The first few minutes she kept Bouda to a trot, but that quickly became impossible as the horse leapt forward with such strength that Lyssa had to let her go.

Soon they were galloping down the path, Lyssa putting her full trust in Bouda to not get either of them killed. She was a war horse of the centaurs and she knew what she was doing.

Hopefully this run to the river would be far enough to burn off the fight fuelled energy of the day before. If not it would be harder to make Bouda stay out of the fight. While a horse her size would be useful in scaring the villagers, Bouda didn’t know when to stop. She was trained in combat and she’d take the fight seriously even if they weren’t a massive threat to Lyssa.

The warrior let all that fade to the back of her mind as the horse pounded the path. Lyssa let the reigns go loose and Bouda lowered her head, the trees either side of them flowing by even faster.

Her gait became so smooth that it felt more like gliding than galloping. Lyssa leaned forward and lowered herself on the horse’s neck. This was mostly due to past experience of being blinded by bugs and eating them, but it also allowed her to put her hands on either side of Bouda’s neck and feel the powerful muscles pulling them along. They were the perfect team.

There was something peaceful about the rhythm. A peace that didn’t exist anywhere else in her life. This is what Bouda gave her and Lyssa always tried to let the horse be true to her own nature.

They had been running for quite a while when the rhythm changed and Lyssa was brought out of her peace by hooves once again pounding the path.

She sat back up but left the reins as they were. Bouda would slow to a pace she was comfortable with. That turned out to be a canter, but Lyssa slowed her further with a squeeze of the reigns. They were really close to the bridge and for her plan to work they couldn’t be seen yet.

The priest might not even be there, they might have chosen another place to make a sacrifice to their god, but she didn’t think so. That priest had been trying to make the river safe and logic dictated he’d use the river for the sacrifice.

The age of the bridge would help with the magic because the older something was the better the Gods were able to interact with it. She didn’t know if he knew that though.

She hadn’t been able to tell if he was the real deal or not. Some priests had never spoken to their gods and really knew nothing about making a sacrifice, while others were little more than vessels for the god. Then again he hadn’t looked like a thrall either but you could never be too careful.

Lyssa halted the horse before they came in sight of the bridge and tethered her to a tree off the path. Bouda was not happy about being left behind again and she tried to find anything on Lyssa that she could bite.

When the warrior stepped out of reach she set about eating everything green in reach and kicking the tree she was tied to. It only took three kicks for the thin tree to crack, and for Bouda to make her point. The horse was only staying put because she wanted to and the warrior had better be grateful about it.

Lyssa promised to buy her treats at the next market. As always she wasn’t sure how much Bouda understood, but it always felt right to try and communicate. She could have tied her to a much thicker tree that would have been pretty impossible for the horse to break, but that would imply a lack of trust and that Lyssa owned her. Neither were true or would go down well

She left her heavy gear behind, confident that even if Bouda was angry with her she’d still fight whoever came near, and made her way through the forest until she had a clear view of the bridge.

There were armed guards standing at either side, facing the banks so there was no easy way to sneak up on them.

These weren’t the villagers from yesterday. They must have already been hired for them to be here so early. Possibly a back up plan, probably for when the priest strengthened his god’s control of the area and he needed protection from angry families with sacrificed loved ones.

That pointed to this being a real take over of the area by a god. She couldn’t imagine a priest going through all this trouble, and spending his own money to hire mercenaries, if he hadn’t been ordered to do so.

There was only going to be one way to stop this.

Kill the priest and all the mercenaries.

It was just a question of how many villagers she murdered in the process. She had less reservations about killing mercenaries than she did farmers and villagers. At least they knew how to fight, even if they were never going to be as good as her. Not to mention their numbers made it a challenge, so that it didn’t feel like she was slaughtering them.

On the opposite bank a large group of people exited the forest with the priest at the head leading the way. There were a lot more people following him around than there were yesterday. She had a horrible feeling that the priest would have used some of these mercenaries to drive more fear into the people.

Abi had mentioned a bandit problem, and it’s what she would have done in his place to beat up some support. People trying to make their home safe were easily manipulated. She knew what lengths she had gone to to protect her home.

They wouldn’t be easy to scatter, not even if she started killing the mercenaries, she was going to have to hurt them to get the point across. That was almost the last thing she wanted to do. It would be too easy for her to accidentally kill some of them, but if they attacked in mass it would come down to her or them. Not only had she made a promise to save Abi’s village, she also couldn’t die yet, not without putting things right.

Lyssa punched the tree she was crouched behind. It did little but make her hand throb. The wrist protectors covered her knuckles and took most of the force. If she had been alone she would have made them bleed by now, but she restrained herself from using the tree as a punching bag.

Instead she would use that priest. He’d convinced these people to give everything to his god, without telling them the consequences of doing that.

Lyssa spent the morning watching the priest make preparations and reigning in her anger. You didn’t fight angry. That was what she had been taught from an early age. Rage may give you power, but in the end it made you stupid.

The priest wasn’t taking any chances of being interrupted this time. Some of the mercenaries left the bridge at the priest’s order and placed themselves in the trees on her side of the bank.

One of the men approached Lyssa’s hiding spot, and she steadily backed away to a better position as he moved closer. Not that he was paying much attention to his surroundings.

He was dressed like a typical mercenary. Mostly leather armor, with whatever metal pieces of armor he could get his hands on to protect vital areas. It was the mismatch of styles and fabrics that she’d never liked.

Her plate armor was made of one metal and was uniformly the same colour from her helmet to her boots. It was also sculpted to her body and superior in every other way that mattered. Even her leather armor was custom made.

She waited until he had settled to take him out. Not that she thought he would be hard to defeat, but she didn’t need anyone to know she was here yet.

The warrior didn’t usually have the patience for sneaking. She could wait and watch to come up with a strategy, but somehow sneaking towards a target always made her hands itch. She wanted to move faster and stealth be damned.

Sneaking up on him turned out to be easier than she expected. He wasn’t expecting anyone to be waiting for him in the trees, so his gaze was fixed on the road.

Lyssa moved as quietly as she could. Avoiding any branches she might snap and rocks that might trip her. She still managed to snag her boot on something she hadn’t seen and displace many smaller rocks.

Her gaze shot to the mercenary. He shifted against the tree as if he was about to turn, but instead he pulled a water skin from his coat and took a drink.

She didn’t waste any time now that there was a distraction.

She hit his head with the hilt of her dagger and he dropped like a stone.

The liquid that flowed out of the skin was an amber colour, and definitely not water, probably something alcoholic judging by the smell.

Drinking was not doing your duty, even if it was just mercenary work. She wasn’t gentle tying him up.

The mercenary on the other side of the path was much the same as the first. She waited for him to distract himself, which didn’t take long.

For some reason he felt he should turn his back to the path to take a piss. That was pretty much the opposite of what should be done when guarding something.

He hit the floor harder than the first, probably breaking something in the process. She suspected alcohol had something to do with the first not injuring himself.

She stripped him of weapons and heaved him over her shoulder after tying him up the same way she did with his friend. Although she tried to be mindful of what was probably a broken arm.

Nothing much had changed on the bridge other than the number of people surrounding the priest had increased. The warrior had a feeling there was going to be a lot more of them before the sacrifice happened, probably most of the village. She could scatter them now without too many injuries, but they’d just be back again tomorrow with bigger numbers and then there would be no one to stop them.

She would wait until the sacrifice appeared and the number of people gathered was as big as it was going to get. Then she would kill the priest.

The audience needed to be big to get this point across. If she hurt enough of them, and made it seem like she was staying in the area, they wouldn’t try this again with the priest dead. No one would want to be the leader of a group if the leader was going to get killed.