Arianne could easily imagine a group of caravan guards dropping their weapons and surrendering to such a threat. Her heart warmed — and was perhaps reassured — when a roar ran through her men instead.
"Protect the lady!"
Their horses drew into a tight clump. Those on the outside raised shields, shrinking behind the circular surfaces and blocking sight of the comrades behind them. Those in the middle drew bows and notched arrows. If they could've rode down the bandits on flat land, it would have been a slaughter. Instead, all they could do was offer a volley of arrows six at a time while the rest acted as a shield wall.
"Well. I suppose that tells us the treasure you're carrying." The bandit who had spoken before, the one with his head wrapped in yellow cloth, appeared to be the leader. He had a suave voice. Arianne didn't like his shirt. It was the silk of a noble, and made her wonder what body he stripped it off of. "The question is, what lucky noblewoman has invited herself for a night with the Boneway Brotherhood? Don't be shy. You'll find that we earn our name— you may even enjoy it!"
His men laughed at the dirty joke as they bathed Arianne's men in arrows. She shifted, pulling on her horse, thinking about bolting.
"Don't run." Percy's voice was quiet. His eyes were serious as his head moved about, looking above them for some reason. "They'll have thought of that. They can't catch our horses, which means there's more waiting behind us." He was still searching the rim of the gully.
Arianne's voice got caught in her throat, so she nodded. Daris wounded a bandit in the shoulder, only to be pierced through the mouth by one of the man's brothers. Andren's shield didn't cover enough of him, allowing three arrows to dig into his stomach from the side. He slipped from the saddle. Ser Wells had not moved and would not move again, frozen in the sand.
The leader of the bandits scanned the gully. "So, where have you men hidden your prize, and more importantly, does she take after a comely mother or a brutish father? Not that I turn my nose up at either—"
His eyes landed on Arianne. She could almost hear the way he stopped. It was a long time before he spoke again, during which three more of her men had been killed.
"Fuck," said Yellow Cloth. "Well, I'll live like a king for a night."
He drew his sword, holding it over his head. His voice rose as she shouted to his men.
"There is the woman they guard! Whoever ensures that she doesn't escape will get to have her second, once I'm through! The rest of you will get what is left!"
The offer was enough to drive men into a frenzy once their eyes fell on the woman in question. Arianne watched the last of her men die with the middle of an arrow shaft in his throat. That would have been the end of her if she had been alone, because a man scaled down the cliff like a monkey from the Summer Isles. He carried a dagger and would have pulled her from her horse with his greasy hands. Instead, before Arianne could see what was done, Percy had pinned him to the cliff and broken his face with a rock.
He grabbed her would-be assailant's knife as it fell. Twisting, Percy said, "Lean back!"
Arianne did, as did her horse. That was who Percy seemed to be talking to. A man had slid down the cliff on the other side of the canyon at the same time, charging at her with a curved sword. Percy threw the knife he'd taken, sending it through the space her horse's head had been. The blade took the man through the eye and dug deep enough that he fell wordlessly
Arianne was breathing very fast when she looked at Percy. Perhaps he heard that, and it was why he spoke to her in the slow voice that he chose.
"The ones behind us will be far away. There was nowhere for them to hide, so they're probably by the entrance to the gully. They won't have more than these two waiting for an ambush. The only ones who can hurt you are those in front of us. I'm going to take care of them. If you need to back up to feel safe, do it. Just don't run too far. This shouldn't take long."
"Are you… Are you going to make a way through?"
"Sort of," Percy said.
He slid out of the saddle, feet landing on the sand. He didn't go to pick up the sword of the man he killed. He carried the sturdy rock he'd scooped up, its rusty surface dripping blood.
He started to run.
Bandits were streaming into the gully. Wood and rope ladders had been tossed off the shelves where the outlaws had lain in wait. They scaled down the rungs as quick as lightning, but some refused to wait that long. Desperate to be the first man to reach Arianne, they leaped off the shelf and hoped the sandy ground would accommodate them. Some collapsed with snapped ankles or broken feet. Others got ahead and ran at Percy.
It was one of these who got to Percy first. Arianne could see the man well. He wore a combination of cloth and animal skins, neither of which covered his hairy chest well. He had been one of the archers, a half-empty quiver knocking against his hip, but had thrown his bow somewhere in order to run better. His sword was three feet long with a curve near the tip. It had seen lots of sun and drunk blood when it was thirsty. It screamed toward Percy's throat to take another drink. Arianne screamed.
A sharp noise stopped her. The sword's blade hit something it couldn't cut. Percy had blocked with his rock, positioning it so that the man hit the space between his fingertips. The recoil almost made the man drop his sword.
His experience urged him to swing again. Before he could, Percy had stepped closer. The sound of the rock hitting the man's face was like a horse's hoof. His body was thrown back.
The stream of men coming at Percy had been dammed up. They would come again. Their desires hadn't been overcome. Shock just gave them pause.
They had seen brothers killed before.
They had not seen it done with a stone off of the ground.
Percy didn't speak. He looked at them. Arianne could see one of his eyes— the right one. There was a moment when it hardened.
"I don't like killing," Percy said. "You have to die."
The men came un-stuck. They started to run at him again. The first thing that happened was Percy throwing his stone.
It moved like a bullet, or a dropping from a battlement, just without a sling or a fall to explain its speed. Another man lost his face. Hands empty, Percy leaped into the crowd.
He was looking for something. Two men were grabbed and had their heads brought together. Percy used the bodies as shields while the last breaths passed their lips. Bandits found their swords biting into corpses, letting him push past them. When he found a man three rows deep, Percy spun.
The bodies he'd been carrying fanned out, their feet warding off attacks. At the end of the spin he let go of them, throwing the bodies into two more men. His eyes were on the man he'd forced his way to. No, his eyes were on the man's sword.
Arianne saw that Percy had gotten another dagger from somewhere. One of the men he killed, presumably. There was plenty she could not see within the crowd.
When the man tried to cut him, he performed a flicking motion she could barely understand, twisting his dagger blade around the longsword as it came at him. The sword was thrown into the air. Percy slashed the man's throat out. He threw the dagger when he was done, blindly burying it in another man's shoulder. His eyes were pointed up. As it spun back toward the ground, Percy's fingers wrapped around the hilt of the blade he had chosen. It was straight-edged, close to four feet from hilt to tip. It had no curve like most Dornish blades, coming to a triangular point like weapons of the Marchers to the north. Percy swung it down once, judging its weight. The air hummed from its passing.
Arianne could faintly hear his verdict.
"Heavy… but good enough."
There were still more than a score of enemies against him. Yet, the moment he held a sword in his hands, Arianne was gripped by the feeling that Percy had won.
He didn't announce that he was going back on the attack. He just cut a head off.
The bandits were like the tide around a rock. A wave would come, where many men pressed in together and hoped that the man next to them would be the one to die. They had all given up hope of winning without sacrifice. But like one of the natural sandstone pillars beneath Sunspear, Percy could not be broken or budged. Arianne could have sworn she saw him cut through three men with one swing. More incredibly, he seemed to know all that he needed to. When a spear was jabbed at the back of his head, he would duck. If a sword came to split the side of his belly, he would step away, and his sword's reply could not be avoided.
Eventually, the waves Arianne observed broke and fled like the tide. Percy ran down many of them. Stabbing might get his sword stuck, so he cut instead. All of them might have died then if not for the way they split in two.
The shelves the attack had been launched from were a pair. Percy caught the men who ran for one side. The ones who fled the other direction reached the ladder and climbed up. They rearmed themselves with bows, thankful to be out of the madman's reach. The rope ladder was hauled up the moment the last man was off the rungs.
"What sort of foul magics do they work in Sunspear, to summon the likes of you?" Yellow Cloth asked, kneeling at the front of their ledge. He had personally removed the ladder to prevent pursuit.
Percy flicked his sword out. Fresh blood splattered the sand, cleaning the blade.
"You're talking like I'm the monster in this situation."
"Are you not?" Yellow Cloth asked. "Men steal. Men rape. Men kill. Men do not make a score of others flee with rocks and their hands and stolen steel. That is the realm of monsters. Everything, even cruelty, should remain believable."
"The way you live will never be believable to me."
Yellow Cloth clapped once. "Because you are a monster! When you see more of the world, you will get it." He shrugged. "Blood and business are always intertwined. What will your blood look like, monster? Perhaps Lady Martell will gaze upon it with me while I hold her in the sand."
Percy said nothing. He started to walk forward. His eyes didn't leave the leader, no matter how many of the others held bows and notched arrows. Arianne counted ten men amongst their remaining number.
If the worst should happen, the road was open now. She could ride hard and hope their arrows missed her. Then what? House Yronwood was too far for her to find her way to, especially alone. House Wyl she might be able to reach, but the idea infected her with fear. She found herself looking at Yellow Cloth's silken shirt. He had called her Lady Martell. She was no longer certain his silk shirt was looted.
A clang jerked her from her thoughts. The first arrow had been fired. Percy cut it from the air. He was still looking at the leader.
Clang. Clang. Clang.
It didn't matter how many arrows they fired. Each one was cut away with his sword. As he got closer, they fired at the same time. He simply moved. A sharp step to the side removed him from the arrows' path faster than the fletchings could fly.
The only safety the men had was their position. If Percy leaped to haul himself up — a jump Arianne would have considered near impossible, before seeing him fight — there would be a moment where he had to pull himself over the lip, during which he would be vulnerable.
Percy whistled. It was hard to see why, until she heard the hoofbeats.
Other than Ser Wells' mount, the raiders had worked hard to keep the horses in good condition. Any healthy horse was valuable. These sand steeds, with their glossy coats and the rippling muscles underneath, were the most valuable thing their little brotherhood had ever stumbled across. Unless Arianne herself was counted.
At Percy's whistle, one of the horses who had seen her rider sniped off bolted toward the wall. She wasn't shot by the archers. Partially because they were focused on Percy, partially because her value was still on their minds.
The mare stopped against the edge of the gully. Percy jumped. He made no move to grab the lip above him, crouching with all ten of his toes on the mare's saddle. From there, he jumped onto the shelf, and men began to die.
The strokes of his sword were unflinching. Limbs and torsos were cut through easily. Yellow Cloth pulled his own sword, hefting a shield that had been resting nearby.
"I'll be the one to slay the monster, if I must!"
He stepped into Percy's path. For the first time, a man survived the first blow. He had seen the strength Percy held and cowered wisely behind his shield. The angle was good, sending the blade sliding off instead of absorbing the whole blow. The way he stepped into a follow-up stab was precise. His movements reminded her of Sir Wells and the most experienced among her entourage.
Percy was simply better. He used his pommel to smack the flat of the enemy's blade. The stab was ruined. Yellow Cloth held his shield high, prepared for the next blow of Percy's sword. He never saw the boot that hit his stomach.
Something must have broken inside, for the man flew. He collided with one of his underlings. When he scrambled to his feet, his torso was hunched. He hissed something that was missing all the wit he had shown earlier, lunging.
Percy's blade was waiting for him. Tip-forward. Held at a height between the stomach and above the thighs. It went through.
The scream the man made was one Arianne would never forget. Percy drew his sword free and struck him in the side. Strangely, he used the flat of the blade. Bleeding, Yellow Cloth was catapulted off the lip, landing heavily near the hooves of the horse Percy sprang off of. He was quiet now, but alive. Arianne could see his chest moving and hear whimpers.
Percy beset the last few men alive. One died in a spray of blood while trying to speak. Of the two left, one dropped to his knees. "I surrender!"
"Would you have let her surrender?" There was only one woman there. It was obvious who Percy meant.
"We wouldn't have killed her! Swear it on the Seven!"
Percy's lip curled. The man lost his head to a shimmering arc. The last survivor saw this and held his weapon tighter. He screamed and charged. Percy's sword pierced between his eyes.
Arianne saw this, just distantly. She had left her saddle. Steps were slow and difficult business. From her hip, a blade sang free of its sheath. It was only a few inches, with a golden and bejeweled handle. An art piece. But Arianne kept it sharp. Nym never let her neglect it.
The leader was shifting in the sand. His feet were kicking softly. At times, the spasms of his lips made it look like he was trying to eat the sand. There was recognition in his eyes when he looked up at her, standing above him, a blade pointed down in her hands. He tried to speak and managed to cough blood. Landing on his stomach had done damage that could not be seen. His hands hadn't even braced his fall, glued to his loins as they were. Dark blood and something else oozed between his fingers.
Arianne sank onto him like a hawk. Dagger was her beak and anger her talons. She stabbed him thrice. Each blow was more vicious and less necessary than the one before it. She might have kept going if Percy didn't touch her shoulder.
He had gotten down fast. Jumped, presumably. For all the blood on his sword, none had touched his face. Arianne rose to her feet under his touch. She continued looking down at the man— no, at the corpse. Life was gone from it. She had killed him.
She stared for a time that was either very short or very long — she was certain it was one of the two — before Percy curled her up in his arms. It wasn't a romantic gesture, but it was very warm. Arianne did not want to leave his embrace. She did not want to let go of her dagger, either, so she returned the hug carefully. The difference in their heights meant that her face buried comfortably in his firm chest.
"It's good that you looked. But it's not good to look for too long," Percy said. "Feeling sick is good. Angry, sad, or stunned is also a good sign. It means you're not used to killing."
"Do you feel sick?"
He killed far more than her.
"No, I don't, but you shouldn't use me as an example."
Arianne tilted her head back, propping her chin on his chest. "Why not?"
"Because that would mean having to live a life like mine, and trust me, you don't want that."
Arianne believed him. His voice made his certainty clear. As clear as it had been when he told her he would deal with those in front of them, before slaughtering his way through twenty men without a scratch.
But she was equally sure that whatever life that was, she would like to hear more of it.