The Ranger of Marzanna (The Goddess War #1) - Jon Skovron Page 0,15
crannies, had to do with the shape of the narrow valley, which focused the wind at a downward angle. During a storm like this, it kicked up so much snow that travelers were forced to make their way through the pass nearly blind.
Although, thought Sonya as she nudged Peppercorn into the swirling mass of white, they certainly reveal their presence with that smell. It was the same rank stench of unwashed bodies and poorly cured hide that always seemed to permeate bandits. In this case, there was also an insistent strain of foxtail mixed in with the rest of the scents. Curious, but not particularly worrisome.
She reached the center of the pass where the swirling snow was thickest. She could hardly make out the rocky slopes on either side. This was typically where bandits made themselves known. But it appeared these bandits had no intention of trying to rob her. Normally, it would have pleased her to know that the garb of a Ranger of Marzanna still held some sway. But today it was inconvenient.
She pushed back her hood and gave a nice big smile to show the timid bandits that she was not scary looking.
“Hey!” she called up to where the smell was strongest. “I don’t suppose you boys saw an imperial cavalry detachment pass through here in the last day or so? Probably pulling a small jail wagon?”
There was a long pause, and some angry muttering. Then she dimly saw the silhouette of one of the bandits rise up, and heard the creak of his bow as he drew it taut. A moment later, another one appeared next to him, then one higher up, and a fourth on the other side of the pass.
“You stupid bitch,” said the first bandit. “I don’t know why the hell you’re wearing those clothes, but they won’t save you. Throw down your weapons before I have to put an arrow in one of your pretty little eyes.”
Sonya had hoped to do this peacefully, but they doubted that she was a real Strannik. With Mikhail’s death so fresh in her memory, she could not let such an insult pass. Her lip curled, her eyes narrowed, and she felt the hot rush of bloodlust surge through her veins.
“I wear these clothes because I earned them.”
She unslung her bow and drew an arrow in a single fluid motion, then used the sound of the bandit’s voice to hone in on his exact location and shoot him in the throat. She listened with satisfaction as he choked on his own blood, then toppled over.
His fellow bandits stupidly cursed in anger, or made some other pointless noise that gave away their location in the swirling snow as well. Without thinking, she instinctively released three more arrows, and three more bandits fell.
She sat there for a moment, smiling with satisfaction as the scent of blood drifted down to her. Then, when her wrath cooled and the bloodlust had dissipated, she realized that once again she’d been too impulsive. She should have left one alive so she could question him about the soldiers. Mikhail would have been disappointed in her lack of restraint.
“Don’t shoot!” came another voice from above. “Please! I was only a prisoner of these men!”
She still couldn’t see much through the snow, but the man sounded genuinely terrified and had a foreign accent, neither of which suggested a bandit.
“Foxtail?” she asked.
“Sorry?”
“You reek of foxtail. A little strange for bandits.”
“Ah! Yes!” He sounded relieved. “I was out gathering them when I was captured.”
“Why were you gathering foxtail? Not exactly good eating.”
“It acts as a wonderful binding agent in potion-making.”
“Oh, you’re an apothecary! All right, I believe you. Come on down, I promise not to shoot.” She made a show of tying up her bow and quiver on her saddle.
She heard him half stumble, half slide down the side of the cliff. Then he emerged cautiously from behind the cloud of flurries. Even beneath his thick coat, she could tell he was a scrawny fellow, with brown skin and long black hair twisted into braids that hung down beneath his comically large fur cap.
“You’re from Raíz, huh?” she asked. “Long way from home.”
“I am studying at the College of Apothecary,” he said proudly. Then his face took on a wary, almost crafty expression. “I saw an imperial detachment as I was leaving this morning, just as you describe. If you promise to give me safe passage to Gogoleth, I will tell you where they are.”