What the Heart Sees Read Free

the castle gates.
    The catapult had been maneuvered into position at the edge of the field. As she watched, the great beam of the arm was being winched back against the rear wheels and a large boulder, the weight of which required two beefy men to carry it, was seated into the canvas pouch. Upon a signal, the men backed away and a lever released the tension in the ropes. The arm swung forward and sent the boulder flying across the two hundred yards of charred fields to smash against the thick oak gates.
    When it struck, she could feel the wall shudder beneath her feet and hear the rubble packed inside the wall shifting with the impact.
    “The gates are holding thus far,” Sir Thomas said quietly, “but the noise grows tiresome. Think you that you could pluck one of those acorns off the tree?”
    Cassie glanced through the teeth of the wall again. The men working the catapult were well protected, the iron scales of their long hauberks glittered in the weak morning light, covering them like long gowns from shoulder to foot. Apparently de Caux’s armorer had come up with his own ingenious design to thwart the vulnerability of the porcupine legs.
    Sir Thomas signaled to Sir Hubert, who had brought some of the barbed arrows with him. Taking one, the dark knight smiled gently and handed it to Cassie.
    “The distance may prove as much an impediment as the armor, girl, and I’ll not hold it against you if the acorns go unskewered.”
    Cassie took the arrow and held the piercing blue gaze a moment longer before turning to study the catapult again. It took five men to work the war machine, though there were half a dozen more standing nearby to steady the wheels if they shifted off the blocks. Two worked the winch, two loaded the canvas pouch, one released the lever. The latter rivalled Sir Hubert in size and girth, with arms like tree stumps and a form bulked like a small mountain. She suspected the trigger mechanism would normally require the strength of two men, but this behemoth was able to handle it with only a bellowed roar as aid.
    She nodded to herself and wiped the mist out of her eyes. She slipped a leather guard on her fingers and ran the feather fletching between her lips to smooth the flights, then raised the bow and stood sidelong to the wall. She nocked the arrow to the string and rested her hand lightly to her cheek, pushing slowly back on the bow until her left arm was straight and the tension in the string was at its peak. Sighting along the shaft, she stopped her breath, plucked her fingers free and sent the arrow on its way.
    Both knights leaned forward eagerly to follow the hissing flight of the arrow. They saw it streak straight and true to the chest of the behemoth, punching through quilted gambeson and linked mail. He toppled backward off his balance, staggering with the force of the blow, his hands clutching for the shaft that was now buried half deep in his chest. As he spun around in disbelief, the watchers on the wall could clearly see the bloodied tip of the arrow protruding from his back.
    Two stumbling steps and the mountain crashed to the ground. By then Cassie had nocked and fired two more of the barbed arrows, felling the pair who stood by the handles of the winch. The two men carrying a fresh boulder toward the catapult dropped their burden and ran for the protection of the forest, but they too were sent sprawling to the mud with arrows jutting from their spines.
    Cassie lowered the bow and flexed her fingers to ease the tingling.
    Sir Thomas said nothing for a full minute. He continued to stare at the five slain men, part of him wanting to shout with satisfaction, part of him understanding the horror of a weapon that could pierce armor at a distance that offered no possible defense against it.
    “My God,” he murmured finally. “My good sweet God.”
    “De Caux will be swallowing his liver,” Sir Hubert predicted. “He’ll not find too many volunteers willing to take their