‘thwack’. Knife Man’s eyes opened wide, his features frozen in terror. The fletched feathers of the end of an arrow were protruding from the top of his head, like some sort of bizarre headdress. His eyes rolled back in his skull and he collapsed. Behind her, Eleanor heard another ‘thwack’ and turned as the other man, just having got back on his feet, toppled over, an arrow sticking out of the top of his head. The two by the exit fell with hardly a sound, arrows sticking out of their chests, before they fully realised what was going on. That just left the kid next to Conlan. Eleanor turned to face him. His soft brown eyes flicked around with panicked fear; he gazed at his fallen comrades, promptly flung his sword and knife to the ground and fell to his knees with his hands behind his head.
Eleanor forced herself to stand. Her body continued to shake. Conlan was lying still. She was too far away to tell if he was breathing and too afraid to get closer in case he might not be. Shadows moved across the gap above her – those who had released the arrows, she guessed – but were they friends or more foe? The pain in her wrist became an agony that overwhelmed even the pain of the injury Knife Man had inflected. She cradled it with her left hand and waited, paralysed, for whatever was coming next. Eleanor jumped when a voice called out from the canyon’s entrance.
“You must be Earth. Who taught you to fight?”
Eleanor spun round; a woman and two men were entering the canyon. It was the woman who had spoken. She was tall and willowy, with long black curls tied down her back. Cold grey eyes regarded the world from a beautiful, solemn, ivory-skinned face. The two men could not have been more different. The older one was tall and pale, blond hair and deep-blue eyes in a handsome, rugged face. He moved his lithe, muscular body with a sinuous grace that rivalled Conlan’s. The shorter, younger one had skin like polished walnut, a sturdier, stronger looking physique and closely cropped black hair over dark, almost black eyes that shimmered in the lantern light. He had an amused smile and an open, friendly face. They moved towards her with calm confidence, swords at their waists swinging against their legs as they walked. The blond man carried a bow, which he handed to the woman as he passed them, moving quickly towards Conlan. Eleanor felt a surge of relief. She was home and here were her family. She had never met these people before in her life, and yet she felt closer to them than anyone she had ever known. The pain, fear and confusion of the last few days fell away and she smiled through tears she had not realised were falling down her face.
“I’m Eleanor,” she managed between sobs, stepping over the dead man at her feet and staggering forwards. The woman almost ran towards her, welcoming her. As they touched, the pain in Eleanor’s wrist dropped immediately to a dull throb. Burying her face into the woman’s shoulder, she smelt lavender and the vague, comforting impression of incense; the woman stroked her head gently.
“I’m Amelia. We knew you were close when our brands started burning, so we came looking for you. Conlan always said this was a good place for an ambush. He’s my man, Will,” she said, nodding towards the blond man crouching over Conlan. “The other one’s Freddie.” Freddie had dragged the cowering young Protector a short distance from them, so that he would not get in Will’s way. Eleanor watched anxiously as the blond-haired man gently assessed Conlan’s injuries.
“We need to get him out of here,” he said.
“Is he going to be OK?” Eleanor asked.
Will nodded without looking up. “He’s taken quite a beating and he’s exhausted. I think there might be broken ribs, but hopefully he’ll heal.” He gently pulled his patient into a sitting position; as he did, Conlan’s eyes flickered open.
“Hi, Boss, how do you feel?” Will asked.
“Is Eleanor OK?”
Eleanor forced herself to stand. Her body continued to shake. Conlan was lying still. She was too far away to tell if he was breathing and too afraid to get closer in case he might not be. Shadows moved across the gap above her – those who had released the arrows, she guessed – but were they friends or more foe? The pain in her wrist became an agony that overwhelmed even the pain of the injury Knife Man had inflected. She cradled it with her left hand and waited, paralysed, for whatever was coming next. Eleanor jumped when a voice called out from the canyon’s entrance.
“You must be Earth. Who taught you to fight?”
Eleanor spun round; a woman and two men were entering the canyon. It was the woman who had spoken. She was tall and willowy, with long black curls tied down her back. Cold grey eyes regarded the world from a beautiful, solemn, ivory-skinned face. The two men could not have been more different. The older one was tall and pale, blond hair and deep-blue eyes in a handsome, rugged face. He moved his lithe, muscular body with a sinuous grace that rivalled Conlan’s. The shorter, younger one had skin like polished walnut, a sturdier, stronger looking physique and closely cropped black hair over dark, almost black eyes that shimmered in the lantern light. He had an amused smile and an open, friendly face. They moved towards her with calm confidence, swords at their waists swinging against their legs as they walked. The blond man carried a bow, which he handed to the woman as he passed them, moving quickly towards Conlan. Eleanor felt a surge of relief. She was home and here were her family. She had never met these people before in her life, and yet she felt closer to them than anyone she had ever known. The pain, fear and confusion of the last few days fell away and she smiled through tears she had not realised were falling down her face.
“I’m Eleanor,” she managed between sobs, stepping over the dead man at her feet and staggering forwards. The woman almost ran towards her, welcoming her. As they touched, the pain in Eleanor’s wrist dropped immediately to a dull throb. Burying her face into the woman’s shoulder, she smelt lavender and the vague, comforting impression of incense; the woman stroked her head gently.
“I’m Amelia. We knew you were close when our brands started burning, so we came looking for you. Conlan always said this was a good place for an ambush. He’s my man, Will,” she said, nodding towards the blond man crouching over Conlan. “The other one’s Freddie.” Freddie had dragged the cowering young Protector a short distance from them, so that he would not get in Will’s way. Eleanor watched anxiously as the blond-haired man gently assessed Conlan’s injuries.
“We need to get him out of here,” he said.
“Is he going to be OK?” Eleanor asked.
Will nodded without looking up. “He’s taken quite a beating and he’s exhausted. I think there might be broken ribs, but hopefully he’ll heal.” He gently pulled his patient into a sitting position; as he did, Conlan’s eyes flickered open.
“Hi, Boss, how do you feel?” Will asked.
“Is Eleanor OK?”
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