The momentary silence flooded the air while her ears filled with the booming pressure of her own frenetic heartbeats. A deep, resonating growl cut in, rolling out across the grassland. And it had originated from beneath her. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Harper hissed and clenched the knives in her hands.

  The second brask surged to its feet below Harper, and she stumbled, losing her footing. “Fuck!” she cried as she flopped down hard on her butt, stabbing the long knives deep into the brask’s hardened skin. The brask cried out in pain and stumbled sideways, almost throwing her off. Her feet and body were flung to the side, but she clung to her knives rooted in the thick brask hide.

  Harper looked at her knives in surprise. How could they have done so much damage? She saw Snort shaking her head and stepping back from the beast the rogue hung desperately onto. The brask had turned faster than expected and charged after her. A broken arrow shaft stuck out of Snort’s right eye socket, and blood and clear fluid stained her snout. Which was likely why the beast had run right into the brask Harper gripped.

  More arrows hit Snort’s back and flanks as the brask Harper was on, which she decided to call Rodeo, turned and attacked Snort. “What’s up, Snort? You gonna let Rodeo attack you like that?” she taunted. It didn’t matter whether they could understand. She smiled wryly as she stabbed one of her cheap knives into Rodeo’s back near her own right foot and another by the left to brace against. If she was thrown now… Nope, being thrown now would be bad. She’d get ripped to shreds by the two beasts for sure. “How does bull riding work again? Is it stay on for eight seconds? I can do eight seconds,” Harper muttered anxiously to herself.

  Snort may not have understood, but the brask was in a pain-filled rage, biting and clawing at Rodeo. The belabored and confused Rodeo reared up and came down hard on Snort’s shoulder, knocking her off balance. Harper got a brief look at the stockade wall, and the top filled with green faces watching and cheering.

  The sight inspired her to pull back up into a sitting position, where she grinned like an idiot and waved with one hand. She had to give proof of life to her audience! As the brask reared to attack again, she grabbed the hilt of her long knife. Snort was getting back on her feet but was not looking good. The beast lurched unsteadily, and an arrow flew past her to hit Rodeo.

  “Watch it, old man!” Harper yelled into the bristly hide of the monster she clung to. She needed to figure out what to do about her situation. But before she could puzzle out how to get her purple butt to safety, Snort lunged forward. Snort’s jaws closed on Rodeo’s neck, tearing flesh free.

  Rodeo’s roar transitioned to a wet, rasping cough as blood gushed from the monster’s ruined neck and convulsed. Harper hung on for dear life as the beast bucked her back and forth. The world blurred. Her hands slid around the hilts of her knives, slick with sweat. She knew it was a losing battle as the beast beneath her jack-knifed violently.

  “No, no, no!” she screamed, unable to hold on as she was thrown off by Rodeo’s thrashing death. Harper was not a cat. And though it was doubtful whether any cat had her level of dexterity, it didn’t change the fact that her body wasn’t built like a cat. So, instead of landing on her feet, which would have looked really cool, she landed hard on her back. She cried out in pain as she slid ten feet, the scrub bushes and stones grinding into her back.

  Harper rolled over and pushed herself to her feet, her back on fire. “I think that was eight seconds,” she groaned. At least Snort was not coming to make her a snack. The brask swayed ponderously before bellowing out in pain and fear and collapsed on its side with a thump. The other pile of rocks was not visible to Harper, so she ran toward the dying Snort and the corpse of Rodeo, the pounding of her heart making it hard to hear.

  Years prior, back when Harper was still relatively new, Juan had taught her a method of communication without fancy tech or magic. Harper hadn’t trusted the idea at first, but had grown to accept it. Sometimes in a clash of opposing armies or well-organized groups, there was entirely too much magic flying around. The magical interference and dissonance prevented any magical communication in its entirety. But Juan’s method was skill-based; if he wasn’t aiming at anyone, most anti-arrow spells would ignore his projectiles.

  They’d spent hours practicing. Juan would shoot his arrows at the ground to the side of her or in front to direct her movement. It had been harrowing at first, but she’d gotten used to it and learned to read the minute placement and angle of the feathered shaft. It was always important to be able to communicate on the battlefield.

  An arrow hit the ground ahead and to the left of her, so she changed directions to the right. She ran in that direction until an arrow plonked into the ground to her right, forcing her left. But then an arrow hit the ground right in front of the Rogue, so she threw herself backwards with as much force as she could. Only to see the third brask land right where she would have been without Juan’s arrows. She flinched as she landed on her rear and slid yet again.

  Harper’s situational awareness was a little scrambled, which put her on edge. She hadn’t heard this one, let alone sensed it in any other fashion. It must have a cloaking or stalking ability. The massive predator lowered its head and slowly stalked toward her, like a tiger she had seen at the San Diego Zoo as a little girl. It was so beautiful. So frightening. But she would have loved to be facing that tiger at that moment. The tiger she could have fought and beaten to death with her bare hands in her current body.

  But this was not a tiger. It was much bigger, faster, and far more deadly. Throwing knives popped into Harper’s hands as she scrambled to her feet. She flung the two daggers in quick succession. The brask grabbed the first knife in its teeth, snapping the blade while the second bounced off its shoulder.

  “Oh, come on, what the hell?” she yelled. Determined, she pulled two more knives, throwing them while quickly backing up. They both went wide, and one of them dinged while skipping off a rock. Harper freaked out. She hadn’t missed her target like this in years! Fortunately, her next two knives hit exactly where she had aimed. The two throwing knives embedded themselves deep in the left eye of the brask. “How do like that… uh… Dickface? Yeah! You cyclops motherfucker!” she screamed defiantly at the beast. She kept walking backwards, trying to maintain some distance, not wanting to chance the monster’s teeth and claws up close with the pain in her back.

  She was in trouble, but wouldn’t give up just yet. Juan had her back, even if he didn’t have a clear shot at the moment. Dickface the brask snarled, glaring with his one good eye. His depth perception was still messed up, so he was not putting his feet down quite right and kept growling at the ground. Harper expected him to adjust quickly, so she needed to take out his other eye. She needed another good throw—maybe two with the way things were going.

  Harper’s aim and skill failed her again, and she lost two more knives. Worse, the next two knives she threw struck his face next to the good eye and stuck in bone.

  Harper swore. Only two knives left, she thought. Her back flared with pain as she hurled her last two decent throwing knives. They flew off into the grass, turning end over end in their perfectly balanced way. “I paid a lot for those knives,” she groaned at the expense.

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  She still had several random knives she had picked up here and there. The next ones pulled were a hunting knife and a dinner knife with a carved handle. Harper threw them, praying for the best. But they landed in the dirt at Dickface’s feet. The massive beast snorted and began moving towards her again confidently, having adjusted to only having one eye. She knew there would be no more throwing, especially with how bad her aim was at the moment. Like all of her luck had been used up riding bull on Rodeo. The sheath at her side made a slight noise as she drew her rapier. She had very few choices, but rolled her shoulders to loosen them and dropped into a low stance.

  An arrow hit the brask on its side with the force of a gale and knocked the massive predator onto its side. She immediately knew Juan had pulled out the big guns, one of the three Bows of Harmon. Dickface got up, only to get hit in the head by another arrow, catching it on fire. The brask screamed and clawed at its own face as flames wreathed its head. Harper straightened up as much as her back would allow, grinning as the eye she hadn’t been able to hit popped, boiling from the heat. Her confidence restored, she sauntered toward the beast with slow, measured steps. Another arrow hit it in the flank, and frost spread out from the impact.

  Juan was using up his elemental roulette bow too fast, so she knew she had to end this now. She reached the blinded monster crouching and swinging its head around. It was still trying to find her, whining and panting, despite its injuries. Harper felt some sympathy for the beast, but the brask still needed to die. When its head swung toward her, she stepped in and smoothly stabbed it in the left eye socket, piercing its brain. “Goodnight, sweet Dickface,” Harper murmured, too tired to include any snark.

  Once that was done, Harper chugged a health potion and walked over to where Snort was wheezing on her side, next to the dead Rodeo. “Sorry, Snort. Thanks for the help.” With a quick thrust, she put the brask out of its misery. The exhausted rogue sat and pulled a rag from her backpack and began cleaning the brask blood off her sword.

  Sheathing her rapier, Harper pulled her all-purpose knife with a sigh. Looking at the three carcasses, she tiredly steps forward. “Might as well loot them.”

  Juan and several goblins approached warily as a resting Harper sat with her back against the dead Snort, her eyes closed. “Thank you for saving me back there, old man. I know how expensive that was,” she said without opening her eyes.

  Juan smiled. “Of course. I wasn’t going to lose you just because the bow has limited uses between repairs, mija. Did they have anything good?”

  She gestured to the pile of random junk. “Odds and ends, a freaking wagon wheel of all things. And that ship’s anchor. Plus some jewels and a small chest of gold. Also, a fez.”

  Juan regarded it. “None of that makes much sense for loot,” he said.

  “Not really. I’m keeping the fez, though,” she replied jauntily.

  “Is it enchanted?” he asked.

  Harper pulled the red hat out of her inventory, turning in her hands. “Nah, it’s just a cool hat. First one I’ve seen here. I can add it to my collection of weird things. My uncle had one.”

  “So, how do you want to split the valuable stuff? Fifty-fifty?” Juan asked.

  She placed the fez on her head and thought for a moment, considering his offer. “How about 25-25 and we give the rest to our hosts as a gift?”

  Juan nodded. “Yes, that is a wonderful idea!” He turned to the older goblin. “Councilman Brent, would that be an acceptable gift?”

  The older goblin smiled and bowed. “I accept this generous gift with thanks. It will be very useful in the coming days.” Juan pulled his and Harper’s share from the chest. Councilman Brent touched a couple of stronger-looking goblins on the shoulder. “Please take this straight to the council room.” Once they had the chest, he turned to the remaining goblins standing with him. “You and you and you. Grab anything useful that our friends here don’t want.” A team led by a goblin butcher began cutting up the brask and loading a wagon with the meat they pulled out.

  Juan held out a hand to his exhausted friend, and she grabbed it, letting him heave her to her feet. “You alright, Mocosa?”

  “Yeah, just a little worn out. I already used a health potion, but I could do with a drink and a decent chair to sit on. With a thick, soft cushion.” She grimaced and rubbed her backside. Despite the health potion, it was still sore from landing on Rodeo and falling on the ground after being thrown from the brask. It hadn’t taken her long to gather up the thrown knives. “I somehow broke one excellent throwing knife and lost three more on top of that. Three!” Harper complained.

  Juan chuckled. “It has been a long time since you have thrown anything this poorly, even injured! Perhaps I should pull out the training knives again? Give you some refresher practice, hmmm?”

  Harper placed her head in her hands, causing the fez to lose its perch between her horns. “You know, old man, if I wasn’t so beat, I would use you for practice,” she muttered, annoyed with the jab.

  That evening, the goblins voluntarily shuffled around so that Harper and Juan would have places to sleep. It was a kind gesture. Harper reflected on how many of the ideas from home about fantasy monsters just didn’t fit the reality. Many of the differences were small.

  The one about unicorns only being willing to be touched by virgins, however, that one was just flat-out wrong. The gentle herbivores went mad over the smell of virgin blood and became meat-hungry monsters until they had their fill. She’d learned that one the hard way. Harper shuddered at the memory.

  The goblin differences were big ones, too. They were kind and generous people, though easily startled, and believed in helping others. They also made decent beer and wine.

  That evening, the goblins shared both enthusiastically along with barbecued brask. Not to mention the fire-roasted brask with peppers, breaded and deep-fried brask, and brask baked with vegetables in a crust of chewy bread like a calzone. The festivities went late into the night, and Harper drank a little too much.

  After quaffing her hangover tea the next morning, she went to Marta’s house to check on Finn. “Morning Marta. How’s your patient?” she asked, leaning on the door frame.

  “And a good morning to you, Harper! He’s still asleep, as you can see. From what I can tell, though, he is doing better than yesterday. I won’t know more until he wakes up, however,” the healer replied, getting up from her chair. “Won’t you sit down?” the healer asked.

  “Maybe later, but right now I feel like helping out. Let us know if there are any changes, okay? Thank you for treating him,” Harper said.

  Marta smiled and nodded. “I’ll let you know if he wakes up,” she replied.

  Harper assisted in smoking brask meat for part of the morning and spent time improving the wall scaffolding after that. She finally found Juan looking over the wall where they had looked at Snort. He spoke without turning around. “Things are much worse than I knew.”

  Harper stepped up to the wall next to him and leaned on it, staring woodenly off into the distance. “Yes. We’ve been pushed back. Refugees are becoming the norm as we retreat, mile after mile. Did I tell you about Asanog’s Nathasian clerics?”

  “No, you didn’t. What happened?” Juan asked gently.

  “They are getting around our lines. And they preach that all of us from Earth are invaders that need to be defeated. That we are the enemy. More and more natives are believing the clerics. They are already telling each other the old stories again in taverns and around campfires. About the Mages and the other villains from our world. The ones that make the Lich look like a saint.”

  Juan shook his head in anger. “We. Are. Not. Them.”

  Harper sighed and slumped against the wall. “I know. But not all of us are like you. It was years before anyone new came through, and the surviving Earthborn are almost all heroes. I’ve heard the stories about Mages. Old stories. They give me nightmares, and I’ve seen some horrible things,” she said softly.

  Juan looked at his former pupil, a strange expression in his eyes. Like pity, but not for her. “Please don’t tell Finn. I think it will worry him and weigh heavily on his shoulders. He’s not like the men and women in those stories. He doesn’t want power. I don’t think anything motivates him other than getting home.”

  “You might be right. But… I don’t know how to say this,” Harper responded thoughtfully. She looked out at the torn-up sea of grass, denoting the fight the day before, unsure how to continue. “Finn is very willing to use the power he has. When I found him pissing in a bush, he noticed me, but did nothing until he finished. Which isn’t strange in itself, but Finn’s reaction to a potential threat… if I wasn’t faster than him, he would have attacked me. He would have been devastated I think, but he wouldn’t have hesitated.”

  “I saw and was ready to kill him if he tried. I am always ready to kill him if he shows any sign of going down the same path as every other Mage,” Juan replied resolutely. There was an underlying note of sadness in his voice.

  The look in his eyes scared Harper. She knew he would do it, even though he was already attached to Finn. She liked the kid, too. But those stories terrified her. Generations of oppression, horror, and death. “I hope he doesn’t. For everyone’s sake.” And for your sake too, old man.