“I’m ready to kill a few,” Flent said, patting his hand with the axe. He spat on the ground.
“Good,” the knight approved. “Now get your bow out, Shae. I can’t handle five on my own. You’ve got to bring a few down. Have any bodkins?”
“A quiver full,” Thealos replied, sheathing his blade in his belt. “Are you sure we can’t outrun them?”
“Can you fly? Only have one horse.”
“Why are you even here?”
“Because of you, Shae. You know something about what’s going on in the Shoreland. You and the Sleepwalker. Now get going, girl! I didn’t follow you here to get killed by Shadowoak.”
Thealos looked up at Ticastasy and gripped her hand. “Ride to Castun,” he told her.
“But…”
“For the love of Shenalle, just do it!” He squeezed her hand. “Find Jaerod. We may need him.”
*
The Shadows Wood was aptly named, Thealos thought as he hunched forward in the dry carpet of needles and scrub. He pulled his shooting glove on snug and then stuck four arrows in the ground nearby within easy reach. He readied a single bodkin arrow in the thick linen string of his bow. A bodkin could go through plate armor more easily than broad heads. Just like hunting an elk, he tried to remind himself. But his stomach did not accept the lie so easily. Flent knelt next to him, staring into the darkness and resting his arms on the Sheven-Ingen axe. The wind rustled through the treetops, sending a few pinecones crashing down. The knight from Owen Draw propped himself behind a thick twisted cedar.
“There they are,” Flent whispered, peering into the blackness. Thealos didn’t see anything yet, but he followed the Drugaen’s stubby finger. He’d always heard that nothing could beat a Drugaen’s eyes in the dark.
Thealos hunkered down low, smelling the hidden reek of Forbidden magic drift closer. He felt the presence of the Krag moments later as they emerged from the depths of the undergrowth. There was another scent in the air, something more familiar. Straining against the night, he tried to see what it was.
“Three…four….there – there’s the fifth. Looks like he’s dragging a prisoner.” Flent pitched his voice as mild as a whisper. “Yeah, they’re pulling him along by the wrists. Thin fellow.” He cocked his head. “Heading straight to our camp. What do you want to do?”
“Ambush from the flanks,” the knight said softly. “They can probably see as well as you can. Aim well, Shae. You’ve got to take a few down before they reach us.”
Thealos wasn’t listening. He saw them now, weaving through the black trees in small number, marching with a determined pace. “They have a Shae prisoner,” he murmured.
“How can you tell?” Flent asked, squinting. “He’s got a hood on…”
“Trust me,” Thealos answered. He nodded to the knight. “I have an idea.”
“Make it quick.”
“Flent, duck low and hurry over there. When I bring down the first two, yell in challenge so they can see you.” He looked up at the knight. “When they charge him, strike from the trees. I’ll slip around and free the Shae before they can kill him.”
The knight thought a moment and nodded. “You think like a battle commander. Get moving, Flent. Hurry now, go!”
Flent scurried off, keeping low in the brush. Thealos gathered his arrows and veered into the trees, stepwalking silently and carefully to avoid the needles and dried twigs. He kept low and dodged from tree to tree. Taking cover behind a gnarled cedar choked with moss, he peered around, watching the Krag Drugaen warriors approach the remains of their camp. He set the arrows in the dirt in front of him. Taking a deep breath, he raised the hunting bow, sighting the leader.
Glancing to the side, Thealos made sure the knight and Flent were in place. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and watched the leader again. He repeated the lie again in his mind, trying to quell the nervousness and fear inside him. Many times, he had brought down deer and even elk at a distance. The Krag were even closer. He would not miss. The memory of Tannon’s band haunted him, and he bit it back, squelching it. How many arrows would he get in before they scattered and sought cover. Three? Maybe four? They marched single file, a row of armored warriors with the peculiar white gold oak-leaf buckle. Trailing with the last man. the slender Shae walked head down, ducking beneath the low-hanging boughs and branches. He was the smallest man Thealos had ever seen, almost gangly. He wore a dark cloak and long skirting robes. Or maybe it was a woman?