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scintillation of colors, and his sight blurred.
After a moment's hesitation, he blinked rapidly
to clear his vision. Perhaps something was amiss with
his eyes. But no, whatever it had been was now gone.
He re-focused upon his mark when a flicker of
movement caught the corner of his eye.
His attention fled the black plume to center on the
running figure of the maiden, outside the walls of
the keep, dashing headlong for the treeline. "Go,
girl! Run!" he thought, then was horrified to see
another figure emerge from beneath the walls to chase
after her. Then there was another... then another...
then yet one more! All wearing the Teuton's livery,
all bearing down on the fleeing maid, all with
weapons drawn. The Teuton's voice crashed in upon his
thoughts. "Kill her!! If I cannot have her, no one
shall!!"
The bowman reacted instinctively, switching targets,
from the Black Knight, to the nearest –and therefore
most dangerous– of the girl's pursuers. He exhaled,
releasing breath and arrow at the same time. Before
the first
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deadly missile had driven home, Longshanks
had another nocked to the waxed string with
fletchings drawn to cheek. He loosed the second with
no more thought than the first, as he would the third
and fourth in succession. He trusted of his skill,
and perhaps, in the will of God. He moved as they
moved, his aim shifting as unconsciously as the
soldiers ran, his eye following and leading his mark
as fluidly as a river followed its winding course
unerringly to the sea. Each clothyard missile flew
true, and executed its sentence with lethal
precision.
The first shaft skewered the guard through his torso,
piercing quite a few vital organs, to kill him
instantly. The second shot was equally devastating.
The arrow passed completely through the soldier's
body, dropping him in his tracks.
Through some other sense, for he knew he did not see
them, he perceived reinforcements arriving inside the
bailey below. Somehow, he knew that in mere
moments he could be picked off by some crossbowman
and that a sudden
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