Chapter 10 — Rope and Steel

The two bandits came forward, ropes swinging like leashes. Their eyes never left Merlin.

"Stop," I said, raising both hands. My voice came steadier than I felt. "He's not yours. Neither am I."

They didn't understand—or pretended not to.

I straightened, shoulders back, stepping in front of Merlin. At one-eighty and a hundred kilos, I loomed taller than they expected. Their steps faltered. One muttered to the other.

"Listen," I tried again, lowering my tone, softer now. "You don't want this fight. Walk away. Find someone else to rob. Nobody has to get hurt."

For a heartbeat, I thought it might work. Their eyes flicked between me, Merlin, and the bowman behind them. Doubt showed.

Then the leader barked a sharp word. The ropes came up.

One lunged. Instinct moved me. I sidestepped, caught his wrist, twisted. His balance went, and I shoved him hard into the stream. Water splashed high, his rope slipping from his grip.

The second snarled and swung wide with his rope like a club. I ducked, lunged low, and drove my shoulder into his chest. He staggered back with a grunt.

I was no fighter. No soldier. But I knew balance, leverage, and how to move my weight. For a moment, it was enough.

…The bowstring creaked.

I froze, one hand still fisted in the bandit's tunic. The leader's arrow was drawn, the point steady at my face.

"Down," he said. No bluster now. Just cold certainty.

Merlin growled, light flickering faintly in his chest, but I pressed a hand to his fur. He was too drained. If he surged again, it might break him.

So I let go, raising my hands. The bandits closed in, ropes ready.

I was outnumbered, unarmed, and far from home. Whatever came next, I couldn't stop it.

— Third day, taken to the bandit camp —