to the end of the
jetty.”
The
blackness of early morning was beginning to lift as they all ran, swords drawn,
Reece gasping for air as his feet hit the sand, stumbling, realizing this might
be the last run of his life. The group of soldiers blocking the jetty did not
see them either, their attention on their soldier who had fallen, all of them
baffled as to who had killed him. Three of the soldiers sat hunched over him, trying
to revive him.
That
was their fatal mistake. Reece and Matus lunged forward as they reached them, Srog
hobbling just behind them, swords drawn, and before the three soldiers, their
sides exposed, realized, they stabbed each one through the heart. That left six
of them.
Stara,
right behind them, drew her dagger and backhanded one, slicing his throat,
dropping him to the ground; then she turned seamlessly and stabbed another
through the heart. That left four.
Reece
backhanded one with his gauntlet and kicked another, while Srog head-butted one
and Matus ducked as an attacker swung a mace for his head, then rose up and
sliced his stomach.
Within
moments the group of soldiers blocking the jetty was down, as Reece and the
others blew past them like a storm.
A
horn sounded, and Reece turned to see that Tirus’s other men—hundreds of
them—had spotted them. There rose a great battle cry on the beach, as the men
turned and began racing for them.
“The
rope!” Stara shouted.
Reece
ran over to the huge coil of rope nearby and hoisted it over his shoulder; it
was heavier than he’d imagined. Matus rushed over and helped him, and they
hoisted it together as they all ran down the jetty, the four of them running as
fast as they could. Stara brought up the rear, and she stopped, turned, raised
her bow, and fired six shots in procession, taking out six of the closest
soldiers, the bodies piling up at the base the jetty.
They
all, gasping for air, finally reached the edge of the jetty. Waves crashed all around
them, foam spraying up over their feet. Reece lost his footing for a moment, and
Stara reached out and steadied him. Beside them, Srog and Matus hurried to tie
the rope to the end of one of Stara’s arrows.
“The
warning sign first!” Reece called out, reminding Stara.
Stara
took three arrows from a closed quiver wrapped around her back. These were
wrapped with an oil-soaked cloth, prepared in advance, as all good archers did,
in their own separate quiver. Out of the quiver she also removed the dry flint
rocks and struck them together, creating sparks. She did it again and again,
the sparks not catching in the rain. Reece turned to see Tirus’s men storming
the jetty. He knew their time was short.
“Come
on!” Reece cried.
Finally,
the cloth sparked, and all three arrows lit up.
“Shoot
them up high!” Reece said. “Nearly straight overhead! But angle a little toward
the ships! That is the sign!”
Stara
fired the three flaming arrows in quick succession, and they shot up, close to each
other, perfect shots. It was the flame of the falcon’s claws, high up in the
sky, the ancient sign of the MacGils, and any good commander watching the skies
would see. Reece was relieved to see that the arrows stayed aflame for a good five
seconds, until finally, all three fizzled out.
“The
rope!” Matus said. “Fire it now!”
Stara
took up the rope and arrow, aiming high, long distance for the ship.
“We’ve
got one shot at this,” Reece said to her. “Do not miss.”
She
turned and looked at him, and he was struck by how beautiful her face was in
the rain, how proud, how noble—how fearless. He stared back at her and nodded
reassuringly.
“You
can do this,” he said. “I have faith in you.”
She
nodded back.
Stara
turned and fired, and they all watched, Reece holding his breath, as the arrow
sailed up high, arching through the air. Reece knew that if it fell short, they
would all be finished.
Finally,
in the distance, Reece heard the satisfying thunk of arrow piercing wood,
jetty.”
The
blackness of early morning was beginning to lift as they all ran, swords drawn,
Reece gasping for air as his feet hit the sand, stumbling, realizing this might
be the last run of his life. The group of soldiers blocking the jetty did not
see them either, their attention on their soldier who had fallen, all of them
baffled as to who had killed him. Three of the soldiers sat hunched over him, trying
to revive him.
That
was their fatal mistake. Reece and Matus lunged forward as they reached them, Srog
hobbling just behind them, swords drawn, and before the three soldiers, their
sides exposed, realized, they stabbed each one through the heart. That left six
of them.
Stara,
right behind them, drew her dagger and backhanded one, slicing his throat,
dropping him to the ground; then she turned seamlessly and stabbed another
through the heart. That left four.
Reece
backhanded one with his gauntlet and kicked another, while Srog head-butted one
and Matus ducked as an attacker swung a mace for his head, then rose up and
sliced his stomach.
Within
moments the group of soldiers blocking the jetty was down, as Reece and the
others blew past them like a storm.
A
horn sounded, and Reece turned to see that Tirus’s other men—hundreds of
them—had spotted them. There rose a great battle cry on the beach, as the men
turned and began racing for them.
“The
rope!” Stara shouted.
Reece
ran over to the huge coil of rope nearby and hoisted it over his shoulder; it
was heavier than he’d imagined. Matus rushed over and helped him, and they
hoisted it together as they all ran down the jetty, the four of them running as
fast as they could. Stara brought up the rear, and she stopped, turned, raised
her bow, and fired six shots in procession, taking out six of the closest
soldiers, the bodies piling up at the base the jetty.
They
all, gasping for air, finally reached the edge of the jetty. Waves crashed all around
them, foam spraying up over their feet. Reece lost his footing for a moment, and
Stara reached out and steadied him. Beside them, Srog and Matus hurried to tie
the rope to the end of one of Stara’s arrows.
“The
warning sign first!” Reece called out, reminding Stara.
Stara
took three arrows from a closed quiver wrapped around her back. These were
wrapped with an oil-soaked cloth, prepared in advance, as all good archers did,
in their own separate quiver. Out of the quiver she also removed the dry flint
rocks and struck them together, creating sparks. She did it again and again,
the sparks not catching in the rain. Reece turned to see Tirus’s men storming
the jetty. He knew their time was short.
“Come
on!” Reece cried.
Finally,
the cloth sparked, and all three arrows lit up.
“Shoot
them up high!” Reece said. “Nearly straight overhead! But angle a little toward
the ships! That is the sign!”
Stara
fired the three flaming arrows in quick succession, and they shot up, close to each
other, perfect shots. It was the flame of the falcon’s claws, high up in the
sky, the ancient sign of the MacGils, and any good commander watching the skies
would see. Reece was relieved to see that the arrows stayed aflame for a good five
seconds, until finally, all three fizzled out.
“The
rope!” Matus said. “Fire it now!”
Stara
took up the rope and arrow, aiming high, long distance for the ship.
“We’ve
got one shot at this,” Reece said to her. “Do not miss.”
She
turned and looked at him, and he was struck by how beautiful her face was in
the rain, how proud, how noble—how fearless. He stared back at her and nodded
reassuringly.
“You
can do this,” he said. “I have faith in you.”
She
nodded back.
Stara
turned and fired, and they all watched, Reece holding his breath, as the arrow
sailed up high, arching through the air. Reece knew that if it fell short, they
would all be finished.
Finally,
in the distance, Reece heard the satisfying thunk of arrow piercing wood,
Similar Books
