In the Shadow of Midnight - By Marsha Canham Page 0,76

handling of the clumsy weapon. Placing the stirrup of the bow on the ground, he slipped his foot through the metal ring and, with a heave and a grunt of air, pulled back on the resined gut until it fit tautly over the metal hook of the trigger. He died where he stood, his face showing more surprise than pain.

Eduard pulled two more arrows from his quiver, his eyes glinting coldly as they scanned the slope of both hills for the next target. He ducked, and missed by inches, the barbed tip of another bolt that was fired from the cover of a large pine tree. His verbal response was muffled by the iron link camail, but there was nothing to mute the hard blaze of anger in his eyes as he fired both arrows into the dense growth of boughs. A cry of pain sent two more outlaws scrambling for thicker cover, one of them doubled over and clutching a skewered arm.

Any thought of celebrating was quashed as a shout parted a curtain of evergreens and two more men came hurtling down the slope, their swords raised and sparking in a flare of sunlight. Eduard tossed his bow aside and unsheathed his own blade, bracing himself as the first man slashed for his head and met the broad side of cold steel instead. The villain was not nearly as tall as FitzRandwulf, but he had the power of a bulldog in his arms. He wielded the sword in both hands, windmilling it close enough to be a threat, far enough to avoid Eduard’s blade while his companion sought to maneuver himself into a position to strike at the knight’s back. The outlaws hacked at knees, thighs, belly, and shoulder … anything that looked vulnerable, testing Eduard’s instincts and his skill at sending their blades scraping at steel and empty air. They did not find him lacking.

The sound of clashing swords echoed through the trees and along the gully, drawing the attention of the two bowmen Eduard had flushed from behind the pines. The one with the arrow jutting from his arm showed no interest in turning back to join the fray, but the second one, armed with a crossbow, stopped, grinned, and started running back toward the river.

Ariel, observing from behind a tree, saw the villain stop to rearm his weapon. He was well within the crossbow’s ideal range. Close enough, in fact, to pierce through the mail links of FitzRandwulf’s armour. The swordsmen were aware of this and kept Eduard’s back to the gully; he, on the other hand, probably was not even aware the danger existed.

Eduard’s bow was lying in the leaves where he had thrown it, the quiver alongside. Not stopping to think of the danger to herself, she ran out from behind the shield of trees, retrieving both, then dashing for the protection of a large oak. The longbow was enormous, larger and heavier than any she had used at Pembroke, but she was not unfamiliar with the weapon itself, having practised with the Welsh style of bow more often than the shorter, lighter type favoured by the English.

She nocked an arrow and sighted along the shaft, drawing the string to her chin with an effort that almost peeled the flesh from her fingers. She let loose at the crossbowman, who had seen her as the easier target and had aimed and fired his bow in the same length of time. While her arrow carried more speed, it also carried well over his head and was lost somewhere in the greenwood behind him. His bolt, meanwhile, thudded into the trunk of the oak with a distinctive enough bite to send bits of bark flying in Ariel’s face.

Her teeth set in a grimace, she pulled another arrow and slotted it to the string. Eduard saw her, saw what she was doing, and was shocked enough to do what the pair of attackers had been unable to manage thus far—he turned his back on one of their swords. Ariel heard Eduard’s shout and fired her arrow just as the swordsman started to lunge with his blade. The steel tip of her arrow caught him just under the hook of his nose, splitting the cartilage and bone, and plowing upward into his skull.

Eduard whirled, then whirled again, his sword flashing in a deadly arc that cut through his remaining attacker’s wrist, parting flesh and bone, then sliced through the exposed stretch of his throat, severing all but a