She squirmed deeper into the stand, blinded by the darkness, thrusting branches out of her face. Her hands sank into damp loam and she banged her knee on a rock, but she did not notice the pain.

Behind her the groundmite barreled through the trees, unstoppable. Karigan tightened her fingers about the hilt of her saber and turned in a crouch to face it.

It perceived her as cowering and emitted an alarming, growly laugh. It raised the scythe, but—just as she hoped—it got fouled in the stand’s branches and it couldn’t jiggle the scythe free. The groundmite’s laughter ceased.

Karigan shot up in a flurry of branches and drove her sword into its belly. It looked down in surprise, still holding the scythe aloft. She yanked her sword from it and it crashed to the ground like a mighty tree felled, the scythe belatedly breaking loose from entangled limbs and tumbling on top of it.

Karigan stood over it for some moments, chest heaving, the air thick with the scents of blood and balsam.

It took several moments for it all to catch up with her racing mind. When it did, she wanted to give in to panic and weep, to get sick, to curl up in a hiding place. But she could not. The din of battle raged on, and her sword was needed elsewhere.

She stepped over the dead groundmite, pushing her way through the stand and into the encampment proper. From what she could discern, except for a few smaller bouts here and there, the thrust of the groundmite attack centered on the clearing. In the nearby woods, there were only the dead.

Karigan set off across bloodied ground littered with weapons, utensils, and other articles. She paused by Ereal who lay curled in a pool of her own blood and, as she expected, she found no life there.

Just a few hours ago, four Riders had sat laughing around a campfire. How had everything turned upside down so quickly?

She swallowed back a sob and trotted on. She encountered an injured soldier overmatched by a groundmite. The soldier could barely stand, much less defend himself from the ax the groundmite wielded. As the ax rose for a blow that would surely slay the soldier, Karigan darted up from behind, and screaming something incoherent, hacked her saber into the groundmite’s side.

After the groundmite fell, the injured soldier wobbled and collapsed. Karigan knelt beside him and determined he still lived despite his wounds, but there was nothing she could do for him at the moment.

She left him and found herself moving from one small clash to another, streaking out of the shadows to aid defenders, taking groundmites by surprise. Though her ability to fade out continued to elude her, she was still able to take advantage of stealth and darkness.

She became remote from herself and strangely calm, as though she watched from afar. It was, she knew, the only way she could do what she needed to do. Karigan G’ladheon was not a killer, but she must kill to survive, and she must keep moving forward.

She found herself near the pickets where drovers did their best to defend horses and mules. But they were horsemen, not swordsmen, and even as Karigan came upon them, a groundmite struck one down. As it raised its sword to kill another, Karigan drove her own into the space between its armpit and breastplate. The groundmite keeled over, howling, nearly wrenching the saber out of her hand. She jerked her blade free, feeling it scrape ribs.

Another drover fell, leaving one youth so frightened his face stood out pale in the night. The groundmite who threatened him noted Karigan and pummeled the boy aside as though he were of no consequence.

This groundmite wielded a hefty sword. Its first blow was crushing. Nerves jangled from Karigan’s fingers to her elbow and she nearly lost her sword. She and the groundmite warily circled one another. Their blades flashed in a quick exchange of blows, and then they backed off, assessing. Karigan had fought opponents far more powerful than herself before, but never had she crossed swords with something so strong.

Without warning the groundmite bore into her again, slamming its blade against hers. It used its sword like a club, and the force of the stroke made Karigan’s saber dip to the ground. Another caused her to stumble backward.

She thrusted and ducked, sidestepped and blocked. She used trees as shields and practically danced around the groundmite seeking advantage or safety. The fight lacked rhythm, for whatever fine techniques she knew were next to useless against her opponent’s hack and slash methods.

Sweat streamed into Karigan’s eyes and the muscles from her wrist to her shoulder burned. Her focus was such that the sounds of battle, even the cries of the dying, fell into the background of her awareness. The clang and ding of her sword against the groundmite’s, and her own panting, were sharp counterpoint.

The groundmite grunted, heaving the blade down on her. Karigan darted to the side to evade the blow and stumbled over a root, nearly falling into the hooves of thrashing horses and mules maddened by the stench of blood.

It gave her an idea.

Before the groundmite could bring down its blade another time, she darted between a pair of mules.

If the groundmite didn’t get her, she reflected, the mules probably would. Stepping between two maddened animals with iron-shod hooves and a ton of weight between them was a foolhardy move. If they didn’t get her with their hooves, they could crush her between them. Yet, it was this very power she was relying on.

In the mere moments it took her to slip between the mules, she was jostled, her foot stomped, her shin grazed, but she came to their heads in one piece, relatively unhurt.

The groundmite, intent on its quarry, dove in heedlessly after her, and this she had anticipated. Though she hated to do it to the poor animals, she slapped them across their sensitive noses.