Page 13 of Thief of Hearts

“Experience,” I said with a smile.

That seemed to aggravate him and he rushed forward to swing his sword at me. I wondered if he realized that fighting in an outdoor tournament was very different than fighting in close quarters like these.

Given how wide his swing was, I supposed not.

I took the opening he created and kicked him square in the chest, sending him backward into his friends, and they all went sprawling. This seemed to shake some sense into the other four and they scrambled to their feet and went running.

The “master swordsman” did not leave.

“You really should go,” I told him. It would have been very nice if, just for once, a man did not behave exactly the way I expected him to.

He should leave, but I knew he wouldn’t.

“I’ll go when you’re dead.”

I was right again. “When I die, it won’t be because of someone as pathetic as you.”

This enraged him, and he began to tell me all the vile things he planned on doing to me once I was subdued. If he had wanted to anger me, he had succeeded. I loathed men like this, who used their strength and ability to rape and harm women. He deserved everything that was about to happen.

He came at me again and I reached out with my sword to stop his swing. He tried to feint left, but I was there and punched him hard in the jaw, making him unsteady on his feet.

“Who did you fight at these tournaments that you claim to have won? Bunnies? Sheep? Small children?”

The man roared with anger and rushed at me. He was so focused on harming me that he didn’t realize he’d run straight into my sword. His eyes went wide with shock and he just stared at the point where my sword had entered his gut.

I pulled my sword free and he collapsed to the ground.

I really hated inns.

The next morning I paid the innkeeper extra money for the dead body in my room.

I was about to explain, but he interrupted me. “Everyone saw and heard what happened. He should have known to leave you alone. You’re Thracian.”

At least someone here had common sense. “I’m sorry about the mess.”

He waved his hand. “Happens all the time.”

“Do you know where I can find a map of the Wastelands? I’m heading to Sagaris for the tournament.”

“Got some that I sell.”

I gave him another coin and he handed me a map. He showed me where Sagaris was and what direction I should head out. He even circled waystations and the city for me with a piece of lead.

Then he said, “Those other men fled last night.”

I understood what he was telling me. If those men were still planning on going to Sagaris, I would be on the same path as them.

“I’m good at taking care of myself,” I said.

He nodded.

I retrieved my horse from the stable, and we trudged through the mud to reach the edge of the Wastelands.

An ocean of sand as far as the eye could see.

It had poured rain last night but the sand looked completely dry.

People got lost in this desert. I’d heard tales of mirages and creatures so hideous that travelers died from fright. Sandstorms that took your sight, people going mad from too much sun exposure and wandering until they died. Sand that would suck you into the earth, suffocating you. Tormented shades who shrieked and howled all night.