Page 125 of The Splendor of Fire
“Yes, Chief?”
“Give us your bow and quiver.” Without questioning orders, the young lad divested himself of the equipment.
Beithir strapped the quiver to her and handed her the bow.
What will the boy use?
“He has a sword. He may look young, but believe me, he’s deadly.” A look of pride came over the young boy’s face at his chief’s notice of his skill.
How old is he?
“Seventeen. The same age as Léo when he went to Pontvallain.” New respect for Léo and all he’d endured lodged in her chest. She wished she could feel as confident in Fergal’s ability, but all she could feel looking at the boy’s smooth face was how he barely looked old enough to shave.Lord, keep him safe.
The Wolf’s men were now only four hundred yards away.
Beithir remained collected. “You shouldn’t have a problem with a bow this draw weight. It may be a little heavy, but you’re stronger than most women. I trust you can handle it. Keep your muscles engaged. Resist the urge to release the arrow too quickly. But most important, use the bow only if you must, and only to keepyourselfsafe.”
She nodded. The ground beneath her feet began to shake as the warriors charged up the hill. Around them, the MacLean guard got into battle formation and prepared their pikes. Thrumming on shields began all around her and reverberated through her chest. She looked around wild-eyed, suddenly unsure what to do.
Lachlan screamed at her. “Birdy! Get up the tree!”
Without having to be told twice, she made for the edge of the field. Finding a sturdy pine, she began climbing its craggy bark with speed. Once safely in the branches she looked around at the war scene before her.
The fleet of the King of the Isles had taken complete control of the harbor, Dun Ringill was surrounded, and their forces must now stand strong against the Wolf’s attack. If they could, Lion would win the field. A chant began among the MacLean warriors. “Bas no beatha!”
The war cry began in a quiet growl, and then grew louder, and louder, moving in rhythm, swords against shields.Death or Life.A feeling of pride surged through her. This was her clan, these were her people. She too was a MacLean.
The Wolf’s caterans were now only fifty yards ahead.
Beithir held his hand aloft in a raised fist, prowling behind his battle lines. “Hold the line!”
Birdy pulled an arrow from her quiver and nocked, watching Beithir’s raised hand. Their war cry reached a frenzied pitch meant to put fear in the heart of their enemy. The Wolf’s men were nearly upon them, and still Beithir didn’t give the order to raise the pikes. Sweat pricked her palms.
Then, at the last fraction of a second, he gave the order. “Raise pikes!”
Like one living, breathing force, pikes raised in sharp movement, creating a deadly point of impact. She squeezed her eyes shut, butcouldn’t block out the sound of men’s screams as they collided with the lethal end of the sharpened pikes—nor could she stop the sound of the gates of hell being loosed only seconds later.
Metal rang against metal, thunder against thunder, as men engaged in close warfare. Beithir moved as gracefully as he did during practice except a look of battle fire burned in his eyes. Moving through the crowd using axes, he hooked shields and tossed them away. His axes came down, one, then the other, then a finishing blow, then he moved to the next man.
Beside him, Lightning fought like a swift-moving river, flowing between the men, cutting, striking, and consuming anything in his path.
Lachlan. Where was Lachlan?
Catching sight of his distinctive golden hair, she watched as a man engaged him. He moved with the same grace as Beithir, but not the same power. Another man joined the fight and Lachlan struggled to deflect the blows from two sides. Desperate, she watched as fatigue developed on his face. He was tiring. Her heart pounded.
Her brother. She couldn’t lose her brother when she had just found him. Beithir told her not to engage unless she needed to defend her own life, but she couldn’t watch him die and leave his five children fatherless and do nothing.
Without another thought, her stomach engaged, and she drew, aimed, and loosed. The arrow sailed through the air and sank into one man’s neck, taking him to the ground. Quicker this time, she pulled another arrow. Draw, aim, loose. The arrow sank into the other man’s eye, and he staggered forward into Lachlan’s sword.
Lachlan turned and gave her a quick nod, then followed Beithir. Time to move.
Running along the branches, she leapt from tree to tree, following their party toward the tunnel. All the while, the three men worked together and took down warrior after warrior. The rest of the MacLean guard swept over the fields.
As they made it to the crest of the next field, the Wolf’s forces had been nearly decimated. And then, from their right flank, through the trees around her, hundreds more enemy caterans moved toward them.
They didn’t see them. She stopped moving, watching rough-looking caterans wearing lowlander?1 tartan stalk through the forest.
A group approached Beithir, who was engaged from the front, not knowing what danger advanced on him from behind. Fear gripped her. Calum wasn’t turning. Neither was Lachlan.
