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massing of guards could overwhelm
O'Cuire. Yet he concentrated on the plight outside
the keep walls. He could not do otherwise. "And
Timeras," he thought, "would have it no other
way."
The increasing distance became more of a hazard for
his next two shots. Time, for Longshanks, seemed to
slow. He could feel his heart pump in his chest,
slowly and laboriously, seemingly less than a beat
each minute as he drew once more on the bowstring.
The third soldier was just raising his sword to
strike the girl down, achingly slow, when the keening
arrow smote upon him like a hammer blow. It drove in
under one arm, splitting the chain byrnie there, and
spun him about to throw him to the ground. Bloody
spray burst from his lips as the shaft spitted both
lungs.
Then calamity struck. The girl screamed and tripped,
collapsing to the ground.
Longshanks felt his stomach drop and his heart
hammering in his throat as the final guard grabbed
the girl's mane of blond locks in his
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free hand, and,
jerking her head up, raised an axe with the other.
Duril's arm felt like a leaden weight as he reached
yet again into the quiver at his shoulder. His breath
caught in his throat as emptiness met his fingers.
Panic drummed a
deafening beat in his ears as he
frantically clutched at the vacant case.
Then, as if guided by St. Eustace's own hand, his
fingers clasped around a single shaft, last of its
fellows. With a speed akin to lightning, Longshanks
drew it out and ran the ebon fletching past his lips,
wetting it with his tongue, praying the shaft would
fly truer than any he'd ever sent before.
He released the string as the axe began to fall. The
soldier never completed his blow. Tall Ayrn's arrow
entered the back of his neck, and passed completely
through his throat, tearing out his windpipe, and
severing his spine, slaying him instantly. The body
crumpled down over the girl's, forcing her to the
earth. Screaming all the while, she managed to crawl
from underneath the corpse and begin running
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