Free Fortune and Fate (Twelve Houses) by Sharon Shinn Page A

down, to scare him, to make him lurch backward and stare down at the blooming red on his filthy shirt.
     
     
    The first man was on his feet and charging toward her, more lethal than his friend, but still not much of a challenge. A few quick parries, two hard thrusts, and he was yelping with pain and cradling his useless right arm against his chest. The man on the ground never stirred.
     
     
    “I’ll kill you all,” Wen said in a cold, calm voice, “if that’s what you want.”
     
     
    The big man stepped forward, stepped back, looked uncertainly at his companion. But this one—a scar-faced fellow with a mean expression—grasped his sword in his left hand and dove for her again. Fury made him sloppier but more dangerous, and Wen backed up a little to keep out of his way. She heard rustling noises behind her and realized that the girl was scrambling out of her path. No broken leg after all, Wen thought, though she had little attention to spare for the young plotters.
     
     
    The evil-looking man suddenly made a lunge for her. Wen practically rammed her sword against his in a hard parry before driving the tip of her own blade deep into his heart. Surprise loosened his sneering scowl and he made a strange whimpering sound as he collapsed to his knees. Wen wrenched her weapon free and spun around to face the last remaining attacker.
     
     
    But the big man was staring at her and backing away, waving both hands in front of him as if to head her off. “No, no, no,” he said. “Stay away from me.” And he turned clumsily and went crashing through the bushes, making as much noise as a troop of men. She could still hear him even after she lost sight of him, and then there was the sound of hoofbeats pounding into the dusk. They had horses, then, she thought. Those will come in handy.
     
     
    Best to make sure the ones she thought were taken care of were really dead. She strode between the bodies, but neither one had a pulse. Her mouth tightened as she wiped her hands clean.
     
     
    Three fights in the past week. Even by her standards, that was excessive. And this one she hadn’t asked for, though she’d been careless. She’d suspected a trap, but she’d still walked right into it.
     
     
    She spun around to locate the children, half-expecting them to have fled during the melee. But no, there they were, huddled together in the shadow of one of those small trees, looking worried and frightened. The girl, now standing on her obviously uninjured leg, was almost exactly Wen’s height and just as dirty as her brother.
     
     
    Wen strode the few steps over to them and glared, hands on her hips. “Now,” she said in a stern voice. “You just tell me about your part in this little drama. Two men dead because of you. Any reason I shouldn’t kill you as well?”
     
     
    They had no way of knowing that was an idle threat, but the boy, at least, looked unimpressed. “It’s good that they’re dead—both of them!” he blazed, shaking himself free from his sister’s arm. “Howard beat us and Ricky was a terrible man! I would have killed him myself, but Ginny wouldn’t let me.”
     
     
    The chances of the little scamp killing anyone were absolutely zero, but Wen narrowed her eyes. Had they been accompanying the older men by choice or coercion? “Why were you traveling with them, then?” she asked, keeping her voice stern. “And helping them scam poor travelers? Don’t you think they could have killed me ?”
     
     
    “They would have,” Ginny said calmly. She pushed her auburn hair back out of her face and tried to look mature. It was the way she summoned an expression of dignity that got to Wen. Such an old look on such a young face. “We’ve seen them kill others. We told them we wouldn’t help them, but then they—they—” She fell silent and pressed her lips together.
     
     
    “They hurt Ginny,” the boy said fiercely.
     
     
    Wen didn’t even want to know what all the “hurting” had