Just as they reached the building, another arrow rushed past them, brushing Lucy’s cheek. Startled, she hit the ground and hid in the shadows. She touched where the arrow had grazed her, then pulled her hand down, sticky wet with blood. Its red color glowed in the light of the flames spreading through the compound.
She looked up, seeking the source of the shot.
A man stood on the roof of her cabin. He aimed another arrow at someone on the ground below.
She sprang to her feet and rushed out. Glancing quickly to the side, she identified the shooter’s intended target.
“Broden!” she cried. “Get down. Down! Roll!” As she shouted, she reached behind her neck, grasped her Oathtaker’s blade, Vivacitas, and then loosed it.
In spite of the distance to its intended target, the blade, as always, met its mark. After it struck, the intruder’s face became visible in the firelight. His eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. He went limp, dropped his bow, and fell to his knees. Then he tipped forward and tumbled off the edge of the building, somersaulting. After making a full rotation in the air, his body met the ground, face down.
Lucy approached the intruder. She flipped his body over. His nose and lips were smashed flat. Blood covered his face.
Broden reached her side. “Is everyone all right?”
She grabbed his arm and pulled him away, nearer the building. “I’ve no idea,” she said. “I—”
“Hold it right there,” came a gravely voice from off to their left.
Lucy looked down to the dead man at her feet. Her heart fell. How could she have let this happen? How could she have been caught so off guard? The one weapon she knew she could use quickly enough, and with certain success, remained in the chest of the dead man before her.
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish