Chapter 6
Evander watched the arrow fly.
Thunk. It embedded itself into the side of the litter, inches away from Skye’s temple. A little more to the right, and it would have gone straight through her eye.
The color drained from her face. Her eyes widened as her brain began to absorb how narrowly she’d avoided death.
He forced himself to turn away from her. Every instinct screamed at him to dive forward and seize her shoulders, to shake her for being such a damned fool and then to hug her tight in relief that she wasn’t dead.
But sentimentality on a battlefield was the best way to get killed, and now this was a battlefield.
Swallowing down a growl, he scanned the landscape around them. The archers, whoever they were, huddled in the trees. He saw movement, the same movement that must have alerted Angus.
On cue, an arrow shot out of the trees. It went wide, missing him by several feet. Whoever the archers were, they were poor shots.
Angus lay on the ground behind the litter, groaning faintly. He wasn’t dead, then. That was good.
Two riderless horses stood nervously several feet down the road. Evander thought he could see the motionless figures of the riders, his men. When had they been shot? Before or after Angus?
It didn’t matter. Those were details that would be worked out later.
He took a half-second to remember the names of the men who had traveled with them today—Matthew and John, brothers—and then turned to face the problem at hand.
No more arrows came flying out of the woods.
“Quivers empty, then?” he called, his voice ringing out. Silence followed. “I’ll take that as an aye.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Skye creep toward Angus’s supine form. She knelt beside him, her hands hovering over his chest, where the arrow protruded.
I could have told her nae to bother. That arrow is fatal. If Angus isnae dead already, he will be soon.
Something inside him railed at the unfairness of it all. Angus, faithful Angus, with his keen eyes and unwavering loyalty, did not deserve to die.
And yet here we are.
Regret—one more thing that was out of place on a battlefield.
Dropping his hand to curl over the hilt of his sword, Evander took a few slow steps forward, reaching the empty stretch of road in front of the litter.
“Here is what I think,” he continued, his voice calm.
“Only one of ye has a bow and nae quite enough arrows to keep shooting. One is embedded in me driver and the other in the side of me litter, so I can assume that the rest are sticking out of me two soldiers. Let’s get to business, then, shall we?
Ye daenae intend to let me go further, so how about stepping out and letting me face me foes? ”
For a moment, there was silence. He wondered briefly if the men had made the admittedly wise choice of retreating, to either get more arrows or more reinforcements.
In that case, he’d have to put himself and Skye on the riderless horses and abandon the heavy, slow-moving litter.
They’d have to ride fast, eyes peeled for an ambush.
Then a twig cracked in the undergrowth, and a man stepped out.
Perhaps man was not the right word. Boy was more fitting.
Evander guessed that the fellow was no older than eighteen, with a head of wild red curls and an ugly fuzz of red stubble on his cheeks.
His skin was bad, red, and pitted with acne like a strawberry.
He clutched a bow in one hand and a short sword in the other, and an empty quiver hung on his back.
He met Evander’s gaze, his thin lips curling back in a sneer.
“Ye will go no further,” he stated.
“Who are ye?” Evander demanded. “I daenae ken ye. Ye can have no quarrel with me. If ye do, state it now. I daenae care to take lives unnecessarily.”
“The only lives taken here will be yer own.”
The boy was confident, no doubt. Perhaps a little too confident. His gaze faltered only for a split second, slipping over Evander’s shoulder to look at something behind him.
At once, Evander knew what had happened. Putting one’s back to an opponent was folly, but in this situation, it was unavoidable.
Cursing loudly, he spun, his sword grating out of its sheath.
Sure enough, two older, grizzled men were halfway out of the undergrowth, their swords drawn, and were advancing on Skye. She spun around with a cry, a moment too late, and the leading man pounced on her.
Or at least, he tried to pounce. She dodged, spinning neatly out of his way with surprising grace.
Gods, it’s been a while since I’ve seen her move like that, Evander thought, biting back a grim smile.
The man snarled, rushing at her again. She darted backwards, as if she were following the steps of a solo dance. The man focused his attention on her. A fatal mistake.
Evander’s blade met him before he could reach her, sinking deep into his chest. The man wheezed, his eyes wide with panic before they rolled back in his head. He sank back, sliding off Evander’s sword.
The second man screamed a wordless curse, diving forward. He wielded a powerful greatsword, and in the open air, without trees or troublesome ceilings to catch the long blade, it was a dangerous weapon indeed.
Evander ducked under the first blow, the edge of the blade whistling past his ear. The man whipped back the blade with impressive strength, swirling around for a second swing. Evander found himself dancing backwards.
Swordplay, after all, was just like dancing. Forward, back, sideways, circle. Two partners in lockstep, with so much grace and strength in their movements that one would never believe what the penalty would be for missing a step.
The man missed a step first. He swung too hard, the point bouncing off the dirt. He staggered, losing his balance for a split second.
A less experienced swordsman would have missed the narrow window, but Evander was not a less experienced swordsman. He moved forward, the steps flowing like water, and drove his blade down through the air and onto the exposed nape of the man’s neck.
The graceful movement had a sickening result. The man’s head separated from his body, both parts thumping limply to the ground.
Two down, Evander thought grimly and turned back to face the boy.
The red-head’s face had gone white. Perhaps he hadn’t expected Evander to dispatch the other two men so quickly.
That indicates that whoever sent him didnae tell him much about me.
In a flash, the boy dived forward, his hand shooting out. He grabbed the arrow embedded in the side of the litter, the one meant for Skye. Cursing, Evander threw himself forward. The boy nocked the arrow and pulled back the string, aiming at Evander.
He wasn’t fast enough. Evander cannoned into him, knocking him backwards. They tumbled to the ground together, the arrow bouncing away.
A sharp crack echoed as the bow snapped, and the boy snarled, raking his fingers across Evander’s face. Drawing back his head, Evander delivered a cracking blow. The boy blinked, gasping, and flopped back onto the ground.
Evander heaved himself to his feet, leveling the point of his sword at the boy’s throat.
“I daenae recommend ye continue struggling,” he remarked, as coolly as possible. “Ye have lost, son.”
“Go on, then,” the boy spat. “Kill me.”
“What is yer name?”
He blinked, taken aback. “What?”
“Yer name. What is it?”
For a moment, Evander thought the boy would refuse to answer. Swallowing, he glanced here and there, as if looking for an explanation.
“Jim,” he said, eventually.
Evander narrowed his eyes at him. That was the kind of name a man might choose if he wanted to remain anonymous, like Jack or John.
John Smith, perhaps.
“Well, Jim, I have some questions for ye, and if ye ken what is good for ye, ye will answer them.”
“Questions?” Jim repeated, his eyebrows knitting together. “Kill me and get it done with.”
“I am nae going to kill ye. I should, should I nae?”
“Why? Because I raised a weapon against ye?”
“Nay, lad. Because ye raised a weapon against her,” Evander responded smoothly, jerking his head in Skye’s direction.
He could not see what she was doing. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to look. A split-second was all he could spare. He glanced over his shoulder, his gaze raking the surrounding forest.
Skye stood motionless over Angus’s body, her hands hanging by her sides. Blood dripped from her fingertips, and he guessed that she’d placed her hands over Angus’s chest, trying to hold in his lifeblood.
Her stillness could easily be mistaken for inattention, but he could see how she was balancing her weight on the balls of her feet, ready to dance at a moment’s notice. Ready to run.
Angus was quiet, and Evander knew without looking that he was dead.
He’d get a good burial spot; Evander would make sure of that.
Angus’s aged mother, his wife, and his two children would receive his pension, a comfortable sum that would take care of them for the rest of their lives.
There’d be a legacy. He wouldn’t be forgotten, nor would the other men who’d fallen further down the road.
I made a mistake. I was too keen to get back, too keen to get Skye home. I should have traveled with all of me soldiers. Did I truly nae think that there would be consequences here? Whatever happened to Skye, we can conclude that she is still in danger. And so we are all in danger.
“Now,” Evander continued, leaning forward until the point of his sword pricked the underside of Jim’s chin. “Talk.”
“I willnae,” Jim responded through gritted teeth.
“Tell me why ye are here. Who told ye to lie in wait for me?”
“Nobody.”
“Ye are lying, son.”
Of course, I am lying, said the boy’s eyes. Did ye think I would tell ye the truth?
A moment crackled between them.
Evander stared down at Jim, who glared balefully back. Impotent fury gleamed in every line of his face.