The Archer

Chapter Two

I was twelve when it happened. My brother was now twenty-two, and we had lived in the woods all of my life. My mother is as sturdy now, as when the goblin attack happened. She shows no fear. We were in the woods, on top of Luna. I thought I saw a shadow, but then I figured I was just seeing things. Then came the blast of razor sharp icicles. And the roar. And the whoosh of wings. The trees shook. The sprites shrieked, hiding within the flowers. The birds didn’t fly away, the just dove into hollow logs, knowing that if they flew they would be the dinner for the dragon that flew above us now. It swooped, landing between us and the cave that would have been our safety.  It didn’t eat us though. It just sat there with its wings down, staring as if we were some strange sight it had never seen. We heard a whizzing sound, as if somebody were twirling a rope over their head. Then the crack and the howl that meant somebody just got whipped. Not somebody, something. The dragon had been slapped with a long cord of braided willow branches, and I winced as it cried out. Even though it was terrifying, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for the large beast. It was an ice dragon. Ice dragons live up in the Yrrauq Mountains, and it shouldn’t be down here in the humid forest. Its chest and face were covered in long red marks from the whip. The willow switch was followed up by a dwarf; short, fat, long brown beard. He looked at us with a discerning eye, staring at each.

“Which one of you is Martha?”

“Martha?” my mother, of course, had to ask.

“Yeah. It was either that or Mantis…”

Marcus stepped back; we both knew who he was looking for.

“Eh. That was it. I just saw a pile of fusses and figured Martha. But no. There is one man here, besides me, who is in fact named Marcus. Your coming with me, boy.” He said as he unsheathed a long, slender, beautifully crafted sword.

“It’s either that,” he stopped to grab me by the wrist. “Or your pretty little lass gets it.”

My brother’s eyes shone with fear.  He didn’t know what to do.

My mother’s the one who spoke up, “we don’t know her. She’s just a little beggar girl we found by the stream. Go ahead, kill her.”

At this I yelped, then silenced, seeing my mother’s wink. But then I felt the blade of his dagger slowly slice my arm, blood trickled down my finger tips. I could smell the dwarf’s unclean breath snaking out of his lips. I saw out of the corner of my eye, my mother’s hands reaching behind her back. Her arms swung into action as she aimed for his head. But he side stepped, dodging the arrow and having it easily lodge into my arm. He laughed a laugh that made it seem as if he had just heard the funniest joke in history, not wounded a little girl. Blood was gushing out of both arms, one side from the sword, the other from the arrow. I screamed with pain, dropping down to my knees. The dwarf was faster, grabbing the arrow and tearing my flesh as I went down. By now, blood was seeping down my legs, filling my shoes. My brother screamed with rage, whipping out the two daggers from years earlier. He charged at the dwarf, only to hear the crack again. The willow switch wrapped around his legs, tripping him so that his head landed on a rock. The dwarf laughed again, throwing me into my mother’s arms, jumping onto the whimpering dragon. He whipped it, and it flew into the air with a flurry of snow, clenching Marcus in his claws. The daggers dropped to the ground, falling from my unconscious brothers hands.

This time I cried. I also screamed revenge into the air.