Free Bloodforged by Nathan Long

compliments to the ladies as ye take their purses and pearls, why then, they almost love ye for it. They’ve got a grand story to tell their friends – robbed by a dashing gentleman of the road – and they ain’t so inclined to go to the chasers.’
    Ham grunted. ‘Sounds like a lot o’bother. And what if some coachman unloads with a pair of barkers. Am I supposed t’kiss his hand, then?’
    Nikko shrugged. ‘Y’can kill any number of coachmen and outriders and wardens as ye like. The marks want t’know yer dangerous. Gives ’em a thrill. Y’just can’t kill the quality. Nobody cares if a few peasants gets it – not even t’other peasants – but ye kill a nob and they’ll chase ye from here to Marienburg.’
    A distant rumble brought their heads up, and they looked to the south. Ulrika looked too. A coach flashed past a break in the trees, winding along the road that would pass below the hill.
    ‘Here we go,’ said Ham, lifting a crossbow from a hook on his saddle.
    Nikko jammed his hat down firmly on his head and drew a pistol. ‘Just don’t shoot ’til they show fight this time, aye?’
    Ulrika rose from her crouch. It was now or never. She’d lose her prize once the coach came into range. She stepped from the woods, directly behind them, unarmed. ‘Stand and deliver, gentlemen.’
    The highwaymen almost jumped out of their saddles. They spun to stare at her as she strode between their horses.
    ‘Who in Ranald’s name are you?’ asked Ham.
    ‘Get away,’ snarled Nikko. ‘Yer spoilin’ our game.’
    ‘You,’ said Ulrika, ‘are my game.’
    With a lightning hand she caught Ham’s arm and jerked him from his horse to slam on the ground. Nikko cried out and swung his pistol at her. She ducked and twisted it from his hand, then cracked him on the temple with it. He slumped to the ground beside his companion as their horses danced nervously aside, eyes rolling.
    Ham was on his knees, drawing his dagger from his belt. ‘Ye mannish bitch,’ he snarled. ‘I’ll have yer liver for this!’
    Ulrika kicked the dagger from his hand and hauled him up by the front of his leather jerkin, though he was nearly double her weight. He tried to throw a fist, but she caught it.
    ‘Leave off!’ he shouted, struggling. ‘Leave–’
    His words died as she opened her mouth and let out her fangs.
    ‘Sigmar protect me,’ he whimpered.
    ‘You, murderer?’ said Ulrika, raising an eyebrow. ‘I doubt he cares.’
    She sank her teeth into his neck and drank, closing her eyes as the soothing warmth of his blood filled her and his struggles quietened.
    She fed with perfect control. Taking only enough to give her strength, but not so much as to bloat her or make her drunk with it. And when she was done, she killed with perfect control. A quick twist to snap his spine, and Ham sagged to the ground, limbs asprawl, a beatific expression on his ugly face.
    She turned to Nikko, who stared groggily at her from where he had fallen.
    ‘Mercy,’ he whispered, crabbing backwards. ‘Mercy! I won’t tell a soul.’
    Ulrika hesitated, considering. Nikko was no brute like Ham. He was handsome for his years, and had a friendly way about him. She could give him mercy if she wished. She would be far away by morning, once she had stolen his horse and ridden north. Even if he told, they would never catch her. But then she thought of his callous words, how he was willing to kill any number of coachmen and outriders because peasants didn’t matter. She snarled. A dashing feather could hide a vile heart.
    ‘Aye,’ she said, drawing her rapier. ‘You won’t.’
    He screamed and tried to run, but her blade lashed out and decapitated him before he gained his feet. His head bounced free of his hat and began to roll slowly down the hill, just as the coach thundered by.
    Ulrika watched it out of sight, then knelt and searched the highwaymen, taking from them what coin and gear she could use, and stuffing it all in a sturdy pack she