Chapter 17: The Sound of the Bowstring
The heavy, rushing footsteps of the leader and Marcus quickly faded into the dense gloom of the pine forest, leaving the basin suddenly quiet. The only sounds remaining were the soft, wet hiss of the roasting spit and the shallow, nervous breathing of the third scavenger.
He was a younger man, thin and twitchy, his hand resting anxiously on the grip of his short bow. He looked at Georgia, then back toward the dark trail his companions had taken, clearly unhappy about being left behind on guard duty.
"Sit down," he spat, gesturing with the tip of an arrow toward a flat log near the fire. "And don't make a sound. You so much as whimper, and I'll tie a dirty rag around that pretty mouth of yours."
Georgia sank onto the log, her head bowed, her shoulders still trembling with her feigned terror. She pulled her dark cloak tightly around herself, her hands hidden deep within the fabric. Underneath the soot-stained wool, her fingers were not shaking. They were wrapped tightly around the hilt of the dead man’s hunting knife.
"I... I am cold," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the crackling wood. "Please, may I step closer to the fire?"
The young scavenger sneered, but the freezing mountain draft cut through the basin, making even his own teeth chatter. "Fine. But stay on your knees. One wrong move and—"
He didn't finish the sentence.
From the pitch-black shadows behind the mossy boulder, a sharp, metallic twang echoed through the trees.
The heavy iron bolt from the crude crossbow tore through the air, completely missing the scavenger’s chest but slamming violently into the wooden roasting spit beside him. Sparks and hot ash exploded into the air, blinding the young hunter for a crucial, chaotic second.
"What the—!" the scavenger yelled, stumbling backward and frantically trying to notch an arrow to his string.
He never got the chance.
Georgia was already moving. The fragile, weeping princess vanished instantly. She lunged forward across the burning embers of the fire, her ruined gown trailing through the sparks. Before the scavenger could clear his eyes or raise his bow, she tackled him to the dirt.
The weight of her body caught him off balance. They crashed to the hard ground, the scavenger’s bow clattering out of his grip. He snarled, his hand clawing for her face, but Georgia’s movements were ruthlessly efficient.
She drove the heavy hunting knife downward, burying the steel deep into his shoulder.
The man let out a choked, agonized scream, his grip loosening instantly. Georgia didn't hesitate. She grabbed a heavy, half-charred log from the edge of the campfire and struck him hard across the temple.
The scavenger’s eyes rolled back, his body going completely limp on the frozen earth.
Georgia stood up, breathing heavily, her face illuminated by the dying embers of the scattered fire. She looked toward the dark boulder where Corin was slowly stepping out, the empty crossbow trembling in his hands. His face was entirely pale, but he had pulled the trigger when it mattered.
"You missed," Georgia said, her voice cool and steady as she wiped a streak of soot from her cheek.
"I... I'm a sailor, not a marksman," Corin gasped, leaning against the stone to keep his knees from buckling. He looked down at the unconscious scavenger, then at Georgia, who was already searching the camp for anything useful. "Is he... is he dead?"
"No. But he won't be waking up anytime soon," Georgia said, snatching up the fallen short bow and a quiver of arrows. She tossed them to Corin. "Take these. We don't have much time. The other two will realize Tyler isn't at the river soon enough, and they will come back bloodthirsty."
She looked down at the broken, white-and-gold armor of the Western Coalition soldier lying on the stone. She reached down, picking up the cracked silver helmet of the weeping saint.
"They said the Coalition is setting up camps at the base of the pass," Georgia murmured, her violet eyes reflecting the faint amber glow of the ruins. "The forest is crawling with them. If we try to hide in these woods forever, we will eventually be caught by either the hunters or the soldiers."
"Then what do we do?" Corin asked, clutching the stolen bow.
Georgia turned the silver helmet over in her hands, a cold, brilliant spark of inspiration lighting up her eyes.
"We stop running from them," she whispered. "We are going to walk right into their camp."