Chapter 12

Peter looks up to the mountain, and his searching gaze finds Edmund. The brothers lock eyes for a second, then both of them nod slowly. I frown. What are they doing?

Before I can ask, Peter jerks forward again, shouting, "Fall back! Draw them to the rocks!" He slaps his helmet back over his face, leans over his mount, and the unicorn rides like mad, galloping for the outcrop right below us.

I look back to Edmund. This time, he meets my gaze and he nods.

Finally, I think, half with fierce pleasure, half with fear. My hands shake as I sling the bow off my shoulder, and I'm not sure which emotion is causing the tremors. Maybe both.

But it doesn't matter, because for this to work, my aim must be perfect. Which is kind of hard if your hands are convulsing like crazy kids at a high school dance. I take a deep breath, stilling my trembles, and grab an arrow from the quiver at my side.

This is my time to shine! The old Raven song pops into my head, and I smirk slightly as I nock the arrow, all archers around me doing the same.

Phase Three of the Plan? After the Phoenix, Edmund and I decide when to shoot the first arrows. After the cue, our archers fire at will.

My hands are still, my arm just relaxed enough; I find my target – and try not to remember that I'm ending a life.

These are the bad guys after all.

Whush! The hiss of a hundred arrows leaving their bows sounds over the field, and I watch as the weapons plunge down. Nearly every one finds its target, buried deep inside some minotaur, wolf, dwarf, or demon creature.

Success.

I push away the tiny bit of guilt as we raise our bows and arrows, preparing to strike again.

Just as we release the second time, I peek over at Edmund. He's staring down at the battlefield, and his eyes have gone huge, huge as the boulders the griffins dropped. Puzzled – and terrified – I follow his gaze; below us, I see Oreius doing the same.

Peter lies flat on the ground. Is he–? He can't be. No, he's moving, struggling to get out from under his still unicorn, a feathered end stuck in its beautiful white neck.

I choke, like someone stuffed an arrow down my own throat. I can't tear my eyes away from blood pooling out around the wound. I've been shooting arrows down all this time, but I've never stopped to think about what they do. Of course I knew. But seeing this... It's just not the same.

Because the arrow is the enemy's, and the unicorn was one of ours.

But I can't stop now. I can't. So I raise my weapons again, aim, and shoot, ignoring the pain running rampant inside me. I concentrate, keeping my hands steady.

I can't afford to miss.

After the shot, I look down again – just in time to see Oreius and a nameless rhinoceros running back for Peter. At least, I think that's what they're doing, but they don't stop at him. They charge on, racing back the way they came.

I see Peter's lips move as they pass him; I sense more than hear him scream, "No!"

But they ride on.

A few paces past Peter, a sword appears in the rhino's head. He falls, and I swipe at the tears, but Oreius keeps riding. Whispers on my right and left remind me of my job, so I shoot again – twice in a row – then look back down for Peter and Oreius.

Peter, I do not see. But my eyes find the centaur general striking down a minotaur, plunging two swords into its back. He pulls a third sword from a sheath at his side and rides on, straight for the Witch.

"No." The word seeps out in a horrified whisper. Dude, it's suicide.

And the worst part is, I know Oreius knows this.

He shouts as he nears her, which has little point since she can see him. Leaping over her chariot, he swipes at her neck, but she bends backwards like a champion gymnast, ducking under it. He lands on the other side, and I wish he'd ride on, but of course he won't. He whirls back and strikes again.

But of course he misses, and of course there's a chink in his armor, a tiny unprotected slit that shows itself as he whips around to swing at her again.

But that tiny gap is all she needs.

Shing! I pretend I can hear the magic sword touching him; I pretend I can feel my friend turning to stone, even though it's too far and the battle is too loud and even if it wasn't, I couldn't feel it anyway.

What I actually feel? Numb, sick; stone, if you want to know the truth. I don't even want to cry anymore.

But still, I will go on.

Thanks for reading! Please review!