten the mood even the slightest bit.

"No," Jin said, turning his body to reflect
his word, placing himself very much in the camp with Rhen.

"Do you know why these men were here?"

Jin shook his head.

"Would you like to hear my theory?"

Jin nodded, still too wary for words.

"Do you know the histories? Did anyone ever
teach them to you?"

"I know some," Jin said, his voice meek and
quiet. "The newworlder who visited told us stories."

The newworlder who visited?
Rhen
thought, confused. And then he remembered. The emissary sent on
behalf of the crown. Once a year he visited the tribe to ensure
they were obeying the laws created by Whyl the Conqueror ages ago,
the rules that forced the Arpapajo to give up their own language
and customs to conform to those of the land.

A nauseous feeling stirred in Rhen's
stomach.

The Arpapajo or oldworlders, as some called
them, were a fantasy, a people he learned about but never saw,
never interacted with. They never entered his mind once the lesson
was over.