Tags:
General,
Fantasy fiction,
Fantasy,
Action & Adventure,
Juvenile Fiction,
Action & Adventure - General,
Fantasy & Magic,
Children's Books - Young Adult Fiction,
Science Fiction; Fantasy; & Magic,
Children: Young Adult (Gr. 10-12),
Love & Romance
someone in the shadows, and before Finnikin could reach her, she was flung to the ground. Her assailant looked no more than fourteen or fifteen. Finnikin pulled Trevanion's sword from its scabbard in an attempt to scare the boy rather than wound him.
Suddenly he felt the cold sharp tip of steel pressed against his neck. He felt little fear. From the moment he was born, Trevanion had taught him to fight, a skill Sir Topher made sure he continued to develop as they traveled from kingdom to kingdom. But when he turned, he could see four of them. Sensing that Evanjalin was no threat, the thieves had made Finnikin their target.
"Drop it!"
Not likely, he thought. He looked to where Evanjalin lay. When she raised herself onto her hands and knees, the youth shoved her and she fell again, whimpering. The young thief hammered her across the temple while holding her to the ground. Then he straddled her and began to search through the folds of her clothing, as if looking for something else of worth. This was why Sir Topher preferred they travel alone. No one to fear for. No one to protect. The girl would be their weak point until they left her in Sorel.
"Drop it!" The order came again.
Without taking his eyes off the novice, Finnikin reluctantly placed his sword on the ground and kicked it across the cobblestones. It stopped a few meters short of the girl's feet, and he felt
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impotent rage as he watched the boy continue to fumble under her shift.
"Pockets first!"
"We have nothing...."
The sword at his neck moved to his cheek. He felt it pierce his skin, and a trickle of blood make its way down his face. But he tried to keep his eyes on what was taking place with Evanjalin and saw the boy leap up and disappear into the night.
Evanjalin screamed the moment she saw his bloody face. Finnikin knew the odds were against them. Four men, all armed; his sword out of reach at the feet of a hysterical girl; and three knives tucked securely away. One on his sleeve, one in his boot, the other on his back.
"Tell the girl to stop the screaming!"
Finnikin willed her to stop. He needed to think. Quickly. Sword at her feet. Three knives on his person. Four men with weapons of their own.
"Stop her screaming, boy, or it's her throat first."
"Evanjalin!" he called out. "Stop!"
But the novice was too far gone, and her screams turned into piercing wails.
Think, Finnikin, think. Knife to the throat of the one closest to him. Other knife hurled at the man who was now standing guard at the entrance of the alleyway. Grab the sword of the one closest to him and plunge it into the third man, but that left one more and he knew that he would be dead before the second knife left his hands.
His head rang with her screams. No words, just sounds. Earsplitting.
"Evanjalin!" he called out again. And then he saw the man on watch advancing toward her.
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"No!" he yelled, trying to push past the three men surrounding him. "She's simple. She doesn't understand."
He succeeded in shaking free, but he knew it would not be for long. And yet that was all it took. One moment the novice was screaming, and in the next, the moon bathed her face with light and he caught a look in her eye that spoke little of fear and more of rage. Before he knew it, Finnikin's sword was kicked toward him as she grabbed the man's sword at his hip and plunged it into his thigh.
Finnikin was stunned, but the sight of Evanjalin fighting one of the thieves was all he needed to act. One man down. Then two. The daggers silent and deadly accurate. The third he fought with Trevanion's sword, a weapon too quick for a bunch of useless thieves. From the sound made by the singing swords behind him, it was clear that Evanjalin knew how to handle a weapon. Still, when Finnikin's third man went down, he swung around to deal with her assailant, only to find himself face-to-face with her. Eyes blazing, sword held upright in both hands. Steady. Waiting to swing. At her feet the man was writhing in