Page 37 of Silverbow
“Haven’t got any.” In her periphery, she studied the trees.
“I find that hard to believe,” the man with the eyepatch mused. “Mighty fine horse for a girl who hasn’t got any gold.”
“That’s a fine saddle,” the man with the stump remarked.
“Nice boots,” the crossbowman spat. “Might make a gift of them to my lady wife.”
Perhaps it was rash, but as Enya let anger well up where she pushed fear aside, she didn’t bother to temper impulse. “I pity the girl wed to you enough that I just might make you a gift of them.”
The crossbowman snarled but the man with the eyepatch held up his hand with a warning look. “What’s a lady doing out here alone?”
“Who says I’m alone?” She spat, never taking her eye off the finger that rested so casually on the trigger. A finger that seemed to twitch.Rash, Enya.“And who says I’m a lady?”
Her shoulder started to protest under the strain of the draw. The crossbowman would have no such problem; he could wait all day for her to move first. The problem with a crossbow was how long it took to reload, Marwar always said. A good archer could loose half a dozen arrows in the time it would take him to crank another bolt. A fast horse could reach the shelter of the dense trunks.
The man with the stump peered around her mockingly. “Don’t see an army.”
“Didn’t nobody ever tell you the road’s no place for a girl?” The crossbowman sneered.
“Plenty of people.” Enya mentally counted the strides to cover.
“Should have listened. What’s your name, girl?” Eyepatch asked.
“Girl works well enough.”
“Do you know what they call this tree,girl?”
“I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.”
“Smart mouth on this one,” Stump huffed. “Ought to cut out her tongue.”
“A shame that would be,” thecrossbowman mocked.
“This here is the Hanging Tree,” Eyepatch said over his men. “Do you know why?”
“I can hazard a guess,” Enya answered coolly. “What I don’t know is why no one’s seen fit to to let you swing from it.”
Eyepatch’s mouth curled into a sneering smile. “Enough yapping. Get off your horse and turn out your pockets.”
Enya had no illusions about what would happen if she were separated from Arawelo. “I don’t think I will.”
“Silen.”
Gods, don’t fail me now.
Stump took a step toward her, and with a tap of Enya’s heels, Arawelo lunged. Thetwangof a crossbow split the air between them. She loosed, more on instinct than on aim, willing the arrow to do what she needed. With acrackthat produced a shower of sparks, the two arrowheads collided and the crossbow bolt flew wide.
“After her!”
Unable to make out much more than shapes as they flew past, Enya let Arawelo choose the path, praying she would not stumble as she nocked another arrow. Behind her, the brigands crashed through the underbrush. Atwangwas followed by thethudof a bolt impaling a tree somewhere to her left.
When the man wielding the sword gained on her, she twisted in her saddle and took aim at his sword arm. She loosed and the scream told her she found her mark. She planted a second arrow in the thigh of the man with the stump, but still they came on, even as she leapt over fallen trees and squeezed between boulders.
Again Enya looked back, judging the distance, and when she righted herself, a low hanging limb caught her across her brow. Stars exploded in her vision. She desperately scrabbled to hold onto her saddle as she rocked back, her braid brushing Arawelo’s flank. She managed to keep her seat and Arawelo kept running.
Enya squeezed her eyes shut, cursing at the pain. Blood dripped into her lashes, but she didn’t have a spare hand to wipe it away as she turned and loosed again. She didn’t particularly aim, she just sent the arrow on her need for escape, and a wet, garbled scream made her stomach roil. A riderless horse turned and thundered off into the trees. She nocked again but her pursuers were falling back, shouting curses after her.
Still, Arawelo pressed on as dark started to creep in below the canopy. The land had turned harder and rockier. Panting, Enya and the mare both, she finally drew up. There were no crashing hooves or rustling in the underbrush, there was no sound at all except the thundering of her own heart.
