[Undómë]

The force of the Easterling’s blow had driven her against a tree. Meghan had not lost consciousness with the impact, but every bone in her back seemed to ache with an agonizing intensity as she tried to move. Dorran was huddled near her, covered in spatter of blood. She hoped it was that of the Easterling he had killed, the one who’d put his knife so cruelly to her throat and cheek.

She’d seen Brand charge the Easterling leader that threatened her and Dorran with his scimitar. But he looked weak even from a distance. His face was pale and slick with sweat from the effort to make the charge. He’d managed to hit the Easterling in the back and had knocked the man a little off balance as he fell from Lady.

One of the knitting needles with which she’d attacked the other Easterling was still grasped in her hand. She lurched up to her knees as Calimehtar twisted to the side from the force of Brand’s blow. With a lunge she drove the thick, sharp needle deep into the side of the Easterlings’ left leg just above and to the side of the kneecap. It broke off just as it hit the kneecap, lodging firmly between the muscle and the bony cap. With a gasp of pain she threw herself down quickly on her back, close to the looming figure. Drawing up her knees she kicked out at his legs, aiming for the knee she’d just wounded, pushing him backward.

Meghan did not wait to see him fall. ‘Use your sling, Dorran, she said, handing him a few of the small rocks on the ground. I’m getting Lady and we’re all getting out of here . . .