The Archer’s Wish (Legends of the Miracle Stone)
Chapter One
Liam McRay used to strike fear into men’s hearts. Now, he could barely stand. Every day, Liam asked himself the same bitter question. What good is a warrior who can no longer fight?
He’d been a warrior since boyhood, a champion archer in tournaments and on the battlefield. Now he measured his days in levels of pain. The ache in his bones. The useless drag of his leg. The pity in the eyes of his clansmen. A cripple, they whispered. And the cruelest part? They weren’t wrong.
The first sound was metal striking metal, a clash that split the air, followed by screams and the guttural groans of men as blades found flesh.
Then came the thunder of warhorses, their hooves pounding the earth in a steady rhythm that shook the ground beneath his boots.
The surroundings dissolved into chaos, shouts, swords, and the scent of fear.
Warriors battled on, some crying out in triumph, others in terror as the tides of battle broke upon them.
Suddenly, Liam’s horse reared up when struck.
Unable to throw himself out of the way as the creature collapsed, its massive weight pinned Liam beneath it.
The sound of snapping bones filled his skull, mingling with the dying animal’s shuddering breaths.
Pain, white-hot and blinding, tore through him as he screamed.
The raw sounds ripping from his dry throat.
Gasps tore from him as he jolted upright in bed. Fire lanced up his left leg, searing through his hip, dragging another cry from his lips before he could stop it. Alone in the quiet of his chamber, he was grateful no one could hear his weakness.
The rawness of the battle clung to him, the clang of steel, the acrid smoke, the copper tang of blood thick in the air. Even in the safety of his bed, the battle remained as vivid as the day it occurred.
Faint sunlight filtered through the windows as the vestiges of sleep fell away bringing the reality of a new day and thankfully dulling the pain brought by his sudden movements.
Moving gingerly, he swung his legs sideways and down until his feet touched the floor.
Only then, when the movement didnae bring more pain, did he allow himself to let out a breath of relief.
Every morning, the stiffness of his hips and left leg were stark reminders of how much life had changed.
He’d gone from being a nimble fighter who led warrior archers to being a cripple who walked with a pronounced limp and required a cane.
What tore at him the most was the loss of leadership status as head archer.
Laird Alexander Ross had relegated him to the role of his personal scribe. An elevated position, but not what Liam ever expected to be his future.
Unfortunately, his injuries precluded him from any physical duties. An archer had to control a huge warhorse with his legs and thigh muscles whilst holding up a bow during battle. Something he’d done without much thought for years but was now an impossibility.
The healer had informed him that it was doubtful he’d ever ride astride. Despite the dire predictions, Liam vowed to himself to one day return to the saddle and to hold a bow and arrow again.
After washing his face in the water basin in his bed chamber, Liam donned his clothes. Taking the cane that leaned on the wall by the door, he made his way to the great room.
It was first meal, the aroma of freshly baked bread, ale, and boar meat filled the air, making Liam’s stomach rumble in anticipation.
Upon entering through an archway, Liam nodded toward the high board where Laird Alexander Ross, his brother, Cynden Ross, and leaders Knox Ross and Hendry McNichol were already eating.
Despite being the scribe and expected to sit at the high board, Liam never did.
The scribe’s table and chair were detached from the laird’s table and set on the laird’s left, where any notable occurrences could be marked down.
Liam only went to the table after breaking his fast with the archers and sat with nothing more than a tankard.
Two long tables were designated for the guard force. The tables were not in the front of the room, but instead closer to the entrance, where they could easily leave, or if required, preclude uninvited guests from entering.
Liam chose to sit at the table where most of the archers sat. Each man greeted him with grunts or nods, which made him feel as if he was still part of their group. He frowned at an archer who nudged him and pointed to a tankard. “Not too dirty, that one.”
Everyone laughed when he grimaced and peered into it.
The simple meal of porridge, bread, and portions of hog meat made for a good meal meant to keep the men’s bellies full for a few hours.
It was only after the guard force began drifting from the great room that Liam made his way to the front.
A fresh tankard had already been placed on the small scribe’s table next to a quill and inkwell as well as a ledger where he kept notes.
It was customary for the scribe to take the ledger with him for the night, to rewrite each transcription after hasty notetaking.
The ledger was then given to the laird for review each morning.
However, since taking over, Liam’s notes had been painstakingly accurate, so much so that Alexander was able to take the ledger to review at the end of each day.
Unable to keep from groaning as he settled into the chair, he purposely kept from looking at the leaders lest he see any sort of pity in their eyes.
Once settled, Liam turned his attention to the laird and others as they discussed schedules, from the guards atop the keep’s walls to the groups patrolling.
Liam’s closest friend Hendry cleared his throat and proceeded when signaled by Alexander.
“My men are asking for permission to attend the spring festival. I am considering granting it. Those who are on duty will continue to perform their tasks, even if it means attending fully armed.”
Liam took notes, doing his best to ignore the constant pangs of envy at considering how much he’d always enjoyed the village festivals. This was to be the first festivity since he’d been able to walk, albeit not perfectly.
He would stay away from the festival, because attending meant he’d only participate as a spectator, sitting on the edges of the village square with the elderly and lame.
When Knox brought up issues with archers’ duties and lack of time to train, the lead archer asked Liam for his opinion.
At the recent battle with Clan MacLeod, several archers had been severely injured or killed, which meant their ranks were in dire need of more men to be at the same level they’d been at before the last battle.
Knox gave Liam a straight look. “As ye are aware, our archers are required to accompany patrols and serve on wall duty. It leaves little time for training or even for the men to rest.”
Liam considered replying that he no longer wished to be involved with archer activities, but he’d been the archers’ leader and felt a responsibility to them.
“At Tokavaig, there is a group of seven lads who are on the verge of manhood and two older ones, who I’d been training in archery.
They’ve shown great skill, and I am sure will be more than willing to fill the gaps for those who can no longer…
” A lump formed at the thought of those fallen, who’d either died or, like him, would never return to serve the laird.
Liam continued, “I suggest they start with wall duty, it would free up the more experienced archers.”
The slamming of Alexander’s hand on the tabletop jerked everyone’s attention to the laird, who grinned. “That is why Liam is an invaluable leader,” the laird called out. “Dedication even when no longer a warrior. I am sure those lads and young men will be well trained,” he said with a firm nod.
The laird’s compliment took Liam aback. In his new role, he’d not considered himself part of the leadership team, nor had he considered that he’d be able to contribute anything to it.
If he were to be honest, a trickle of pride filtered into his chest. He quickly pushed it away.
Words, that is all he’d contributed. It was nothing compared to the ability to contribute in more able ways.
“Take note,” Alexander said, turning his attention to Liam. “Write down what ye just said.”
Liam let out a grunt and the other men chuckled. For a short moment, the divide created by his injuries vanished.
The afternoon slipped away and before Liam realized it, the great hall was buzzing with voices as one clansman after another stepped forward to bring their troubles to the laird.
Liam recorded each grievance in the ledger, watching as Alexander handled every complaint with steady patience and a respect that never waned, no matter how small the matter.
At his side, Alexander’s brother, Cynden, and their cousin, Knox, alternated seats, offering counsel when needed, the three men working in seamless rhythm.
The village council only made the journey to the keep once a week, which left the lion’s share of everyday concerns resting squarely on Alexander’s shoulders.
By the time the last petitioner stepped away and the hall fell into a much calmer murmur, only a handful of people lingered. Those visiting kin or those waiting for the evening meal before returning home. The sudden quiet felt like a sigh.
Alexander rose first, stretching his arms overhead, joints popping softly. “Ye should get up more often and stretch that leg of yers,” he said, giving Liam a pointed look.
“I should,” Liam replied, though he didn’t move. “I’m nearly done with this.” He tapped the ledger before him. “Afterward, I’ll take my daily walk. Plenty of stretching then.”