CHAPTER FIFTEEN
We hardly breathed until the tiny figures disappeared from sight into the shallow valley. My impulse was to leap to my feet and race to where we would set the ambush, draw an arrow and string my bow. Breath came short, my heart pounded, and instead of all that, I slowly stood and stretched. I wanted to give Elizabeth a sense of how experienced and confident I’d become.
She gave me the same disapproving eye-roll.
Before taking up our places, we walked the horses behind the hillside and staked them in the deep green grass. Back at the ambush location, I used a dull knife to whack at small branches and carefully placed them against a larger bush to help hide me. I stood up and then squatted, then again, making sure my bow cleared any brush. Elizabeth did the same.
Then we waited. And waited.
The time passed so slowly, and the approach of the horses was so slow, I considered leaving my cover and going down to the road and taking another look. Three arrows were placed point-first into the dirt, each a little apart from the others, so my hand could grab them quickly, should I need more than one. I was thinking of the second and third shot when my ears detected a faint sound of hooves.
They were coming. What had we forgotten? What else should we have done to prepare? What if I got killed? Or Elizabeth? My hands shook. I thought about allowing them to pass without seeing us. And then I caught sight of the horses. The king’s horses. The ones the girls had ridden. I knew them well.
My hands no longer shook. My breaths slowed, and heart calmed. I peered through the tangle of branches that hid me and waited. The corner of my vision watched Elizabeth. When she moved, so would I.
They rode closer.
The arrow was nocked, and I held a slight tension on the string. My mind rehearsed the coming moments. Three simple steps. Watch Elizabeth make her move. Stand. Loose an arrow. There were possible fourth and fifth moves, which might change as the circumstances altered. They involved grabbing more arrows and what I’d do with them. Hopefully, none would be required.
The two men rode beside each other, as expected. The one on my side rode the horse Kendra had been on, which was fitting because the other was the horse Elizabeth rode. A miss with my arrow might injure the horse, but our positions were so close, I didn’t intend to miss, and Elizabeth was a better archer than me. They rode with their heads hanging low, a sure sign they were tired and sleepy from the long journey—making them even easier targets.
The one thing that was awkward for me was their appearance. Both were thin, too much so for it to be caused by anything but hunger. Still, as the nearer one slightly lifted his chin to peek at the trail ahead, I was struck by the similarities again. Before I could dwell on that, Elizabeth stood.
I did, too. The shrubs came to my lower chest, and my arrow was aimed as I pulled the bowstring—and released. All one motion, as the Weapons-Master had taught me. It flew the short ten-paces and struck high on the leg, near the hip, exactly where I’d intended. The second arrow was in my hand without conscious thought, ready to fly. I didn’t look to the other man because my duty concerned the one nearest me, and I had full confidence that Elizabeth would do her part.
She shouted, “On the ground! Now!”
“Down!” My voice added, more to convince them there were more of us, and they needed to obey. I showed myself while taking three steps closer, my arrow aimed at a chest. It would not miss. The rider knew it. His face had reddened with the arrow hitting his leg, and he had screamed, but now sat quietly. His face paled as his eyes saw the tip of my arrow pointed at his left eye.
He released the reins and slid off Kendra’s horse. When his feet reached the ground, the pain in his leg must have intensified. He groaned and collapsed. His arms encircled his knee, and his left hand went to the shaft of my arrow.
“If you pull that out, you’ll bleed to death,” I said quickly, in a friendlier voice than intended. My advice might have been true if the arrow had cut any large veins. My idea in mentioning it was that I didn’t believe he would be running away with that thing sticking out.
His hand halted and withdrew. That told me he spoke our language. There was no doubt.
I spared a look to Elizabeth. She stood beside her man, her bow, and a knife hidden behind her leg. An arrow was also stuck in his thigh, lower than mine, but no less painful. She said, “He doesn’t understand me.”
“This one does.”
She went to the nearest horse and started searching the bulging saddle bags. She mumbled to me, “Smoked meat, pig, I think. Hard rolls. Carrots. More food.” She moved to the other side and discovered much the same. A sack tied to the saddle held blankets. The other horse carried more blankets, two hatchets, and oiled skins suitable for shedding rain. She also found two purses heavy with silver.
I was concerned with what she didn’t find. My sword, the crossbows, my knife, the money I’d carried in my purse, and the money that I knew had been packed in several places because only fools carry it all in one.
I reached for the leather thongs I’d grabbed when we moved our horses and started tying their wrists, then held off. “They can’t walk and can’t mount if tied.”
Elizabeth still held an arrow to her bowstring, the tip of the arrow equally distant between the two, and both men were watching her, not me. Her eyes flicked to the saddle of the nearest horse as if telling me to put them there and then tie them—but I couldn’t tell if she was amused or irritated. Sometimes, it is hard to distinguish between them until I’m deep in trouble.
My solution was to avoid looking at her as I helped one into his saddle. His left leg bore the arrow, so kept it straight as he mounted. The other became a problem. His arrow was in his right leg, and he couldn’t move it enough to swing the leg over the horse. I finally moved him to the far side of the horse and managed to get him up. However, in the process, his leg started bleeding freely, and I ended up slicing the sleeve off my shirt and using that to wrap around the wound and tie it tightly to stem the blood.
Elizabeth lowered her bow and took the reins of both horses and tied them together so neither horse could run off without the other. That seemed a strange thing to do, but the determined expression warned me to be quiet and let her continue. She led them to where we’d staked out the other horses and motioned for me to mount. I expected her to want to ride one of the royal horses and I was already deciding how to best make the exchange of riders with their wounds.
Instead, she climbed on the horse she had been riding, and the four of us were finally sitting on horses. She spoke for the first time, her attention on the one who spoke our language.
She said, “Understand me?”
He nodded slowly, more than a little belligerence evident.
“Know who I am?”
He shook his head as if he didn’t care.
She sat taller. “Princess Elizabeth, daughter of the Rightful King of Dire.”
That brought a reaction of surprise to the one, nothing from the other, confirming the man she watched was the only one who understood.
She didn’t allow her advantage to dissipate. Instead, she leaned forward and said, “As an heir to the throne, it is often my duty to settle disputes and administer punishment. Also, as a direct heir, I decide the innocence or guilt, and the punishment, from ordering a simple apology to death by a variety of means.”
The color drained from his face. The other saw his expression and became scared.
Elizabeth nudged her horse closer. “Your name?”
“Stata.” His voice was soft, respectful, and even in the single word, an accent made itself known.