The man went limp.
Perrin leaped to his feet. “TWELVE!” he bellowed to the forest, his arms held up in triumph. Not only did he conquer the forest, he took out its greatest threat. Twelve fewer Guarders in the world to terrorize and threaten his family.
An odd noise travelled up to him from the forest, and he turned hear it. Every muscle tensed in preparation, but a moment later he relaxed.
It was cheering. The army had heard his shout of “Twelve” and was celebrating with him.
Perrin finally smiled and dropped to his knees a few paces away from the dead man. He looked up at the black sky speckled with stars, grinned, then bowed his head.
“Dear Creator, thank you!” he said quietly. “Thank you for preserving me, for allowing me to be successful, for—”
A twig snapped behind him, muffled under snow.
Never expose your back. Never expose your back!
He scrambled for one of his long knives, but the thick arm around his neck was faster. Perrin’s fingers fumbled and dropped the blade. Instantly he felt his throat constrict as the arm tightened around him, and his training kicked in. Don’t bother grabbing the arm choking him—pulling at it would only be in vain. Instead, find another way to divert the attacker.
Perrin groped around his waist to retrieve another long knife, but as soon as he gripped it he felt the familiar sensation of beginning to lose consciousness. Everything in the world of black shadows and white snow turned gray. The body behind him was exceptionally large and heavy, probably specifically matched for him.
Normally Perrin would have thrust the long knife up into the man’s arm, causing him to release his grip. But Perrin could smell the thick black leather covering his attacker’s arm like a shield.
Or like body armor, he thought in irritation. Exactly the kind he wanted to fit his soldiers with, but was forbidden to. The leather even appeared to be around the man’s legs—Perrin’s other possible place to stab. But he knew of one spot still likely exposed on the Guarder.
With his last bits of consciousness, Perrin lunged backwards, trying to throw off his attacker’s balance, and wishing he wasn’t still stuck on his knees. He was successful for only a moment, but it was enough to loosen the man’s grip and allow Perrin a shortened gasp of air.
He knew he had only moments left. Perrin shifted his grip on the long knife and thrust it blindly behind him over his shoulder where he hoped his attacker wasn’t expecting it.
Right into the Guarder’s face.
He heard a low cry of pain in his ear, followed by a wheeze. The muscular arm around his neck suddenly released, and Perrin scrambled to his feet, coughing to refill his lungs.
He turned to face his attacker, a beast of man in black clothing who was bleeding heavily from a deep slash in his cheek and—surprisingly—was laying flat on his back in the snow.
Perrin’s air-deprived head swirled, but he grabbed a tree branch with his free hand to steady himself. The man in the snow was lying far too still from having received just a knife in the cheek. Perrin kicked at his leg, but it didn’t move. He glanced around, then took hesitant step towards the body.
The thirteenth Guarder was dead, because of a second gash near the base of his throat.
Perrin fought to regain control of his breathing. He had hit the man only once with his long knife—he knew that.
Yet there were two wounds on him.
Perrin looked wildly around. “What’s this all about?!” he shouted raspily, no longer worried about who else might be lurking in the forest. “Are you after my wife and children? Whose side are you on anyway? Show yourself!”
“Gladly,” said a cold voice from behind another cluster of trees.
Guarder number fourteen.
He charged Perrin, his toothed blade out and ready. Perrin bent down, snatched another long knife from his boot, and readied his stance. Two blades in two fists.
With a screech, the man ran straight for Perrin, hacking wildly. Perrin sidestepped him, delivering a slash across the man’s knife arm that barely penetrated his thick black leather armor. Perrin firmed his stance once more as the enraged Guarder turned and ran towards him again, any discipline he may have had gone as he attacked with pure hatred and no strategy.
Perrin preferred it that way. Enraged men were easy to conquer; it was the ones who channeled that rage into calculated fury that made him nervous.
He stepped forward to meet the Guarder, but his foot hit a slick patch of hardened snow and he abruptly went down just as the Guarder came on him. Perrin struggled to right himself, but not before the Guarder slashed Perrin’s back, cutting so deeply that immediately Perrin knew the white fur coat was damaged beyond repair. His back seared with hot pain that quickly numbed, his flesh gashed open and bleeding.