Oh dear God.
The mage was trying to talk his way out of this.
Emery was fighting for her life, and he thought he could have a reasonable conversation with these people?! Then again, after he'd fought for his own life in that bush over there, maybe he didn't feel well enough to fight. As funny as it had been in the moment, a sickness like that could drain and dehydrate you in minutes.
With another slow pat to ensure her knife was there, as though reassuring herself, Emery let out a pained whimper and raised her hands, fingers spread, shoulder shooting pain clear down to her fingertips. No, no, this was good for her, though. The men were paying attention to the tall man trying to bargain, not to the helpless little woman at the end of a blade. That was good. That was very good.
Keep talking...
"He's right," Emery breathed, and though the man's grip on her tightened at first when she lifted her hands, he saw they were empty and seemed not to think her a threat. Good, good. She shuddered, putting a little hiccup in her voice, letting her words tremble. "Please, sir. Swear to God he's telling the truth. Please stop, please..."
The thug holding her ignored her though, instead glaring daggers at the mage, his eyes narrowing to slits. "You're lyin'," he growled. "Only saw two sets of tracks at the site, plus the horse. Don't fuck with me!"
More blood beaded out around the blade, and Emery's whimper was real that time. She rested her hands on the man's arm, hands shaking, and for too many panicked seconds she thought he might really be done with her. "Oh shit, oh fuck..."
"Lie again. Do it. See what happens," the thug challenged, seeming unfazed by the pale man's threat. His partner, the swordsman, sidled in closer to the mage, seemingly the more impatient of the two. "I'm gonna ask nicely one more time: where. Is. The star?"
"Let's just cut them and search their bodies," the swordsman said, peering the mage up and down with a scowl at being called smelly. "I've had enough of this. We could use their horse, too."
"No, no, please," Emery begged, grasping at the man's wrist in desperation, tears shining in her eyes. "Please God, don't! I'll do anything!"
"I already laid out the terms," the thug said, both to his partner and the mage. "You get one more chance. One more. Then she dies, and we start chopping off parts until you squeal."
"Just tell him!" Emery pleaded, and couldn't help the rush of amazement that...that the mage had defended her. Threatened to kill for her. What? "Just tell him the truth, please, I don't want to die!"
"Oh, would you just shut—"
Emery thrust her shoulder up and pitched herself forward, yanking his knife hand down and away with both hands. Her shoulder was a bright blaze of agony and she cried out as he fought her, but if she wavered she died so she pushed through the pain. She clutched his knife hand tight to her chest as he swore and tried to wrestle it back, but he'd lost his balance when she bent down—and it was that slight fumble that let her jerk his hand down enough to thrust his own blade into his side.
He screamed as she staggered away from him, drawing her own dagger free, and she wasted no time sinking it into his throat.
His partner let out a roar of rage and charged at the sorcerer, swinging his sword at his back full force.
"Watch out!" Emery yelled, yanking her dagger free in a shower of blood.