Warrior:. Zoe Archer
enough of that,” Lamb cut in, speaking in English. He was irritated and impatient, his polish beginning to rub away, revealing greed, ambition, and something uglier, something cruel and brutal, beneath. “I’m tired of niceties. I’ll let my men get the answer out of you.” He gestured toward the Mongols, waving them forward. His men leered at her, concerns about their way of life forgotten in exchange for a chance to assault her, and began to advance. Thalia knew she couldn’t get to her rifle in time, so she went for the knife at her waist just as one of the Mongols reached out to grab her.
He never touched her. There was a loud crack, and the man fell to the ground, blood seeping from a hole in the middle of his chest. He was dead within seconds. Everyone, including Thalia, whirled around, looking for the source of the gunfire. She and Batu immediately drew their weapons from the scabbards on their saddles and crouched low, having no time to register shock.
Lamb ran for the shelter of his horses. A bullet whined, and a small patch of ground exploded near his feet as he sprinted. Edgeworth began firing wildly at the top of the valley as he, too, headed toward the cluster of agitated horses. The large Mongol unshouldered his Russian rifle as he squatted behind some brush. When another gunshot pierced the air, grazing the Mongol’s cheek, the man merely dabbed at the line of blood on his face and shouted at the remaining Mongol thug. The big Mongol pointed at the rise of the hills to the east, and ordered his compatriot to ride up there and take out the marksman while he provided cover fire.
The man looked dubious at first, but the large Mongol shouted that he would tear his insides out and feed them to the hawks, and looked as though he meant every bloodthirsty word. So the man leapt into the saddle to obey. The giant Mongol began firing at the crest of the hill as the other rode closer to whomever was shooting from the valley’s rim. It wasn’t a deep valley, and the rider would reach the crest within a moment. The marksman, whoever he was, could not defend himself against the rider and the huge Mongol’s fire at the same time, and then Thalia and Batu would be on their own.
Another shot rang out, and the rider was pitched from his horse. He groaned, clutching his chest, and went still. The animal reared in fright and sped away, leaving behind the body of its rider. The large Mongol turned toward Thalia with a snarl as she swung the barrel of her rifle away from the dead rider and toward the Mongol’s head.
“My accuracy is even better at this distance,” she said to him as more shots rang out from the top of the valley.
With a vicious sneer, he began to unfold from his crouch, heading toward her.
“Tsend!” Lamb shouted at the big Mongol. He and Edgeworth were struggling to keep the horses under control, the animals snorting and shoving each other as they tried to break free and run away. “We’ll get her later!”
The Mongol, Tsend, looked torn. He clearly wanted to smash the butt of his rifle into her face, and maybe do worse, but another shot from the sniper just missed Tsend’s head. The lure of coin and threat of bullets from the hidden marksman both won out, and the Mongol ran for his own mount. The two Englishmen and their Mongol brawn rode furiously away, bent low over the saddles and casting fearful, angry glances over their shoulders. Batu tried to fire at them, but his muzzleloader was too old and slow to be very accurate when he was hurried. It did not seem to matter as the Heirs disappeared over the ridge, the sounds of their horses’ hooves echoing in retreat.
As soon as they vanished, Thalia leapt to her feet but kept her rifle close. She shielded her eyes from the sun as a figure of a man appeared at the top of the valley, the light behind him turning him into a golden-ringed titan.
“Nice shot,” he said with a familiar gruff voice as he made his way quickly down the side of the hill. “But I could’ve taken him with my revolver had he made it over the ridge.”
Thalia lowered her rifle and tried not to sigh with relief.
“You are an extremely stubborn man, Captain,” she said.
He came down into the valley with long-legged strides, forming from a shape of light into a very real man. A man who was almost smiling as he approached her and she almost smiled back.
“In your case,” he answered, “that’s a very good thing.”
She wanted to say something clever and stoic, something a battle-hardened veteran might pronounce while calmly lighting a celebratory cheroot, but that was precisely the moment her mind and body both realized that she had just shot a man. Killed him. Not an animal, but a human. Her legs gave out from under her as her vision dimmed. She was a murderer. Nausea clutched her stomach.
But then she felt something warm and solid beside her, around her, as she was lowered gently to the ground. “All right. Everything’s right, lovely,” the captain murmured, his arms cradling her as he eased her onto the grass. She let him hold her as she tried to find some air but couldn’t find enough anywhere in the world to fill her lungs, let alone take a simple breath. The world retreated. She felt the rifle slip from her fingers, and it was only the quick reflexes of Batu that kept it from clattering to the ground.
“Now, just be calm, lass,” the captain said, quiet and steady. “Have a look at me and be calm.” With one large, callused hand cupped around her head, he turned her to face him. His hat was off, and, through the mists that gathered inside her head, she could see him, as close as he had been the other day, no, closer. She could see the hard planes of his face that seemed, at that moment, just a little softer, the bump on the bridge of his nose that revealed at least one break, the contrast with his beautifully formed mouth, and the small lines that fanned out from the corners of his amber eyes. His eyes, she realized, were not nearly as cold as she had first thought them, but full of living energy, almost animalistic in its intensity. It was that immediate connection to life that started to bring her back from wherever she had been drifting.
“Tell me something,” the captain said.
Thalia tried to make her mind focus. “What?”
“Tell me about your first pet,” he said. “You had one, I’d wager. A cat, perhaps.”
“No…,” Thalia murmured. “It was…a dog.”
Her brain kept trying to bring her back to the dead man on the hill, but Captain Huntley wouldn’t allow it as his voice interrupted her thoughts.
“A dog then. Was he small? A little lap dog?”
Thalia heard herself laugh. “No, God, no. Thief was huge. Paws the size of wagon wheels.” Her thoughts shifted away from death and toward the animal that had been her constant companion for years. “He was…some kind of mastiff. No one knew what he was, maybe part bear. The least subtle dog you ever met. Bashed into everything. Could knock you over with just a wag of his tail.” She laughed again, remembering.
“That’s why he was called Thief,” the captain deduced.
She smiled at him. “Yes. Exactly.” She finally drew in a breath. Her vision cleared. And she became aware that the captain was practically cradling her against the hard breadth of his chest while her hands had managed to grip his jacket, holding him as tightly as one might hold a vow. She pried her fingers loose and tried to move away from him, but, given the strength of his arms, it was no simple task.
“I’m perfectly well,” she said, and hated the slight tremor in her voice.
“You are, at that,” the captain answered easily, “but you’ve also killed someone, which you don’t have much experience with. Give yourself some time.”
“Do you?” She was breathing better now. And she was loathe to believe it was because of him, his reassuring presence, but she had a bad feeling that that was the very reason.
“Do I what?”
“Have much experience killing people?”
“I didn’t become a captain by knitting socks,” he said, and Thalia had no answer to that. He loosened his hold on her, taking her by her shoulders. “Come on, let’s try and get you on your feet.”
“I