"Weapons out!"
That was Gwen’s cue. As Sigurd started to stand up, she swept her staff into his ankles, dumping him onto the ground. A quick jab to the side of his head knocked him unconscious. Then, Gwen rolled onto her hands and knees and hopped to her feet, still holding the staff. She slung her pack over her shoulder.
“I bet she was awake the whole time!” Nasal said. He was tall and lean, with a small but crooked nose that had clearly been broken more than once. He held a thick club in both hands.
“Oh, you think?” Sharp asked, rolling her eyes. She was also tall, though a bit shorter than Nasal, with long brown hair braided down her back. She wielded a long, straight dagger.
“Please don’t make me hurt you,” Gwen said. “I don’t have much, but if you try to take it from me, you’ll end up like Sigurd. Or worse.” She’d never fought more than one person before, but with her new staff, she could probably do enough damage to make them run away. She didn’t want to kill anyone, even bandits.
“There’s two of us,” Nasal said with a chuckle, “and we both got weapons. That’s two people and two weapons against one person and one weapon. Sides, you might have some muscles, but you’re small. And young. And--”
“Shush, Bart,” Sharp snapped. Her gaze bounced from Bart, to Gwen, to Sigurd’s still-senseless body, back to Gwen. “Look. You could probably rough us up a bit. Give us a few bruises with that staff of yours. But this dagger?” She held it up so the blade caught the light. “I got this off a sellsword. This is good iron. It’ll slip right between your ribs and make you scream in pain. Your clothes will stain with blood.” She stepped forward. “Now, that doesn’t have to happen. You can give us your things and we can go our separate ways. Other than Sigurd’s headache, nobody will get hurt.”
It was a good speech. Very threatening. It would have worked on last month’s Gwen. She would have hated it, but it would have worked. Now that she was a Torchbearer, though, she had just enough confidence to fake a wealth of it.
“What’s your name?” she asked Sharp.
The woman’s eyebrows twitched with surprise. Her victims probably never asked her that. “Sherley.”
“I’m Gwendoline. I’m sorry, Sherley, but that isn’t how this will play out. I’m not giving you my things. That much is set in stone. Now, this staff has an iron core. I know that makes you want to take it even more, but that’s not a good idea.
“Two things will happen if you and Bart try to take my belongings. First, they’re all I own, so I’ll fight you harder than I’ve fought anyone before. Bruises will be the least of your worries. This staff is heavy enough to break bones. I had to have it specially made after I shattered a normal one.” Gwen took a firm step forward. If Sherley thought posturing worked on others, maybe it would work on her. “How will you steal from unsuspecting travelers with a broken arm? Or worse, a broken leg?”
Sherley’s eyes narrowed. “And the other thing?”
“Oh.” Gwen gave the bandit her best smirk. “The other thing. Well, the other thing is that once I break some bones and knock you unconscious, I’m going to break Bart’s club, steal your dagger, and empty your pockets of any loose coin or trinkets you have. So you can either walk away and be no worse off than right now, or you can fight and lose everything.”
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“Wow,” Sherley said. “I thought I was good at speeches, but that was something else. Hey, Bart, we ever rob anyone who gave that good of a speech?”
“Maybe that priest a few weeks back up north,” Bart said. “But he was whining bout justice and the will of the Beohur. It got boring. Your speech wasn’t boring.”
“Well, thanks,” Gwen said drily. It didn’t seem like they had any plans to back down.
“If I’m being honest, which I don’t do much,” Sherley said, “it probably would have worked. The only problem is, it’s been a few days since we had a full meal, and I’m thinking between your staff and what you got in that pack, we could eat just fine for at least half a week. So I reckon we’re just as desperate as you, if not more so. You still want to risk a fight?”
“Only if you do,” Gwen said, tightening her grip on her staff. “You’ll be even more desperate once it’s over, though.”
“Sigurd!” Sherley called.
Thick arms wrapped around Gwen’s ankles, dragging her to the ground. Then Sigurd was on top of her, hammering at her with wide, meaty fists. Gwen was able to wedge her staff between herself and him, though, and with a twist of the weapon and a buck of her hips, Sigurd went tumbling off of her.
Gwen tried to pull her legs under her, but Sherley and Bart had used the time to close in. Gwen was forced to roll away from kicks and club strikes in an attempt to get enough distance to stand. Somehow she managed to keep her grip on her staff.
The next time Bart swung his club, Gwen rolled toward him instead of away. The blow glanced off her upper arm, making it throb, but now she was close enough to stab the butt of her staff into his foot. She was rewarded with a loud howl and the feel of bone giving way.
Holding his broken foot, Bart hopped backward. Sherley caught him by the shoulders to keep him from falling over.
Gwen took advantage of the opening by scrambling to her feet. She took up her stance just as Sigurd, having also gotten to his feet, charged her. His arms reached forward, threatening to wrap her in a bear hug and crush her ribs.
Unfortunately for Sigurd, running straight at someone with a weapon wasn’t the smartest idea. Gwen feinted at his gut, and when Sigurd lowered his arms to stop her staff, she flicked it around them in an arc. Her weapon reverberated with a satisfying crack as it hit Sigurd’s temple. For the second time, the man dropped from a blow to the side of the head. This time, Gwen had hit him hard enough that he would stay down.
Sherley and Bart approached Gwen cautiously, the latter wincing with each step on his broken foot. Gwen cursed her inexperience with multiple opponents. If she were only fighting Bart, she’d attack him until he lost his balance and fell over. Doing that now, however, was a great way to get stabbed in the back or side by Sherley, so Gwen needed a less direct strategy.
That strategy came on its own when, to Gwen’s surprise, Sherley charged her. The bandit’s wild dagger swings made it difficult for Gwen to find an opening to attack, especially while worrying about Bart, who was edging around behind her. Still, the uncontrolled nature of Sherley’s offense made it easy for Gwen to avoid them by circling to the woman’s left side, which limited the areas she could reach with the dagger. All Gwen had to do now was wait for one wide or mistimed swing, and...
“I got it!” Bart said. “I got the pack!”
Gwen felt the blood leave her face. In the chaos of the fight, she hadn’t noticed her pack fall off while she rolled, but there it was slung over Bart’s shoulder. Her food, her coin, her spare set of clothes...everything she owned was in there except for her staff.
“Good, let’s go!” Sherley called. She backed up, knife held in front of her to keep Gwen at bay.
Rage flashed inside Gwen. She wasn’t losing to bandits again. With a shriek, she charged Bart, but Sherley stretched out a leg and caught Gwen’s ankle, sending her crumpling to the ground. Gwen rolled over, swiping her staff at the woman, but she hit nothing but air. The three bandits were already running away. Well, limping in Bart’s case, and shuffling for the still disoriented Sigurd. Still, by the time Gwen picked herself up, they were lost in the trees.
Gwen dropped to her knees and screamed until her lungs ached and her throat stung. Then she crawled to the rock she’d slept on earlier, lay with her back against its cold, unmoving surface, and sobbed.