Chapter 4 #2
Figures moved—swift, spectral, emerging from the twisted trees with silent intent. Not just Thalen and Vastor. More than ten men emerged. Shadows cloaked in ash-gray and leather, faces hidden, blades gleaming like serpent’s teeth. They were only forty yards away and would be upon them in seconds.
Astraia didn’t hesitate. Her bow was in her hands. She took aim in a single breath, and the world slowed.
Sounds dulled around her, the thundering footsteps fading into a distant hum.
Replacing the sounds of her surroundings was just her own breath, in and out in a slow rhythm.
She could smell everything. The pine in the woods, the saltiness of the sweat coating her brow, the blooming wildflowers of the clearing, the lingering ash of the doused fire.
Her vision sharpened, narrowed, until her arrowhead gleamed like a star before her, and in a heartbeat, her eyesight expanded.
Vastor’s face swam into focus, every detail crystal clear.
The damp strands of hair clinging to his brow.
She could see every freckle that dotted his nose, the crude smile that blossomed on his lips.
Every stitch of his cloak, every scratch on his blade. He was moving, but through quicksand.
Astraia took another breath, and her eyesight cleared even more. The air around him shimmered, thick with floating pollen, golden in the dim light. She exhaled purposefully and released her arrow with deadly precision straight into Vastor’s chest.
Time snapped back.
Sound returned in a crash. The world lurched, senses reeling. The glow behind her eyes faded, her breath ragged now.
Vastor crumpled to the ground, clutching the arrow as blood oozed from his gaping mouth.
“Val, move!” she shouted, but her voice was swallowed by the crashing of hoofbeats, the snap of branches, the roar of betrayal.
Val reached for his sword—but it was too late.
Thalen roared at the sight of Vastor on the ground and spurred his horse into a full gallop, overtaking Val in seconds. A flash of steel, a grunt of effort, and Val staggered, blade sunk deep in his side.
“No!” Astraia’s scream tore through the clearing.
She let another arrow fly. Senses heightened once more, she could feel the exhilaration of hitting her mark. The arrow struck Thalen in the chest, and he fell from his horse without sound.
Val dropped to his knees, eyes wide, hand clutching at blood. His eyes found Astraia’s, and he toppled over, dark red staining the grass.
There was no time to mourn. The others were on her.
Astraia moved, fluid as breath, the next arrow finding its mark in the throat of a man she didn’t recognize. Another arrow followed—through the eye of a cloaked brute as he charged.
But they kept coming. She had downed four men, but six remained. She was outnumbered. Her heart pounded, the bond rising. Heat licked at her spine, a storm building in her veins.
I am Starlight. I will not fall.
A blade grazed her side as she twisted, the pain sharp, immediate—but she didn’t fall. She turned, loosed another arrow, her assailant dispatched.
Five left.
They dismounted their horses and circled her, cautious now.
Her quiver was almost empty. Her breath ragged.
And the bond—it wanted out.
Her fingers tingled, light dancing at the edge of her vision.
No. Not now. Not here.
She aimed an arrow. “Let me walk away and take the wagon. And I’ll let the rest of you live!”
One of the men, a burly-looking mammoth with a long brown beard, snickered as he moved closer to her. “We aren’t here for the wagon.”
Her knees hit the earth as a second man had come up behind her and kicked the back of her legs. Her hand burned, white light flaring, uncontrolled. A hand wrenched off her cloak hood and yanked her hair backward, forcing her face skyward.
One step closer—and she would unleash it all.
She opened her eyes, white light blasting into the faces of the men. The man closest to her yelped, wrenching his hand away from her and stumbling backward.
Then, a shadow moved.
A blur, fast, silent.
Steel met flesh.
One of the bandits jerked, eyes wide, before collapsing—a blade still embedded in his chest. Astraia’s captor released her hair, and her flare lessened enough to break her gaze. The glow ebbed from her eyes.
The other four bounty hunters whipped around, on the defensive—but they were already too late.
Astraia’s rescuer was a storm, all dark leather and silent rage. His hand wrenched his sword from the fallen man, moving with brutal grace as he sped toward another.
One fell, throat slit. Another stumbled, fear in his eyes before he was cut down.
Astraia struggled to rise, the light still sparking at her fingertips.
The dark figure stepped between her and the last two men. One bandit roared with rage, raised his sword, rushing the defender. With unnatural speed, the figure ran forward, falling to his knees and sliding on the grass. His sword rose and sliced through the bandit’s side.
Without missing a step, her shadowy savior rose and directed his sword at the last man. His voice was low, final.
“Run.”
The man did not need to be told twice. He bolted for the Starfell Woods, tripping over the earth as he went.
Astraia rose slowly. She pulled the last arrow from her quiver, raised her Starwood bow, breath filling her lungs, senses harmoniously intensified. And released.
The fleeing bounty hunter flinched in the distance as an arrow embedded itself in his back, then toppled forward, screaming as he went down.
The clearing was still again, save for the crackle of the dying fire, and the trickle of blood into the soil.
Astraia gasped for air, the bond still pulsing, wild beneath her skin.
Her rescuer turned, his eyes—amber fire—locking onto hers.
“You’re welcome,” he said, voice like dusk.