The Archer's War: Exciting good read - adventure fiction about fighting and combat during medieval times in feudal England with archers, longbows, knights, ... (The Company of English Archers Book 4) by Martin Archer

their heraldry unless they were at war or riding in a tournament. They’re either a party of outlaws collecting tolls to which they are not entitled or they are ranging in advance of a larger party.  Who are these men?
           It’s a question I don’t have a chance to ask.  Suddenly Sir Andrew draws his sword and kicks his heels into his horse’s side and the crossbowman raises his bow.
           There is no time to even think.  I instinctively kick my horse in the ribs to get it moving and bend over its neck to make a smaller target.
           My horse lunges forward three or four steps into the trees when there is a distinct “thud” and my horse shudders and begins screaming as it crashes into a tree and throws me off.  It is as if I can see everything happening very slowly, even when I’m flying through the air as my horse goes down.
           I’m sprawled on my side and Sir Andrew, or whoever the rider might be, leans forward on his saddle and closes on me quickly with his sword lifted high over his head and off to the side for a killing slash. 
           There is a grim look on the knight’s bearded face and I’ve got my arm up uselessly in an instinctive effort to ward off the blow.  Then there is a blur of arrows.  A couple of the shafts seem to miss him but the three that bury themselves up to their fletchings in the armor shielding Sir Andrew’s chest certainly don’t and neither do the two that go deep into his horse. 
           I see the man’s mouth open in a scream as his horse keeps coming and crashes into me as it turns sideways and goes down.
           The next thing I know it’s starting to rain and Peter is slapping me in the face to rouse me and trying to lift my head. 
           “What happened?”  I croak.
           “Your head got banged when his horse knocked you into a tree.  But you’ll be good.  Lost your horse though; she’s a goner.”
           Sir Andrew, or whatever the real name of my attacker is, is on the ground a few paces away with a glazed look in his eyes and blood still pouring out of his mouth. 
           “Help me up,” I command.
           Peter and another man, George from Haverhill I think, pull me up to my feet and I just as promptly have weak legs and sit down again.  The rest of my men are standing around in a little circle looking at me with looks of concern.  Oh God.  I can’t stand. Am I hit?
           “Am I hit?  Did he get me?”
           “No.  No.  You’re just dazed from banging into a tree.  You’ll be fine.”
           “Where did they go?”
           “Some rode off; but not all of them as you can see,” Peter replied as he gestured towards Sir Andrew and a couple of other bodies and a dead horse on the ground nearby. 
           About twenty paces away there is a man thrashing about on his side with an arrow sticking out of his belly; just a boy from the looks of him. Further out in the open area I can see a horse and a body on the ground and another horse standing with its head down and shivering.  As we watch, the wounded horse sinks to its knees and rolls over on to its side with its head extended as far out as it can reach.
           “Any of us hurt?”
           “Just you, Lord William, just you.  And your horse of course; she’s a goner.”
           Once again I struggle to my feet with Peter’s help.  This time I stay up.
           “Peter, do we know who they are?”
           “No sire, we do not.” 
           Sire?  That’s hard to get used to hearing and would certainly surprise me mum – but I like it.  I surely do.
           “Well let’s go ask that boy over there before he finishes dying.”
           All it takes to get an answer is asking his name and offering him some kindness in the form of water to wet his lips.  In between his gasps and weeping we learn his name is Samuel