Page 15 of Hope Forged
It dropped.
With dagger in hand, she bolted toward it, certain they’d mistaken the clearing for a safe landing spot. And inadvertently delivered themselves to the Sandpits of Baisadha. She scrambled past her traps to peer over a boulder. There, clear as day, was an honest-to-Elorach ship. Her father wouldn’t believe her. Holding her breath, she waited for the box to sink into the sands. If that didn’t kill whoever these intruders were, her traps would.
They’d come for a reason, and since no one had for so long, that only proved their arrival wasn’t a good thing. Assume everything wanted to kill her. Padya had taught her that.
The door opened to a male. The dying sunlight caught the telltale blue of Durn skin. When no one else emerged, she had to assume he was an assassin—because no one traveled alone. He strolled down the ramp and across the sand without incident.
She frowned. How was that poss—
The ship tilted on a whining groan and, with a gurgle, began to submerge.
He didn’t scramble to save it—simply left the clearing.
And stepped into her trap.
The noose tightened around his ankle, and up he went, the sling dangling him upside-down and swinging him wildly.
She laughed, patting her chest in applause. Her usual catches were food. His weight would test her craftmanship, the strength of her knots, and homespun ropes.
He had white hair like her, but he wore black pants, a sleeveless tunic, and chunky boots. Too soon, he drew a weapon…
“Fool,” she rasped.
With one wild swing, his odd-shaped phaser tumbled from his fingers. He tried to stop the pendulum, but each touch of the ground catapulted him into another spin. When he stilled, she waited to make sure he didn’t launch himself again or draw another weapon.
His strange cursing in a deep voice sank into her like Seba’s purring did. A hot sensation settled lower. She frowned at the addictiveness of it.
This change, his arrival, spelled trouble.
She didn’t have a weapon. Padya had the phaser. Wherever he was, he’d need it. For the first time in a while, her hands itched with the urge to hold something, anything; even a club would do. All she had was her fish-skinning dagger. She gazed at the mangled hilt and overly sharpened blade.
“Do not move,” she snapped, tightening her grip on the knife as she approached the trap.
He didn’t listen, twisting to face her and sending the net into another whirl. She hissed, sheathed the dagger, and grabbed the woven rope. It took all her strength to wrestle him to a stop. Her thigh burned from the exertion.
“Do as I say.” She met his gaze and scowled at his lovely long-lashed eyes.
“Set me free,” he drawled. His accent was thick as if he never spoke Durn. How odd for a Durn.
“Why should I?” she asked. “I do not trust you, stranger.”
He glared at her, scattering her heartbeat.
She glowered back, not appreciating what he invoked in her. “You are without a ship now.”
“I see that.” He pinched his lips, and she couldn’t shake the sense that he’d been about to say more.
“Why are you here?” she demanded, stepping away to fold her arms across her chest.
His hair flowed free, unbraided. His garments were of good quality. She resisted the urge to glance at her patched tunic. Fabric of any sort was scarce. She snorted at that. They had yet to find a plant that didn’t make them break out in a rash. Instead, they’d learned how to craft paper—various forms of it.
She sniffed and shuffled back, liking his clean yet spicy scent more than she should. Despite her bath, she probably stank of ceaza and Seba’s blood. At best, she’d smell of the lake.
“I will cut myself out, then,” he threatened, his gaze fixed on her.
Sadness and frustration gritted her teeth, for it had taken her ages to make the net and set the trap. Regardless, slicing through the rope with his dagger would keep him busy for a while.
She circled him, picked up his heavy weapon, and lobbed it into the lake. It sank with a satisfying ‘glop.’ She returned to him and spun him slowly, sliding her hand between the net and parts of him as she searched for another weapon.
