Moth

CHAPTER EIGHT: CLOAKS AND ARROWS

CHAPTER EIGHT

CLOAKS AND ARROWS

Torin was standing on the Watchtower when trees creaked below, howls rose, and robed figures burst out from the dusk.

His heart leaped into a gallop, and he fumbled for his bow and arrows. He cursed as the bow slipped from his fingers to clatter against the battlements. The yelps rose below, wordless battle cries, the sound of rabid dogs. Fingers shaking, Torin lifted his bow, pulled an arrow from his quiver, and nocked it. He leaned across the battlements, aiming his arrow below.

The four figures raced from the shadowy trees, heading toward Fairwool-by-Night. They wore black robes, and hoods hid their faces. Each man held a bow with a flaming arrow, and swords swung upon their hips. They shouted as they ran, clearing the trees and racing across a rye field toward the village.

"Elorian soldiers," Torin whispered. It was as he'd feared. They wanted revenge for their burnt brother.

Torin closed one eye, aimed at a man, and fired.

His arrow whistled down, flew by an Elorian, and slammed into the earth.

Torin cursed. As he drew a second arrow, he shouted down the tower.

"Bailey! Bailey, where are you? Elorians attack!"

He fired another arrow, missed again, and growled. The Elorians were only heartbeats away from the village now. Torin spun toward the western merlons. Fairwool-by-Night lay in the valley below. A few villagers had heard the shouts; they emerged from their cottages and looked around, confused.

"Elorians attack!" Torin shouted. "Village Guard--to the rye field!"

He spun back toward the field; it lay south of him between the tower and the river. The four Elorians, clad in their black robes, stood among the rye stalks. They tugged back their bowstrings, aiming their flaming arrows.

They fired.

Torin cursed and shot his own arrow.

His missile flew true. It slammed into the chest of an Elorian below, but then clattered to the ground. The man hissed and remained standing; he must have been wearing armor under his robes.

Panting, Torin followed the path of the flaming arrows. The projectiles flew toward the village. Two clattered down into the empty square. The others hit a cottage roof, and the thatch caught fire.

"Village Guard!" Torin shouted, nocking another arrow.

He saw Bailey racing through the village below, drawing her sword and heading toward the field. She shouted battle cries and her braids swung madly. Slim Cam and beefy Hem emerged from the Shadowed Firkin, the village tavern. They held mugs of ale, and Hem was still chewing a turkey leg.

"Boys, to the rye field!" Torin shouted from above, waving madly. "Elorians!"

He turned to fire another arrow. The Elorians were racing forward again, heading toward the village. Bailey was still running toward them, screaming and brandishing her sword.

Torin froze. With his aim, he was as likely to hit Bailey as the Elorians. He yowled in frustration, tossed down his bow and arrows, and began racing down the tower stairwell.

At once he regretted it. He should have stayed upon the battlements, waiting for a better shot. That would've been the wiser action, the one his father would've taken. But clanking down the stairwell, his sword thumping against his thigh, he dared not turn back. Bailey was running alone to attack four armed demons; he had to fight at her side, wise or not.