Beata looked then and saw what she hadn't seen before. Dead enemy soldiers sprawled here and there. She looked back to the woman's blue eyes.

"Idiot," the woman muttered.

"You act like this is my fault, like you hate me."

"Because you are a fool." She pointed angrily out at the carnage. "Three men just wiped out your post and they aren't even breathing hard."

"But-they surprised us."

"You think this some game? You're not even smart enough to realize you're nothing more than a dupe. Those in charge puffed you up with false courage and sent you out to fail. It's plain as day and you can't even see it. A hundred of you girls and boys couldn't knock down one of those men. Those are Imperial Order troops."

"But if they just-"

"You think the enemy is going to play by your rules? Real life just got those other young people killed, and the dead girls are going to be better off than the ones still alive, I can promise you that."

Beata was so horrified she couldn't speak. The woman's heated voice softened a little.

"Well, it's not all your fault. I guess you aren't old enough to know better, to know some of life's realities. You can't be expected to see what's true and not. You only think you can."

"Why do you want that sword so bad?"

"Because it belongs to Lord Rahl. He sent me to get it."

"Why'd you save me?"

The woman stared back at her. Behind those cold, calculating blue eyes, there didn't seem to be any fear.

"I guess because I, to, was once a foolish young girl captured by bad men."

"What did they do to you?"

The woman smiled a grim smile. "They made me into what I am: Mord-Sith. You wouldn't be that lucky; these men aren't anywhere near as good at what they do."

Beata had never heard of a Mord-Sith before. Their attention was drawn to Estelle's cries from up on the Dominie Dirtch.

"I need to go after the sword. I suggest you run."

"Take me with you."

"No. You cannot be of any use and will only hold me back."

Beata knew the awful truth of that. "What am I to do?" "You get your behind out of here before those men get a hold of it or you'll be very much more than sorry." "Please," Beata said, tears welling up again, "help me save Estelle and Emmeline?"

The woman pressed her lips tight as she considered a moment.

"That one," the woman finally said, with cold reckoning pointing at Estelle. "As I'm leaving, I'll help you get that one. Then it's up to you two to get away."

Beata saw the man laughing, groping Estelle's breasts as she tried to fight him. Beata knew what that was like.

"But we have to get Emmeline, too." She gestured off toward the barracks where they'd dragged her.

"That one has a broken leg. You can't take her; she'll get you caught."

"But she's-"

"Forget her. What are you going to do? Carry her? Stop being a fool child. Think. Do you want to try to get away with that one, or do you want to get yourself captured for sure going after both? I'm in a hurry. Decide."

Beata struggled to breathe, wishing she couldn't hear the screams coming from the barracks. She didn't want to find herself in there with those men. She already had a taste of one of them.

"The one, then. Let's go," Beata said with finality. "Good for you, child."

The woman was deliberately calling her that, Beata knew, to put her in her place, hoping it would keep her in line and save her life.

"Now, listen and do exactly what I say. I'm not sure you'll make it, but it's your only chance." Desperate to escape the nightmare, Beata nodded. "I'm going to go up there and take out that man. I'll see to it you have at least two horses. I'll send the girl down while you grab the horses. Get her up on a horse with you and then head out there and don't stop for anything."

The woman was pointing out past the Dominie Dirtch, out to the wilds. "You just keep going, away from Anderith, to some other place in the Midlands."

"How are you going to keep them from getting us?"

"Who said I was? You just get the horses and then you two run for your lives. All I can do is try to give you a lead." The woman held a ringer before Beata's face. "If for any reason she doesn't make it down the steps, or get on the horse, you leave her and run."

Beata, numb from terror, nodded. She just wanted to get away. She didn't care about anything else anymore. She just wanted to escape with her life.

Beata clutched the red leather sleeve. "I'm Beata."

"Good for you. Let's go."

The woman sprang up, running in a crouch. Beata followed after her, imitating her low run. The woman came up behind a soldier standing in their way and knocked his feet out from behind. As soon as he crashed to his back, before he could call out, she dropped on him, crushing his windpipe with a blow from her elbow. Two more quick blows silenced him.

"How did you do that?" Beata asked, dumbfounded.

She pushed Beata down in a thick clump of grass by the man. "Years of training in how to kill. It's my profession." She checked the Dominie Dirtch again. "Wait here until the count of ten, then follow. Don't count fast."

Without waiting for Beata's answer, she sprang into a dead run. Some men watched, confused by what was going on since she wasn't trying to escape, but heading right for the center of all the men. The woman dodged between all the horses racing around the Dominie Dirtch, their riders hooting and hollering.

The man next to Beata was burbling blood from his crushed nose, maybe drowning in it as he lay there on his back.

The man holding Estelle turned. The woman in red yanked the striker from the holder, tearing it away from the restraints. The restraints added momentum as they broke. When the striker clouted the man in the head, Beata could hear it crack his skull from where she stood, as she finally reached the count of ten. He toppled backward over the rail and fell beneath the hooves of running horses. In the grip of terror, Beata jumped up and started running. The woman, with a mighty swing, brought the striker around, slamming the Dominie Dirtch.

The world shook with the dull drone of the weapon going off. The sound was overpowering, like it might shimmy her teeth out of their sockets and vibrate Beata's skull apart.

The men on horseback out front screamed. Their horses screamed. The cries ended abruptly as man and beast alike came apart in a bloody blast. Men still running round the Dominie Dirtch couldn't stop in time. They skidded or tumbled past the line to their death.

Beata ran for all she was worth even as she felt her joints might come apart from the terrible chime of the Dominie Dirtch.

Wielding the striker, the woman whacked men off their horses. She seized Estelle by her arm and practically threw her down the steps as Beata gathered the reins to two frightened animals.

The men were in a state of confused panic. They didn't know what would happen with the weapon, if it would chime again and in turn kill them, too. Beata snatched a confused, terrified Estelle by the arm.

The woman in red leaped from the railing onto the back of a man still mounted. The woman still had the broken neck of the black bottle. She gripped the man around the middle and ground the broken bottle into his eyes. He fell screaming from his horse.

She scooted forward into the saddle and snatched up the reins. She reached the tired animal she had arrived on, grabbed her saddlebags, and with a cry of fury urged her horse into a dead run toward Fairfield.

"Up!" Beata screamed to a dazed and bewildered Estelle.

Thankfully, the Ander woman understood her chance to escape and seized it as Beata, too, scrambled atop a horse. Both animals wheeled all about in the confusion.

Men went charging off after the woman in red leather. Beata was no horsewoman, but she knew what she must do. She thumped her heels against the animal's ribs. Estelle did the same.