Page 47 of An Archer's Reckoning

“I think four, maybe more, wearing Kingdom colors.”

Bret finished pulling on his gloves. “Get away from that door. An arrow could snap through the wood and kill you.”

My eyes popped open as I flung myself across the room.

“Now listen to me, boy. I’m going out there to light the signal. When I get out the door, you need to run as fast as you can to HQ in Grove’s Pass. Tell them what you saw, that we lit the signal.” He gripped me roughly by the shoulders. “This is the most important thing you’ll ever do, Aaron. Can you do it for me?”

I nodded hard as confusion crept into my eyes. “But what about you?”

Bret’s crooked smile carried a touch of sadness. “My time’s done, son. This is your war to fight. Let’s go.”

Bret threw himself out the door toward the signal pyre. Bitter cold slammed into me the moment I stepped outside. Bret hesitated for only a moment, then raced to hide behind the wood pile on the other side of the cabin.

I threw myself down behind a watering trough and peered around the edge.

A loudwhackbehind Bret’s head made him dive to the hard, snow-packed ground. His eyes darted back to the red-fletched arrow still wobbling where it embedded into the wooden door. A second arrow struck a foot above his head.

He scrambled behind the stacks of split wood and peered around the end. The night was ablaze with light from the full moon, and I counted four silhouettes, each aiming arrows in Bret’s direction.

Whack! Whack!

Two slammed into the wood pile in quick succession.

I watched in horror as dark forms moved to either side.

Bret was surrounded.

He fired an arrow into the darkness and was rewarded with a loud cry, but two more arrows assaulted his position.

The archers hadn’t appeared to notice me, so I crawled to the edge of the cabin and hid around the corner, readying to make a break for the forest.

Another bolt hit the pile, the iron tip peeking between logs just above Bret’s head.

Time ceased to exist.

The world froze.

Bret turned and met my gaze.

Something in his eyes spoke more words than his mouth ever had. I knew what he meant to do. Everything in me begged tothrow myself at him, to scream for him to stay hidden and safe, but too much was at stake. He’d been right.

The world woke from its moment’s pause, and Bret sprang to his feet, abandoning the cover of the pile. Two strides later, he threw himself into a roll, barreling across the yard, creating an unpredictable target for the archers bearing down on him. An arrow missed his head by a hair as another buried itself deep in his calf. He cried out but hurled himself toward the cliff where the forty-foot signal pyre held its ancient vigil.

His left hand gripped one of the massive logs at the pyre’s base, but two arrows caught him in the shoulder and back.

I watched as he fought to rise.

My heart raced.

The world spun.

With one last flick of his wrist, Bret used the last of his failing strength to call upon his Gift and sent a tendril of flame into the cold wood.

Three more arrows slammed into him as archers raced toward where he lay lifeless against the pyre.

The mountain peak held its breath—until a loudwhooshrose from the belly of the pyre, engulfing the wood and its fallen guardian.

A sun blazed atop the mountain, awake for the first time in a thousand years.

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