Knight Queen: Thanks for being the first reviewer on this fan fiction :-)

Conte's Secret

Chapter 2

She'd not expected this!

Her hand flew to her dagger as she uncurled from her sleeping place by the fire. The watchtower man was halfway through crying that it was the twelfth hour of night, that all was well, and the inn door had just exploded in, showering her with splinters of heavy old wood.

"Attack!" she called over and over again. "Attack! Attack!"

As the men poured in, and she froze at how their eyes gleamed red in the firelight. Her voice died in her throat, a grimness settling in her eyes and she slid to fighting stance, a dagger in each hand, light old sword in her weapon belt for if she be disarmed.

Spreading her hands, hearing nothing from up the stairs, not a sign of the King of Thieves stirring, she tried to block their way. "Demons," she said severely. "I shan't let you any closer to my liege."

"Lasha," one of them replied, smiling at her like a friend. "Let us pass."

"Serrina," she shot back. "Lasha is my sister. I am Serrina."

"So it is Lasha we killed," another of them said, still smiling in a friendly way. "We'd thought it was you."

Her mouth was a thin line, her amber eyes angry. "Where? When?"

"Their words are bile," her liege called from the top of the stairs. She stood up straighter, "yes sire."

"In her bed," one of the men said. "Your name was the last word on her little tongue. I'm afraid we left it untidy for her maids to clean up."

Another of the men chortled.

"She might still be alive," another of the men offered, a wicked glint in his eye. "We did spear her a few times...but you two are feisty little creatures, sly as nymphs. She could have worn her prettiest armour, suspecting us."

Her eyes flicked up towards her liege. Even he looked uncertain.

"She could be clinging to life, awaiting her brave little sister," the first man goaded. Another man stepped aside from the shattered inn doorway. A clear invitation. Her nerves clamoured and pleaded for her to take the chance, while her mind said it was a lie.

"Go, Sneak," her liege said quietly.

She didn't hesitate. Holding her daggers close and tensely in her small hands, she ran between the men.

With a quick movement, one of the men grabbed her by the hair: he was strong, holding her up like a feisty kitten. Her eyes snapped open far wider than she'd thought possible as something plunged through her chest. Already she dug her dagger into his eye.

He didn't move. Just tidily withdrew his broadsword and dropped her to the ground like he'd planned it all along, even as blood ran from his eye with tears.

First she crawled, watching with horror the blood seeping from her wound. The broadsword's blade had left a path of white hot fire through her chest and she felt blood whistling in her lung with every ragged breath she took.

Forcing herself up to her feet, she staggered to the stable, took her horse from its stall and mounted him bareback. "Hurry," she told him urgently. Her mare, a child of the wind, raised by fierce Bazhir, sensed her urgency, rolled her eyes at the thick scent of blood from her rider, and fled the stable, her rider clinging with one hand as she tore material from the hem of her shirt, to stuff against her grievous wound.

Lasha, she pleaded silently. Gods, don't let my sister Lasha die. She is all I have left!

She did not think she would have needed a prayer for the people she'd just left behind.