I continue watching the villagers as morning dawns. My little talk with the men was enough to dissuade them from the very bad idea of disobeying Alana. They reluctantly brought all the food to the guardhouse. Bags of grain, crates of pickled vegetables, and several pounds of dried and salted meat. Definitely a large amount of food but I have my doubts it’s enough to feed a village for the whole of winter.

If this was all they could find, then it seems Wenry’s village was telling the truth about not having enough to trade with their neighbors. These things are more complicated than right or wrong, but what little sympathy I feel lies with the little girl and her family. The misfortune of a bad harvest, the pain of having to reject their friends to preserve their own lives, the fear and anger as they were robbed, and now the uncertainty of having to spill blood to survive. The sorry bastards. Winter has barely started and its already given them a thrashing they’ll be recovering from for years.

I avoid the village head’s house, as I still don’t trust my ability to restrain myself around Alana. Instead, I waste some time peeking in on the residents, gauging their moods.

Unsurprisingly, they aren’t happy. By now, the events of yesterday have spread to every ear. The men are quietly worried about the supposed monster accompanying the blonde, which I suppose refers to me, and ashamed having their actions brought to light.

The women are worried for the safety of their families and panicking at the thought of the future should the food be confiscated. A very tense and morose air. If I’d brought the shuba along, it would have had a wonderful meal.

Shortly after the sun reaches its zenith, I spot a man crouched in the treeline near the village. The first of the attackers, scouting enemy territory. Not a very good one, as he takes no notice of me as I creep up on him. Doesn’t realize I’m there until I tap him on the shoulder, jumping and screeching like a monster’s grabbed hold of him.

His fear turns to indignation and confusion a moment after he meets my gaze. “It’s you! What are you doing here? …and why aren’t you wearing pants?”

“Never mind that,” I tell him. “Are the others close?”

He immediately becomes suspicious. “Don’t tell me you’re working for those bastards?” He spits to the side. “Did they buy you off?” His hand flexes as it moves closer to the knife on his hip.

Is he planning to stab me if I give the wrong answer? Perhaps if I were an ordinary noblewoman, the subtle threat would scare me. As I have no concern about his ability to harm me, I can casually observe my would-be attacker. His trembling fingers and hesitant eyes destroy the menacing image he’s trying to portray.

I reach forward to snatch the knife from his belt. Surprisingly, he notices and tries to stop me, his hand ineffectively grabbing my wrist. I wasn’t exactly moving fast but the man has good reflexes. Perhaps their decision to attack their attackers wasn’t just a desperate measure. Might there be some decent fighters mixed in with the farmers and ranchers?

I still manage to take his weapon with ease. With my other hand, I grab him by the scruff of his neck, as if he’s a disobedient pet. Funnily, he freezes the same way an animal might. Perhaps something about my grip tells him how close to death he is. I could snap his neck with the same ease I used to snap twigs with. “Come on. I need to talk with your friends.”

We march through the trees for half an hour, my escort/hostage struggling to keep up with the pace I set. The men from Wenry’s village look worse for wear. At a quick glance, I’d say there wasn’t enough bedrolls to go around and they had a less than satisfying breakfast.

Frowns and scowls abound. If they weren’t completely sold on the idea of attacking their neighbors yesterday, they certainly are now. Their expressions scream of potential violence, ready to be unleashed.

Seeing the two of us doesn’t change that. Wenry’s father shows the slightest hesitation, likely concerned about his daughter who he left in our care, but the leader of their not-so-merry band looks ready to impale me. He stomps up to us and I toss my escort aside. “You! What are you doing here?”

“Where’s my daughter?” Wenry’s father asks. “Did you…don’t tell me you took her to that village?”

“Are you working with those bastards?” the leader of the mob shouts and the hostility I sense is suddenly directed at me.

I turn to the worried father. “Your daughter is in the village—" I frown at the indignant roars that drown out my voice. “But we aren’t working with them. My wife has taken offense at this situation and has decided to intervene. For your sakes, I suggest you follow me quietly and submit yourselves to her judgment willingly.”

“Who do you think you are?” the leader spits. He takes two steps back and raises his spear. “I gave you the option of walking away but you’re practically begging for trouble! Tell us where Wenry is or saints as my witness, I’ll kill you!”

“…put that thing down before you hurt yourself.”

“Don’t think I won’t strike down a woman!”

Shaking my head, I hit the shaft of the spear. There is a loud crack as the thick wood splinters, the iron spearhead disappearing into the nearby brush. The owner of the weapon stares at it in wide-eyed disbelief, slowly bringing the shattered end closer, as if trying to see through a trick.

“Like I said, if you don’t want to be hurt, put down your weapons and follow me,” I say, eying the men who look ready to attack. “If anyone else attacks me, I’ll break you instead of your weapon. You don’t need arms to walk.”

-

Lucky for them, they listened. The leader’s rage cooled after my display and he calmed down the others. It took a lot of screaming for them to call off their assault but he managed to convince them. After all, their plan centered on catching the other village by surprise. They still thought they could take me but since I likely alerted their targets to the impending attack, their assault was doomed to failure even if they silenced me.

As no one was willing to turn back without results, he convinced them they may as well see what outside mediators could do. And so, the anxious mob, looking rather deflated with its violent purpose taken away, follows behind me like a line of baby birds. They follow me into the village, stiffening under the glares of its inhabitants as I guide them to the central building.

As we arrive, Alana steps out, Wenry and Borick trailing her. The father lets out a sharp cry of his daughter’s name, half reprimand, half sigh of relief. In response, she rushes toward him. Cue another emotional reunion. While he is busy trying to determine her safety, she can’t stop trying to tell him about the “lady knight” that had saved her and “beat up the bad guys”.

Saint that she is, Alana gives them a few moments, turning her attention to Borick. “Gather your men. Tell them to bring their weapons. It’s time to settle this.”