The arrow was buried too deep into the bark of the tree. He wouldn't be able to pull that out, no not a chance. The dark gray shaft of the arrow was buried into the trunk, at least halfway. Will frowned at this observation. He had been over 50 meters away, and he hadn't drawn his bow back looking for power, just for accuracy. Was he using the wrong bow? He knew he had a higher draw-weight on the bow he took with him for missions, and that his normal, day-to-day bow had a comfortable draw on it.
The arrow shouldn't be that deep.
With no logical explanation for the depth, the Ranger shrugged, tugged his saxe knife out of its sheath, and contemplated the arrow once more. He could either attempt to dig it out, probably ruining the shaft and fletching, and losing the broad head at the tip, or he could just cut the shaft and save the fletching. He put his hand around the shaft, and pulled, just a bit to see how stuck it truly was. It didn't budge. Silently cursing to himself, he swung the saxe knife up, cutting through the shaft easily.
One arrow ruined, eleven collected. Twelve still to be found. He knew he shouldn't have been shooting at random trees, but some days he felt like he needed the time searching the woods for his arrows. Listening to the local wildlife, the wildlife he grew up with, was soothing, especially after a long day. Okay, well, maybe he hadn't had a long day, as he'd only come back from up north, with Halt standing, healthy and alive, and had been relaxing.
Will dropped the half-arrow into his quiver, intending to deal with it later. He went in search of the other arrows.
Recalling his scare up north, a shiver went down his spine. Halt had nearly died, and Will almost, almost, thought that he wouldn't have made it out of the collapsing cave. He could've gotten shot by one of the Genovesan's quarrels back in Hibernia as well. What would have happened then? If they had been delayed before Black O'Malley, then they would have been screwed. O'Malley could have left port, he could have gone down into the rocks another time. If Will had been shot in Hibernia, then they would have lost track of Tennyson.
The young Ranger glanced back towards his cabin. Halt, Pauline, and Alyss had been talking for a while, and they were all still inside.
But I do wish I was the one to get shot.
Lots of things would have been easier that way, right? And Halt would have had more of a chance of going back to his wife. It was sheer luck that they had been close enough to fetch Malcolm.
The next tree had three arrows in it, none of them were suspiciously buried into the trunk, and they were all whole. Will started to dig them out, pressing near where the arrow went in with his saxe knife. Just when the arrow start to budge, he heard it.
Crack.
That wasn't the arrow. Was it the arrow? Will moved the shaft a bit, but felt no signs that the shaft had actually snapped. So it wasn't the arrow. Meaning . . . someone or something was behind him.
He wasn't in a position to pull his bow out, as it was slung around his back, and he only had half of his arrows retrieved. His saxe was in his hand, his throwing knife still at his side. He glanced over to his cabin again, making sure the door was still closed, that the others were still safely distracted inside. Unless it was serious, he wouldn't want to disturb them.
Snap. Crack.
Whoever it was, they were practically behind him now. Less than ten meters. It was defiantly a person, and this person was either after his blood, or was completely clueless about who he was, and what he could do.
Crunch.
Five meters. Will moved his saxe, loosening it from the tree, but moving it in a way where it looked as if he was still digging into the tree for his arrow.
Silence.
Nothing. Will could feel the person, and somehow, he had a feeling that the person knew that he knew. He moved his grip on the saxe.
He spun to the left, sweeping a leg out and around, while bring his left elbow around at neck height. His elbow hit nothing, but his leg slammed into the unknown at the knee, and the shadow collapsed with a thump. And didn't get back up. Didn't move. Didn't . . . breathe?
The Ranger stared down at the lump, because that's what it was. It wasn't human, it wasn't an animal of some kind. It looked like a bundle of cloths, nearly. What the hell?
"I'm sorry, Ranger, but I just want'd ta see whatcha'd do. I don't know what I was 'specting."
I must be having a really screwed up nightmare.
He must have followed us back from Macindaw. But how could he have managed that? Well, he did manage to sneak up on me. How though? How is this happening? He's dead! Horace confirmed it, Gundar confirmed it, Malcolm confirmed it. Seriously, didn't I confirm it? This shouldn't be possible. It's not possible.
Because he got an axe in the back.
Because he fell from Macindaw's ramparts.
Will turned to meet John Buttle's dark eyes, and silently had one last question: If he, of all people, are alive, who else is out there?
