Meuric Read Free Page A

took several steps towards the mouth of the cave and sank into the shadows. He ducked behind another boulder and drew a small hand-held crossbow from the holster on his thigh. He locked its wings into place, drew back on the string and readied the weapon, nocking two bolts into place. It even had two triggers toallow each arrow to be fired singly. He wrapped his palm around the crossbow’s handgrip. A tiny squeeze of pressure was all it needed to let the bolts fly. His four remaining bolts he set in a line next to hand for easy reach.
    It was a weapon specifically designed for close combat. It was part of the Protectorate’s armament. If you knew what to look for and believed in the myths of the Knight Protectors, such a thing would mark him as he really was.
    Water dripped from large cracks in the cave roof above but he ignored it. He concentrated solely on the sounds that would be foreign in a cave. Focusing his eyes on anything but the streaming light, he allowed his eyes to adjust to the gloom of the cave. His concern for his friends down in Ay’den made his mind begin to wander but he suppressed the urge, keeping his mind on the task at hand. It was then he first heard the sound of running feet growing swiftly louder. Meuric raised his arm into a position to take aim, and waited.
    Five men raced down the path of the cave. Armed with only swords and daggers they were in too much of a rush to worry about tactics. Bloodlust was upon them. What jarred Meuric the most was that their blades were black, identical to those of the Protectorate. The exact way his weapons should have looked if Abram had not been so close. They slowed slightly when approaching the Knight Protector’s hidden position, as if somehow sensing that their prey crouched just ahead.
    They were dressed very much like the members of the Protectorate, but Meuric felt that their uniforms had been designed to make a mockery of what the Knights stood for. Their iron armour, different from the Protectorate’s own toughened leather, was all in black, as were their leggings. They wore Tab’ee-styled opened-faced helms with cheek-pieces and a nose plate whereas the Knight Protectors wore a full-faced helmet to protect their identities. Only the enemy’s tunics bore colours that symbolised their rank within their military structure. Four were in olive green while the fifth man was in green, identifying him as the Chosen Man and commander of the attacking team.
    Controlling his breathing, Meuric fired off his first two bolts. Two of the enemy fell dead before they realised what had just happened. He loaded another two arrows. The enemy slunk into the shadows but therewas no escape for them. His eyes had already adjusted to the dimness. His finger smoothly squeezed the trigger with a practiced ease. Another two enemy combatants fell dead.
    He aimed at the fifth man, the enemy commander. As if sensing what was happening he rolled at the last moment. The two arrows flew over his head. The Chosen Man came up onto his feet fast. Even with the loss of his magickal Gifts, Meuric was faster still. Breaking cover, he threw his crossbow at the enemy soldier who naturally ducked. He just had time to raise his head as the Knight Protector sank his short sword up under his chin and into his brain.
    The blade slid out easily. Slowly Meuric crouched, making himself a smaller target in case there were more enemies about. He took the sword from the dead man and stepped back into the shadows once again. He waited patiently. A short time passed. Nothing reached his ears. A sense of urgency rose strongly within him. It was the need to break cover and escape, out into the Great Wood. The need to manoeuvre was intense within him and growing ever more powerful. He took a long deep breath and slowly stood, submitting finally to the urge. He knew that they would have to leave the cave at some stage. He prayed to the gods that the dead men before him were all they had