She had tried early to kick the man’s shins, but he wore greaves on his lower legs, so all she managed to do was hurt her own feet as she flailed against the armor. He also wore a conical helmet as Isabelle discovered when she tried to pull his hair. This man must be one of the soldiers from the campsite who was unfortunately not there when Humphrey attacked the group.

A foul smelling hand was still clamped over her mouth, while the soldier’s other hand fumbled at her tunic, searching for a way to reach her small breasts. Isabelle had one arm free and as she tried to pull the man’s hand away from her chest, she brushed against her eating dagger, tucked away in her belt. She pulled the dagger free and considered stabbing the man in his arm, so he would release her, but that wound might only make him angry and he would still be a threat to her. Any wound she inflicted would either have to incapacitate the soldier or kill him outright for her to be completely safe.

He suddenly stopped and looked behind him again before ducking into a copse of trees and Isabelle knew she had to act. She gripped the dagger handle tightly and swung her arm up and back toward the man’s face. There was a shocked grunt from her captor and Isabelle felt the blade skitter off the soldier’s helmet, but then it sank deeply into something soft as warm fluid sprayed over her hand.

The man howled in pain and released Isabelle. She hit the ground and scrambled over behind a tree trunk before looking back. He still howled like a wounded animal as he swayed back and forth before her, arms outstretched and head thrown back, with the handle of her dagger protruding from his right eye socket. Blood poured down his face as the howls turned to moans and he dropped to his knees, then slowly collapsed and was quiet.

Even though his arms and legs still twitched slightly, Isabelle knew he was dead as she came forward. This was the first man she had ever killed, yet the princess felt no remorse as she viewed the bloody body. He had been intent upon harming her, so he therefore deserved to die. Her father told her long ago that this was how life progressed as you protected yourself—you either killed your enemy or your enemy killed you.

Isabelle considered retrieving her dagger, but decided she would not very well want to eat with it again, knowing where it had last been. She then noticed a rather nice dagger hanging from the dead man’s belt. It had a somewhat longer blade than her dagger, as well as a wire wrapped handle and a leather sheath. Since the soldier would have no further need of this weapon and it do doubt came into his procession as booty, she untied the dagger from his belt, sheath and all and stuck it into her own belt. Then, on somewhat shaky legs, she headed back to where the horses were tethered.

Barker stood his ground as the soldier rushed toward him. The man came at him with his sword raised for an overhand slash, so Barker braced his legs and raised both swords to form an ‘X’ with the blades just as the soldier brought his sword down. The blade came down and lodged where Barker’s two swords crossed. Both men had their arms raised and as the soldier tried to pull his sword back, Barker kicked out with his right leg and caught the man in his crotch. The soldier doubled over and fell to his knees, retching and clutching his privates. Barker stepped to one side, brought his sword up and then down across the man’s exposed neck. He then tossed aside the other sword and went over to retrieve his axe.