Touch of Iron (The Living Blade #1) by Timandra Whitecastle Page A
Authors: Timandra Whitecastle
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door. Too late now. She let the door fall shut again and turned around to face the bowman.
Something hit her in the shoulder. Her back slammed against the kitchen door as white heat exploded in her arm. Her fingers would no longer grasp the hilt of her knife, and it clanged uselessly on the floor. Warmth ran down her arm and dripped blood red from her fingers. She tried to look down. Something like black feathers was obstructing her view. Then she realized they were black feathers. The tip of an arrow had buried itself in her shoulder. The bowman stood poised a few steps away, calmly drawing the string of his hunting bow back with a new arrow aimed at her.
“I wanted to pin you to that door. Watch you burn,” he said with a smile, stepping over the axman’s still body. “But I like it this way too. Kneel.”
Nora slid down the kitchen door. It was no use, now. Do as he says. Ignore the pain. Try not to focus on the screaming white-hot pulsing flesh. She groaned. Her breath came hard.
It was over now. She knelt on the cold flagstones, arms dropped at her side. She heard the crackle of the fire behind her, felt its heat coming through the door. White smoke crawled underneath it, snaking between her fingers. She looked up at the bowman, past the arrowhead aimed at her left eye. He wouldn’t kill her easily. He was one who liked to watch the pain. It should scare her. But Nora couldn’t feel anything but the mind-numbing pain in her shoulder. She concentrated to keep the man’s face in focus, but darkness lurked in the corner of her view and it was reaching out fast. Only the pain kept it at bay for now.
“I’m going to kill you,” the bowman told her. “Then I’m going to take all the stuff we got here and won’t have to share it with anyone. Thanks to you. Shame about the girl, really. Whatsherface. Blonde girl. Ran out earlier. I liked the way she moaned. Moan for me, will you?”
He kicked at the arrow dug deep in her shoulder. Nora didn’t moan. She screamed. She bent over double, left palm splayed on the floor, panting hard, sweat dripping into her eyes.
“Look at me!” he commanded.
The bowman stooped to grab a fistful of her hair and forced her to face him. But then he fell on the floor face-first instead. Behind him in the gathering darkness of Nora’s vision was Sallima, the baker’s wife, with wild hair and a coalman’s shovel. Nora fell forward. The flagstones were cool under her cheek. Gray smoke crawled into her mouth and nose. And the darkness waited.
Chapter 12
N ora opened her eyes. She lay in a furry brown cloud. It tickled her nose, but it was warm. Her shoulder throbbed and she had difficulty swallowing, her mouth was that dry. She raised her head. It was heavier than any mountain, and she let it drop back into the fur.
“Rest.” A cool hand patted her left shoulder, then fingers touched her cheek. “You are still weak.”
“Water,” she croaked.
An earthenware cup was brought to her lips, and a hand slipped under her head to raise it up for her. The water was cool and she quenched her thirst in long gulps. It ran down into her belly like a soothing balm. With every swallow, the ache in her throat subsided. The hand with the cup moved away. She reached for it but it was gone. Out of reach. She lay back and could have cried, only she fell asleep once again.
Nora woke up a second time. Her shoulder still hurt. This time, she raised her head herself and peered at her surroundings through sleep-caked eyes. She lay on a bundle of costly furs. She stroked the fur under her fingers. Sheepskins, deer, the pelts of the antlered minks of the woodlands around the Ridge. Fox and wolf. In her dream, she had seen a pile of furs somewhere, but it kept slipping from her mind. On a table? That didn’t make sense. On a table in the inn? But something was wrong. Something…She sighed and settled her gaze above her head, on the wooden beams. They were familiar at least. She knew her own
Something hit her in the shoulder. Her back slammed against the kitchen door as white heat exploded in her arm. Her fingers would no longer grasp the hilt of her knife, and it clanged uselessly on the floor. Warmth ran down her arm and dripped blood red from her fingers. She tried to look down. Something like black feathers was obstructing her view. Then she realized they were black feathers. The tip of an arrow had buried itself in her shoulder. The bowman stood poised a few steps away, calmly drawing the string of his hunting bow back with a new arrow aimed at her.
“I wanted to pin you to that door. Watch you burn,” he said with a smile, stepping over the axman’s still body. “But I like it this way too. Kneel.”
Nora slid down the kitchen door. It was no use, now. Do as he says. Ignore the pain. Try not to focus on the screaming white-hot pulsing flesh. She groaned. Her breath came hard.
It was over now. She knelt on the cold flagstones, arms dropped at her side. She heard the crackle of the fire behind her, felt its heat coming through the door. White smoke crawled underneath it, snaking between her fingers. She looked up at the bowman, past the arrowhead aimed at her left eye. He wouldn’t kill her easily. He was one who liked to watch the pain. It should scare her. But Nora couldn’t feel anything but the mind-numbing pain in her shoulder. She concentrated to keep the man’s face in focus, but darkness lurked in the corner of her view and it was reaching out fast. Only the pain kept it at bay for now.
“I’m going to kill you,” the bowman told her. “Then I’m going to take all the stuff we got here and won’t have to share it with anyone. Thanks to you. Shame about the girl, really. Whatsherface. Blonde girl. Ran out earlier. I liked the way she moaned. Moan for me, will you?”
He kicked at the arrow dug deep in her shoulder. Nora didn’t moan. She screamed. She bent over double, left palm splayed on the floor, panting hard, sweat dripping into her eyes.
“Look at me!” he commanded.
The bowman stooped to grab a fistful of her hair and forced her to face him. But then he fell on the floor face-first instead. Behind him in the gathering darkness of Nora’s vision was Sallima, the baker’s wife, with wild hair and a coalman’s shovel. Nora fell forward. The flagstones were cool under her cheek. Gray smoke crawled into her mouth and nose. And the darkness waited.
Chapter 12
N ora opened her eyes. She lay in a furry brown cloud. It tickled her nose, but it was warm. Her shoulder throbbed and she had difficulty swallowing, her mouth was that dry. She raised her head. It was heavier than any mountain, and she let it drop back into the fur.
“Rest.” A cool hand patted her left shoulder, then fingers touched her cheek. “You are still weak.”
“Water,” she croaked.
An earthenware cup was brought to her lips, and a hand slipped under her head to raise it up for her. The water was cool and she quenched her thirst in long gulps. It ran down into her belly like a soothing balm. With every swallow, the ache in her throat subsided. The hand with the cup moved away. She reached for it but it was gone. Out of reach. She lay back and could have cried, only she fell asleep once again.
Nora woke up a second time. Her shoulder still hurt. This time, she raised her head herself and peered at her surroundings through sleep-caked eyes. She lay on a bundle of costly furs. She stroked the fur under her fingers. Sheepskins, deer, the pelts of the antlered minks of the woodlands around the Ridge. Fox and wolf. In her dream, she had seen a pile of furs somewhere, but it kept slipping from her mind. On a table? That didn’t make sense. On a table in the inn? But something was wrong. Something…She sighed and settled her gaze above her head, on the wooden beams. They were familiar at least. She knew her own
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