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Authors: C.Greenwood
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failing me or the heat had driven me mad. There could be no other explanation for what I saw. For it was no ordinary bow he carried.
It was mine.
My old bow, enchanted with the twisted magic that had eventually forced me to discard it. Weeks ago, before setting out on this journey, I had tossed the thing into the falls above Red Rock, never to be seen again. Yet here it was now. I could feel it, could sense the life humming within it as I used to in the old days. It fairly glowed with a power of its own, a magic I remembered all too well. My mind rushed back to the broken arrow I had kept after the attempt on my life. No wonder it had emitted an almost tangible aura that I had been aware of despite the stunted state of my magic. It had come into contact with the bow, which I would recognize anywhere.
I shook myself and forced my attention back to the danger at hand. A fresh arrow was nocked to that bow now, and it was meant for me. I licked my lips and silently drew a knife from my sleeve. But my movement upset a nearby stone and sent it tumbling with a noisy clatter.
My enemy’s head whipped around at the sound and he half turned, bow at the ready.
Chapter Seven
Unwilling to give him time to take aim, I leaped down on top of him. My weight slammed into him and bore us both to the ground. The impact of our collision knocked the breath from my lungs, but to remain motionless until I could breathe again would mean death. Ignoring the pain in my chest, I plunged my knife at my adversary’s shoulder. But he recovered from his surprise in time to catch my wrist in midair and turn the blade away from him. Unable to twist free of his powerful grip, I fumbled with my free hand to draw my second knife. I stabbed it into the only place I could easily reach from this position, his upper thigh.
It was a glancing blow. I hadn’t much strength to put into it, but it was enough. He screamed in pain, instantly releasing his grip on my wrist. In the same moment, I discovered I could breathe again and sucked in great gulps of air even as I wriggled off the prone form of my enemy and groped after the bow that had been knocked from his hands.
Writhing and clutching his injury, my enemy didn’t try to stop me.
My fingers closed around the elderwood arm of the bow. Immediately my fears abated, and confidence surged through me. My feelings or those belonging to the bow? It didn’t matter. When my other hand, fumbling in the sand, found the loose arrow it sought, I scrambled to my feet.
My opponent, finally realizing his predicament, unbent from his pained posture to grab at my legs, but I kicked free. Panting from the struggle, I stood over my fallen enemy and trained the arrow at him. It was strange, feeling the smooth elderwood in my hands again. But I couldn’t let myself be distracted by the familiar sensations it awakened in me or by the soft, welcoming whisper I could almost hear stirring through the back of my mind.
“Tell me why you’ve been trailing me,” I demanded of the stranger at my feet. “Why are you trying to kill me?”
He glared up at me with eyes that seemed, once again, hauntingly familiar.
Although he still gripped his wounded thigh, his anger was so intense he seemed to forget his pain and the blood trickling past his fingers. “I hunt you because I was paid to do it,” he spat. “But I’d have taken the job for nothing, if only to avenge my father, dead at your hands. Or near enough by your doing as to make no difference.”
I stared as questions tumbled around in my head. I had made my share of enemies in the past, but who could want me dead badly enough to hire an assassin to track me across the provinces? And more to the point, most of my enemies were the sort who would come after me themselves if they wanted to kill me. I couldn’t think of anyone with the means or inclination to send this person.
Yet the words that found their way out of my mouth weren’t about that at all. “Whose death
It was mine.
My old bow, enchanted with the twisted magic that had eventually forced me to discard it. Weeks ago, before setting out on this journey, I had tossed the thing into the falls above Red Rock, never to be seen again. Yet here it was now. I could feel it, could sense the life humming within it as I used to in the old days. It fairly glowed with a power of its own, a magic I remembered all too well. My mind rushed back to the broken arrow I had kept after the attempt on my life. No wonder it had emitted an almost tangible aura that I had been aware of despite the stunted state of my magic. It had come into contact with the bow, which I would recognize anywhere.
I shook myself and forced my attention back to the danger at hand. A fresh arrow was nocked to that bow now, and it was meant for me. I licked my lips and silently drew a knife from my sleeve. But my movement upset a nearby stone and sent it tumbling with a noisy clatter.
My enemy’s head whipped around at the sound and he half turned, bow at the ready.
Chapter Seven
Unwilling to give him time to take aim, I leaped down on top of him. My weight slammed into him and bore us both to the ground. The impact of our collision knocked the breath from my lungs, but to remain motionless until I could breathe again would mean death. Ignoring the pain in my chest, I plunged my knife at my adversary’s shoulder. But he recovered from his surprise in time to catch my wrist in midair and turn the blade away from him. Unable to twist free of his powerful grip, I fumbled with my free hand to draw my second knife. I stabbed it into the only place I could easily reach from this position, his upper thigh.
It was a glancing blow. I hadn’t much strength to put into it, but it was enough. He screamed in pain, instantly releasing his grip on my wrist. In the same moment, I discovered I could breathe again and sucked in great gulps of air even as I wriggled off the prone form of my enemy and groped after the bow that had been knocked from his hands.
Writhing and clutching his injury, my enemy didn’t try to stop me.
My fingers closed around the elderwood arm of the bow. Immediately my fears abated, and confidence surged through me. My feelings or those belonging to the bow? It didn’t matter. When my other hand, fumbling in the sand, found the loose arrow it sought, I scrambled to my feet.
My opponent, finally realizing his predicament, unbent from his pained posture to grab at my legs, but I kicked free. Panting from the struggle, I stood over my fallen enemy and trained the arrow at him. It was strange, feeling the smooth elderwood in my hands again. But I couldn’t let myself be distracted by the familiar sensations it awakened in me or by the soft, welcoming whisper I could almost hear stirring through the back of my mind.
“Tell me why you’ve been trailing me,” I demanded of the stranger at my feet. “Why are you trying to kill me?”
He glared up at me with eyes that seemed, once again, hauntingly familiar.
Although he still gripped his wounded thigh, his anger was so intense he seemed to forget his pain and the blood trickling past his fingers. “I hunt you because I was paid to do it,” he spat. “But I’d have taken the job for nothing, if only to avenge my father, dead at your hands. Or near enough by your doing as to make no difference.”
I stared as questions tumbled around in my head. I had made my share of enemies in the past, but who could want me dead badly enough to hire an assassin to track me across the provinces? And more to the point, most of my enemies were the sort who would come after me themselves if they wanted to kill me. I couldn’t think of anyone with the means or inclination to send this person.
Yet the words that found their way out of my mouth weren’t about that at all. “Whose death
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