Page 96 of Silverbow
One pace. One pace. Light.
It was easier said than done. The demi-elf moved like smoke, eddying back and forth as foolish men stepped forward. Oryn’s sword sung through the air behind her, blade spinning fast enough he seemed to be in two places at once, guarding both her left and her right. Where men stepped forward to cash in on her bounty, they lost arms, if not their lives.
She flinched when a spray of blood splattered her face as Oryn felled a man who tried to seize her elbow. More spattered her back, but she didn’t look. She knew Oryn still moved in her wake and Bade moved ever forward, carving a bloody path to the door. One man Bade had dropped but not killed crawled toward her and took hold of Enya’s boot. She drove the fork into the back of his hand with as much force as she could manage. The hand fell away with a scream she tried not to hear.
Suddenly they were at the door and Bade stepped to the side, roughly shoving Enya out into the evening air. She stumbled down the steps to where Colm and Aiden sat mounted, swords in hand. She darted for Arawelo and vaulted into her saddle. She thanked the stars for whoever thought to string her bow.
She was nocking an arrow as Oryn backed through the door. He spun on his heel and darted for Kiawa as Bade dammed the tide of men. When Oryn wasmounted, the dark-eyed demi-elf took measured steps back, letting the fight spill with him out into the night. When his boots hit the dirt, his companions charged in to guard his retreat toward Cle. A knight broke away from Aiden and Enya loosed. Another lunged off the steps, diving for Bade’s ankles and she let a second arrow fly.
“Go!” Colm shouted at her, turning Lanta up the road.
Enya wheeled Arawelo as Kiawa lunged into the fray, his broad chest scattering the men who tried to collapse in as Bade mounted. As soon as the demi-elf was seated, the sounds of the fight were lost in the thundering of hooves. Shouts rose up behind them as they fled, but they fell away with the lights and the rooftops of the village. Kiawa ran beside Arawelo, little more than a shadow shifting in the night.
When they finally drew up, the horses blowing, she felt Oryn scanning her in the dark. “Are you hurt?”
She shook her head and wiped her face with her sleeve. “It’s not mine.”
So much for the bath.
The village far behind them, Bade led them off the road to camp. Satisfied after some distance, he dismounted. Around him, they threw blanket rolls in the dirt and settled in. Aiden conjured a tiny flame no bigger than Enya’s fist, but it was enough light to see the blood that painted her companions.
Bade’s shirt sleeve glistened wetly, but he waved off Oryn’s offer for healing. Instead, he wound a strip of bandage around it and tied it off, muttering something about close quarters and tinder boxes. Oryn’s own sleeve hung open around his bicep, and Colm prodded at it.
“Have you ever sewn up a man, Lady Silverbow?” He asked.
She wrinkled her nose. “He can’t heal himself?”
“Our wieldings don’t work on ourselves,” Colm answered, fishing a sewing kit from his saddlebags.
“It won’t just heal?”
“It will, but this one will need some help getting started,” he answered.
Oryn begrudgingly shouldered out of his shirt. Enya got a little lost in all the skin on display, but she took the needle that Colm pushed into her hand. She’d seen Mistress Alys sew up wounds that didn’t warrant a wise woman and she’d seen Del sew up horse flesh, but she’d never tried it herself. Her hands trembled as she touched her fingers to his kin, following Colm’s instructions.
“For a lady, your needlepoint is bloody awful,” Oryn growled through clenched teeth.
“It’s not a pillow,my lord,“ she answered.
“A blind woman could do a better job of this.”
A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.Serves him right.
“You’re doing a fine job, Enya,” Colm encouraged, guiding her through each stitch.
“Bloody awful,” Oryn muttered as she tied off the thread and he buttoned his shirt.
“I take a wound and I never hear the end of it,” Aiden muttered. “But the blademasters take wounds, and no one says a thing.”
The demi-elves all glared at the fire wielder.
“Who is Elred’s Eagle?” Enya asked.
“Oh, here we bloody go,” Aiden sighed.
“It’s what they call Bade in the stories,” Colm answered. Enya looked between them, waiting. He sighed and went on. “When they tell of his valor during Ryland’s Rebellion.”
“Valor,” Bade spat. “Valor is just a made up thing bards sing of.”
