The cart stood still in the tall grass. The ?ābu--the soldiers defending their caravan--were off in the jungle, dealing with the fallout of their collective illness.

  Fortney chafed at the delay, but it couldn't be helped.

  The lush jungle of Mirashan pressed in on every side. Deep, rich greenery screened her view in every direction. Large, bizarre, and colorful insects crept around, always just out of sight.

  Back home in Namar?n, insects could only crawl along the ground or up a wall. Here, the dense vegetation grew everywhere and touched everything, giving bugs free rein to climb and hide and crawl onto any surface they pleased. More than once Fortney had had to slap off some nasty critter that she found creeping along her clothes or in her hair.

  She had already decided, quite firmly, that she did not like the bugs and jungles of Mirashan.

  The air was thick with humidity. She felt that she was nearly choking on it. Dense fog, such as she had never seen, blocked what little view the dense jungle allowed. The sun was a diffuse white disk in the sky, leaving no shadows usable for navigation. The stars at night were occluded as well. Maintaining a bearing was a challenge.

  Fortunately, the Jāndar River cut the entirety of Mirashan in half. They simply had to travel generally westerly, and sooner or later, they would hit it. Turn south to follow the river, and eventually they'd arrive at the sea, and the port city of Zar-andūz.

  But before they could do any of that, they had to wait for the ?ābu to recover.

  They were only a day's journey into Mirashan. Maybe more; this far away from cities, the borders were ill-defined. But they'd been walking into the jungle for a day and a night, and now they were firmly wrapped in the lush life that Mirashan was known for.

  And all that lush life had taken its toll on their caravan. Something had gotten to the ?ābu; they were all afflicted with a crippling case of the gripes. Every now and again, one of them would waddle back to the camp circle, only to rush away again a few minutes later, clutching their stomachs.

  Fortunately, it had not affected everyone; mostly only the soldiers. Fortney wondered, with revulsion, if some vile creature of Mirashan had crawled into the soldiers' cookpot while they weren't looking.

  It wasn't only the ?ābu. Rami, too, had made himself scarce. He was a little vain, in Fortney's estimation. He probably just didn't want to be seen to be ill, so was hiding away from the rest of the caravan.

  Fortney sat on the edge of the cart, thinking. She was turning over a broad, flat leaf she had plucked earlier in the day. It was a deeper, richer green than she had ever seen on any plant back in Namar?n.

  Suddenly, a ululating cry split the air. Fortney's head came up in alarm. Bandits rushed into the camp, shrieking their cries and waving their weapons. They were dressed in rough brown ponchos and thick leather boots. They waved thick, blunt-ended golok blades with heavy brass handguards.

  Fortney tensed, ready to stand up, ready for battle. But she stopped herself.

  She was an aflīj. Her place was in the cart, protected.

  Her face tightened with fury. But she knew where she belonged now. Away from the fighting.

  She scooted backward and crawled into the covered part of the cart.

  "What's happening?" Zamiran said, his eyes wide with fear.

  "Bandits," Fortney growled. "They have attacked while the ?ābu are afflicted."

  Zamiran looked outside.

  "Perhaps they only desire our gold and food," he said, his voice hoarse with fear. His sallow skin had shed a layer of color Fortney never realized he had, and his pallor was truly shocking. "Perhaps they will merely plunder the camels," he said, "then leave. We should hide in here and let the shadow of the vulture pass."

  Fortney stalked back to her bench in the wagon and sat firmly.

  Safe. Useless. Where she belonged.

  She seethed. Rage bubbled within her as the cries of her countrymen and the gleeful calls of the bandits filtered in through the linen of her cart.

  Fortney grabbed the end of her stump and squeezed with all her strength. Indescribable pain shot through her, forcing her eyes shut.

  Stay still. Don't move. Let the shadow of the vulture pass.

  The curtain of the cart was flung aside. A scabby, filthy bandit ducked in. When he saw Fortney, he grinned, showing off his few teeth. He fixed his gaze on her.

  "Hold, there!" Zamiran cried leaping for the intruder. The bandit barely even looked aside from Fortney as he smashed the heavy handguard of his golok into Zamiran's face. The priest crumpled.

  Fortney gripped the edge of her bench, snarling. The bandit appraised her with his eyes.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  "Ah," he said. "I have time for a taste, before I finish my job." His voice was raw and his speech rough. He licked his lips and his grin widened as he laid his golok aside and advanced on her.

  Fortney's temperature rose as the man approached her.

  Let the shadow of the vulture pass. Let the shadow of the vulture pass.

  Rumek frowned at the progress of the raid. True to their employer's word, the soldiers were nearly immobile. They were trying to mount a defense, but they had been caught--literally with their pants down--scattered through the jungle nearby.

  Even separated and hunched over with crippling cramps, they mounted a surprisingly robust defense. Rumek had planned to have the majority of his bandits looting the caravan and finding their target. Unfortunately, the soldiers were occupying more of his men than anticipated, so the looting was going slowly.

  Rumek watched Kanki--possibly the dumbest of his men--clamber up onto a luxury cart and make his way in.

  He scoffed. The cart seemed an obvious place to stash the one-armed woman they were seeking, and he'd hoped to save entering that until the area was secure, but Kanki had always been impatient.

  Rumek hoped that Kanki didn't plan to delay this raid any more by indulging himself. He marched over to the cart to yell at the man and focus him on the work at hand.

  There was a scream, and a brown bundle of rags flew out of the cart like a cannonball, landing with a crunch on the ground.

  With a worried frown creasing his brow, Rumek investigated.

  Kanki lay there, staring sightlessly at the sky. Blood leaked from the corners of his mouth.

  "Kanki, you idiot, what did you do?"

  Rumek looked back at the cart.

  A tall, bronze goddess stood there, surveying the fray with an imperious air. In one hand she wielded Kanki's golok.

  "Vultures!" she cried. Her steel voice rang across the clearing, stilling his men. They all turned to look at her. She glared back at them.

  "Die," she growled.

  Her gaze fixed on Rumek. He cowered before her powerful figure.

  Without warning, she launched herself from the cart at him. He brought up his weapon in a futile attempt to ward off the Valkyrie screaming down toward him like a meteor of judgment.

  Fortney slammed to the ground, smashing through the bandit's defense and splitting his skull with her blade. She kicked the body off her weapon and spun, looking for more targets.

  Several of the bandits cried out and rushed at her. She whipped the blunt-nosed blade around, flinging droplets of blood at them.

  Fortney snarled and drove herself at one of them. He swung his sword at her, but she batted it easily aside and rammed the golok into his chest until the the blade protruded from his back. She tore the blade free and swung it in a wide, flat arc, separating another bandit's head from his shoulders. A third bandit swung at her. She caught his blade on hers with a clang that rang out through the clearing, and snarled at him.

  She drove a knee up into his midsection, doubling him over and freeing her blade from the entanglement. She pistoned her fist, wrapped in the heavy brass handguard of the golok, into the back of his skull, reveling in the satisfying crunch of terminal contact.

  "Come on, then!" she cried. "I killed the hashashim and I'll kill you!"

  She flowed through the bandits, slashing and hacking. Blood sprayed and bandits fell, and her heart sang. Steel clattered and rang in the clearing as servants scattered from the combat. More bandits rushed toward her, but a few of them were already slipping away into the woods, unwilling to face the princess' whirling blade.

  Fortney grinned. Her balance was still a little clumsy with her missing arm, but her footwork was sure, and her blade was unstoppable. These pit-scrapings were no warriors--they had rabbit's hearts and didn't know how to work together, getting in each other's way.

  Her strikes were not as powerful as they had been and her movement not as fluid or fast, but her heart awakened within her as she carved through the brown-clad bandits.

  She finally understood what Kadir had been trying to tell her. This was where she belonged. Her shape had changed, but her heart had not.

  She was a warrior.

  Fortney grinned through the blood that had splashed on her face. The remaining bandits fell back as she advanced.

  One of the bandits, braver than his fellows, raised his blade.

  "We are the Red Star bandits of Mirashan!" he cried, trying to rally his cohort. "The jungle is ours! Take her!" Then he ran at Fortney with his blade upraised, but he ran alone.

  He brought his blade down at her, but she slashed at his hand. His blade tumbled to the ground, along with a few of his fingers. She turned the blade and dropped it low, slashing the other direction, opening a ghastly gash in his calf. He fell to the ground with a groan.

  Fortney stood over him, her golok pointed at his face. Blood ran freely down the blade, dripping onto the ruin of the bandit.

  "I don't need more than one arm to defeat the likes of you," she spat, lifting her stump into view. "Go to the bone-collector knowing you've been killed in combat by an aflīj."

  Then she raised her blade and ended him.

  The spirit of remaining bandits broke, and they fled into the jungle.

  Fortney stood athwart the body of the bandit, heaving from the combat, and raised her blade high in the air.

  "I am Fortney Nurani!" she cried. "I will defend my kingdom, my people, and myself!"

  Rami al-Sahir had listened to the clanging and cries of combat with a smile--the Red Star bandits were doing their work.

  After the clangor had died down some time later, he crept back into the camp.

  There were bodies lying on the ground. Too many bodies.

  He frowned. They'd gone too far. He'd told the bandits to only focus on killing the princess. Dead servants and soldiers would make it harder for him to prove his innocence.

  As he drew closer, he realized that all of the bodies were the bandits. Tattered lumps dotted the ground around the campsite, all of them wearing the rough wool ponchos of the Red Star.

  Rami grimaced. Had the soldiers not been debilitated? Had the bandits been even more clumsy and foolish than he'd realized?

  Fortney came into view. Slashes of blood covered her fine silks.

  "Rami," she said. "It is good you have recovered. You can help drag these bodies out of the camp."

  He stared at the carnage with horrified fascination. Was this the sad, broken little princess they had dragged out of Baradon?

  He looked at her blood-stained face and realized that it was not.

  She was going to be a larger problem than he and Jahim had ever realized.

  "Come, Rami," she said. She had a fist wrapped in one of the bandit's ponchos and was dragging his body to the edge of the camp. "If I can haul bandits with one hand, you can haul bandits with two."

  "Y-yes, Shazedah," he said meekly, then walked over to one of the corpses. He thought he recognized the leader, Rumek, by what was left of his face.

  He considered rifling the man's clothes to retrieve the money he'd given him earlier, but decided against it. There were too many eyes. And he didn't want to draw attention to the fact that Mirashan bandits were carrying Namar?nian coin.

  He grabbed the man's wrists and began dragging his body to the outskirts.

  They were going to have to figure out what do about this princess.