Revelyn: 1st Chronicles - When the last arrow falls by Chris Ward

attack he walked into. The girl had death in her eyes and moved like a cat. Her sword was faster than anything he had seen. His practice with the other soldiers was always in the safety of camp, and usually accompanied by drink and much showing off. Suddenly he realised that this was life and death.
    Her sword ripped his shirt open and clipped his cheek. He felt blood run freely down his face.
    My blood! realised the panicking soldier.
    He swung, she dodged and parried. He was stronger, but she was swifter than a sabrecat.
    Try as he might he could not get any stroke to land. He was vaguely aware of the captain calling to him.
    ‘Do not harm her Soldier Sleeman. She must be taken alive.’
    He thrust high, she went low, swiveled and struck him with a straight leg to his stomach. He doubled up. That’s unfair he thought , as though he was playing with his brother as he had years before. Winded, he tried to protect himself; the girl went for the kill, but in anger misjudged her lunge, and ironically only succeeded in slicing his belt once more, and in an instant he stood exposed again, pants around his ankles, but this time in deadly danger. She thrust again, he stepped back, but the pants prevented him going far and he fell backwards. In anger she slashed at him as he fell and cut him deeply across his chest. And then he was down, in pain, bleeding and whimpering.
    Sylvion was not finished. She knew he had been the one to kill her kindma and he must die. Suddenly there was a blur of movement and another soldier appeared. He was much taller than any in the Captain’s troop and he moved with a fluidity of motion far superior to a normal king’s guard.
    His sword moving faster than the eye, cut Sylvion lightly across the back, and as she straightened in pain and turned to meet him, with two quick and powerful cuts her sword went spinning off into the grass. He moved in before it had hardly left her hand and grabbed her by the neck. He threw her down and put his sword to her throat, and a foot on her chest. He smiled coldly in triumph, and hissed in a voice little more than an animal’s grunt.
    ‘So easy when you know how. Captain; your prisoner.’
     
    Sylvion was totally shocked. She lay winded and hurting. Looking up she saw a very tall and wiry man, with short cropped hair and lifeless eyes set close in a long angry face. He wore a close fitting tunic which allowed his incredibly long limbs to move with ease. He had a rough sown badge on his chest. It said one word.
    Wolver.
    And Sylvion knew she had no escape. She lay with a pounding heart as grief overtook her. She lay within an arms length of her dead kindma. She wondered what was happening. It had been such a perfect day.
    ‘Ah.’ said Captain Bach looking down at her, ‘The nightmare just begins my dear.’
    He turned to the Wolver , ‘Welcome. I was expecting you. But as always you have excelled yourself. My prisoner indeed. Soldier Sleeman will you please pull up your pants, and go and get cleaned up, you are bleeding all over the place. Then find Moss. He has some explaining to do’
    Lightfoot had seen her mistress fighting; she had whinnied in fear and paced back and forward in the orchard, unsure of what to do. She sensed the danger in the Wolver and kept back in fear. She saw her mistress fall and stood trembling and confused. Suddenly from somewhere behind her she heard a snorting and a call which only a horse would recognise. Thunder had followed and seen it all as well. He could not bring himself to leave the forest but had come out into the open a few paces, the first time he had ever done so. He called to Lightfoot in a language unknown to human ears.
    ‘Come now my friend, come with us, we can do nothing here.’
    And so Lightfoot turned and went to Thunder. They stood together, the great and powerful stallion carved in white and shining in the fading light, and the fearful grieving grey, beautiful at his side. They stood and took one last look,