Free Dangerous Talents by Frankie Robertson

pounding of her heart, she heard metal ring in a quick slide across stone, and a sharp Crack ! of splitting wood. Grunts of painful effort joined thudding footfalls, adding to the din as the second group of Dahleven’s men joined the fray.
    The gut-wrenching cries of pain made her skin feel too tight. She’d heard terrible things over the phone lines as an emergency response operator. She’d listened to people in pain and danger, even people dying, but nothing compared to this. Men screamed and fought only two feet from where she stood, wedged between two rocks.
    With a shout of effort, Sorn pushed his opponent back to the left and out of her field of view. Then, from the right, a brown-skinned warrior with a bladed club rushed at him. Sorn couldn’t see his danger.
    “No!” Cele’ reacted without thought, surging from between the rocks. The warrior was side-on to her, his club raised and ready to come down on Sorn’s head, when her snap-kick connected with his knee.
    The enemy warrior shrieked and collapsed on the sand. Sorn turned at her shout, but he didn’t thank her for saving his life. His eyes widened and he pushed her back toward the rocks as he faced another foe coming close behind the first. The new opponent didn’t have time to check his momentum in the soft sand. He seemed to fold almost gracefully over Sorn’s blade. Sorn shifted his weight, trying to turn back to the bloody enemy he’d left behind him. But the deep sand betrayed Sorn, shifting beneath his feet. The warrior’s bladed club caught him full in the belly.
    “No!” Cele swept up Sorn’s fallen sword with both hands and lunged at Sorn’s attacker. The blade was horrendously heavy, but her horror and anger gave her strength. He looked surprised when the steel sliced the side of his neck, but he dodged backward, knocking the sword out of her hands with his club.
    She was going to die.
    Then Fender was there and his blade was between the warrior’s ribs.
    The fight ended abruptly. One moment the clangor of battle surrounded her, a moment later all she heard was the pounding of her heart in her ears. She fell to her knees beside Sorn.
    An instant of silence was broken by Dahleven’s voice. “Halsten, find out what happened to Falsom. Knut, up on the banks. Keep your eyes sharp. Fender, see to Lady Celia.”
    Despite the warning, Cele jumped when a hand touched her arm and pulled her to her feet. Fendrikanin grasped her tightly by the shoulders, turned her this way and that, looking her over.
    “She’s unharmed,” he said over his shoulder.
    Cele pulled away from his grasp, intent on getting to Sorn’s crumpled form, and Fender let her go. She took a step, then her vision narrowed. Black dots danced in her eyes. The young warrior caught her as she started to topple. He pulled her aside to sit on an outcropping.
    Too much adrenaline , a fuzzy part of her mind observed. She put her head between her knees and closed her eyes. That made it worse, giving her the sensation that the rock was turning beneath her. Cele opened her eyes again and stared at the sand between her feet, the sounds of death echoing in her mind.
    Her head cleared enough to let her sit up, but her stomach churned. Cele clamped her jaw tightly, taking shallow breaths, refusing to throw up. She hated feeling weak.
    Cele’s awareness of her surroundings returned slowly at first as she noticed the small, immediate things. The rock she sat on was warm. There was a fine grit in the hollow where her hand rested. The edge of the rock was sharp.
    Abruptly, the rest of the world snapped into focus with awful clarity. Lindimer was binding Kepliner’s arm. Knut stood above the wash, tense and alert. Five men with dusky skin and black hair lay dead, face down in the sand.
    The dead men were dressed in leather leggings and sleeveless shirts, details she hadn’t noticed during the frenzy of danger. Their limbs sprawled at odd angles. Blood soaked the sand beneath the nearer one.