low and skidded along the ground. Bran leapt over it easily; but Iwan, coming two steps behind, was not so lucky. The sliding shaft snaked through the grass, gliding between his feet; he tripped and fell onto his left side.
The knight was on him instantly, sword drawn. With a shout of triumph, he swung the blade high and prepared to deliver the killing stroke. Iwan, defenceless on his back, saw the blade flash as it swung up, and threw his hands before him to ward off the blow. But the knight’s cry of triumph stuck in his throat, and he seemed to strain against the blade that had become inextricably caught in the air.
The knight, sword still high, crashed to his knees, his eyes wide in shock and disbelief. Iwan had just time enough to roll aside as the knight’s body jolted forward with the force of the second arrow, which drove him facedown into the ground.
As Iwan scrambled to his feet, he saw twin shafts protruding from the knight’s mail hauberk.
“Here! Iwan!”
The champion looked to the shout and saw Scarlet, bow in hand, waving him forward.
The first knight, still gripping his spear, made a second swipe at Bran, who grabbed hold of the spear shaft with his free hand, pulling the soldier towards him. As the knight fell forward, Bran swung his longbow like a club into the man’s face. The knight lowered his head and let his helmet take the blow, then thrust again with the spear. Bran lashed out with his foot, catching the knight on the chin; his jaw snapped shut with a teeth-shattering crack, and his head flew back. Bran swung the body of the longbow down hard, and the mail-clad knight went down. As he sprawled on the ground, Bran, light as a deer in flight, took a running step, planted a foot in the middle of the man’s back, and vaulted over him.
He reached the shelter of the trees to find Scarlet waiting for him. “Here, my lord,” said the forester, thrusting a handful of arrows at him. “You’ll be needing these, I think.”
“Thanks, Will,” said Bran, breathing hard.
“This way.” Scarlet led him along the tree line, and together they loosed arrow after arrow into the Ffreinc from behind until the remaining archers had reached the wood.
Now King Raven and his men occupied the wood, and the Ffreinc were exposed on open ground. As the lethal oaken shafts struck again and again, some of the knights sought shelter behind the wagons. Others crawled back into the wood.
Bran and Scarlet gathered the archers. “How many arrows have you got left?” Bran asked as the men gathered under cover of a bramble thicket. “Two,” said Siarles; Tomas and Scarlet each had two as well. None of the others had any.
“Then this fight is over,” said Bran.
“Just leave?” objected Siarles. “We can end it now.”
“With but six arrows? No, Siarles,” Bran told him. “We live to fight another day. It’s time to go home.”
“Where’s Tuck got to?” wondered Iwan.
“He should be nearby,” Scarlet replied. “He was right beside me before the charge. Do you want me to go look for him?”
“We can’t be leaving him behind for the Ffreinc to capture,” said Iwan.
“Scarlet and I will find him,” Bran said. “The rest of you start back to Cél Craidd.” He held out his hand. “Give us the arrows.” He took the remaining arrows and urged them away. “Go. We’ll join you on the way.”
The others disappeared into the bush. “Where were you when this started?” Bran asked, passing three arrows to Scarlet. “Show me.”
“This way,” Will told him, starting back along the tree line to the place he and Tuck had been hiding when the attack began.
No sooner had they skirted a large bramble thicket than they heard someone call out. “Scarlet! Here, boyo!”
“I think it came from over there somewhere,” said Scarlet. Both men turned and started for the spot. They quickly came to a dense wall of elder and halted. “Tuck! Sing out, Brother. Where are you?”
“Here!” came the voice once more. “This way! Hurry!”
The two pushed through the elder hedge to find the little priest holding a sturdy quarterstaff in one hand and a sword in the other as he stood astraddle an inert figure on the ground. The figure groaned and made to rise, and the friar gave him a sharp rap between the shoulder blades that pushed him back down.
“Thank the Good Lord you’re here,” breathed Tuck. “I was halfway to