Serena did not shout a battle cry. She did not hesitate. Drawing upon every ounce of strength her newly conditioned body could muster, she thrust the ash-wood spear forward with devastating precision.
The castle-forged steel tip punched straight through the boiled leather armor on the man's back, sliding perfectly between his ribs, and pierced directly through his heart.
Thwump.
The assassin's eyes widened in absolute shock. A wet, bubbling gasp escaped his lips. He tried to struggle, reaching back with a clumsy hand to grab the wooden shaft protruding from his chest, but his nervous system was already shutting down. He slumped forward, dead before his knees hit the snow.
"What in the Seven Hells?!" the second assassin roared, jumping back in shock.
Serena violently kicked the dead man's hip, using the leverage to yank her spear free. Blood sprayed across the snow. She spun around, dropping into a low, defensive stance just as Yoriichi had taught her.
The second assassin recovered quickly, his shock instantly morphing into furious rage. He saw the slender, red-haired woman holding the bloody spear.
"I didn't expect to encounter a wildling woman out here!" he snarled, gripping his heavy longsword with both hands.
"No, you fool!" Gared squeaked from behind the tree, pressing himself against the bark. "That's the witch I told you about! Kill her!"
"Surrender, woman," the assassin grunted, stepping forward aggressively. "Drop the stick, spread your legs, and I promise to give you a merciful death."
Serena didn't speak. She adjusted her breathing, her green eyes locked onto his footwork.
The man charged, swinging his heavy longsword in a brutal, sweeping downward arc.
Serena sidestepped, thrusting her spear toward his throat. But the assassin was experienced. He anticipated the strike, turning his shoulder to deflect the spearhead with his pauldron, and swung a vicious backhand slice.
Serena gritted her teeth, throwing herself backward to dodge. She was fast, but the blade was long. The very tip of the heavy steel caught the edge of her upper arm.
Sshhhk.
The sword sliced through her thick woolen sleeve and bit into her flesh.
"Gah!" Serena grunted in pain, stumbling back a few steps as a fresh line of hot blood ran down her shoulder. She could feel her strength waning. The cold, the exhaustion, and the wound were draining her rapidly.
Seeing her falter, the assassin pressed his advantage. He lunged forward, feinting a strike at her legs before bringing the heavy sword crashing down from above with all his might.
Serena instinctively raised the ash-wood shaft of her spear with both hands to block the overhead strike.
It was a fatal mistake of leverage and material. Ash wood is incredibly sturdy, but it cannot withstand the full, concentrated force of a downward swing from a heavy steel broadsword wielded by a desperate man.
CRACK!
The heavy steel bit deep into the wood and shattered it. The spear snapped cleanly in half right down the middle.
Serena gasped, her eyes widening in sheer shock as the top half of her weapon—the part with the deadly steel blade—clattered uselessly into the snow a few feet away. She was left holding nothing but a broken, blunt, three-foot wooden stick.
The assassin laughed, a cruel, victorious sound. He casually lowered his sword, preparing to kick her down into the snow.
"Looks like your claws are clipped, little bird," he mocked.
I will not die here, Serena screamed internally, her maternal fury overriding her panic.
She didn't retreat. Instead, she tightened her grip on the broken stick in her right hand. With a vicious, explosive twist of her hips, she threw the blunt stick directly at his face with all her might.
It wasn't a lethal throw, but it was incredibly fast. The heavy wood spun through the air and smacked the assassin squarely in the center of his forehead with a loud thwack.
"Argh!" the man grunted, closing his eyes and flinching backward for a fraction of a second, his hands instinctively rising to swat the annoyance away.
It was the only distraction Serena needed.
In the exact same moment she threw the stick, Serena dove forward into the snow, rolling toward the severed top half of her spear. Her hand closed around the broken shaft, just below the steel blade.
She scrambled to her knees, clutching the foot-long piece of wood and steel like an oversized dagger. The assassin was just opening his eyes, recovering from the blow to his forehead, lowering his hands.
He never saw the final strike coming.
Serena lunged upward with terrifying speed, driving the spearhead directly toward his face. The steel tip easily bypassed his guard and pierced straight into his left eye, sinking deep into his skull.
The man let out a horrifying, high-pitched scream, dropping his heavy longsword instantly. He thrashed violently, his hands clawing at her arms.
Serena didn't let go. She held the broken shaft tightly with both hands, twisting it brutally, her face twisted in a mask of pure survivalist rage. With a violent jerk, she pulled the blade out, blood and vitreous fluid spraying the snow.
The man staggered blindly. Without hesitation, Serena kicked his knee out, bringing him down, and drove the blade a second time through the side of his neck.
The assassin choked on his own blood. He convulsed for a long, agonizing minute in the snow, his hands grasping at the fatal wound, before finally going completely still.
The silence of the blizzard returned to the woods.
Serena collapsed onto her knees beside the corpse. She dropped the bloody piece of wood, her hands shaking violently, completely covered in gore. She heaved a massive sigh, her breath rattling in her lungs. The pain in her sliced shoulder throbbed intensely, but the adrenaline kept her from passing out.
Slowly, she looked up through her snow-matted hair.
Gared was still standing against the pine tree. He was completely frozen, looking like a terrifyingly pale, fat statue. He had just witnessed the woman he thought was a mere shopkeeper ruthlessly butcher two professional Eastwatch assassins. His mind couldn't comprehend the violence she was capable of.
Serena slowly pushed herself up to her feet, clutching her bleeding shoulder. She did not offer him a warm smile. She did not yell at him for trying to sell her out. She looked at him with the cold, dead eyes of a true Queen of the North.
"Get up," Serena commanded, her voice ragged but absolute. She nodded her head toward the faint light of her hut. "Follow me."
She needed a fire, a bandage, and warmth. And she needed to interrogate the man who had brought this war to her doorstep.
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