himself aside, rolled and came up with his sword at the ready. De la Roche roared at his foiled attempt. “I’ll have your head, Templar. One way or another,” he goaded.
He brought his horse around for another charge as William continued to defend himself against the half-dozen foot soldiers who advanced upon him. An arrow shot at close range pierced his mail, but William did not register pain. He twisted to the left and drove his weapon into the back of one man, then took the arm off another.
William jerked the arrow from his shoulder and tossed it aside. He grasped one of the men’s fallen swords in his left hand, now fully armed against the enemy.
More men. More swords. More arrows. More horses.How many of them could there be? Too many, his brain registered, as his body started to falter. Judging by the red seeping through his chain mail, they’d wounded him several times. He still didn’t feel the pain, but he knew his body wouldn’t hold up long.
His arms grew heavy. He braced for more, found depths of strength deep inside and continued to fight.
De la Roche came at him again, his horse’s eyes bulging, nostrils flaring. William advanced on the horse as he had during other battles, mounted on his own steed. He stumbled, but he kept pushing himself forward.
Frightened by the flash of steel a hairsbreadth from its eyes, the horse reared, sending de la Roche to the ground.
William mustered all his strength and charged, forcing the men back, forcing de la Roche back. But that one burst of energy cost him. He stumbled again and hit the ground with one knee. His borrowed sword fell to the ground. His arm went numb. His chest heaved. His own sword wobbled in his grip. He held tight. Losing his sword meant losing his life.
De la Roche grinned. “You’ve fought well, but now it’s time to die.”
Suddenly a volley of arrows pierced the doublet of the Frenchman, and cries of anguish filled the air.
William staggered to his feet and stumbled away from the next volley. Hoofbeats sounded behind him. Friend or foe? He braced himself for more. Holding his weapon high, he turned to see a horse and rider bearing down upon him.
William’s chest tightened at the sight of Simon heading toward him. And then he saw the others and went weak with hope and excitement. The air’s cold dampness suddenly seeped into his bones, and pain sizzled along his nerves, but he barely let the sensations register. Allhe could think about was maybe, sweet Mary, maybe there was hope to survive.
Simon rode straight for him. “Take my arm, you fool.”
William reached out and felt himself being hoisted into the saddle behind his Templar brother.
Arrows continued to rain down on de la Roche’s men as Simon guided the horse away. “Where’s your horse?” Simon asked with a hint of irritation.
“I sent Phantom away with the girl. She’s at the monastery.” William gasped as pain rushed over him, no longer willing to stay buried inside. Battle was like that. It had a way of disguising the pain until the danger was gone. Then, when one’s body relaxed and felt safe once more, pain flowed over one’s being with bitter intensity.
“Hold tight,” Simon said as he kicked the horse into a gallop.
“How did…you know…I needed help?” William forced out the words between waves of agony.
“We still have friends in this land. Friends who would lay down their lives to preserve our cause.” They crested a hill. At the top stood several men on horseback, each bearing a longbow and quiver. Crofters, and men he knew as former Templars. His brethren.
William could only nod at the men as he and Simon rode by. We have friends who will help us. The thought comforted him as he clung to the saddle, trying to keep the pain at bay.
They remained silent during the rest of the journey. At the monastery, Simon dismounted. William slid from the horse’s back. He hit the ground, then stumbled as pain seared him.
Simon frowned. “Just how
He brought his horse around for another charge as William continued to defend himself against the half-dozen foot soldiers who advanced upon him. An arrow shot at close range pierced his mail, but William did not register pain. He twisted to the left and drove his weapon into the back of one man, then took the arm off another.
William jerked the arrow from his shoulder and tossed it aside. He grasped one of the men’s fallen swords in his left hand, now fully armed against the enemy.
More men. More swords. More arrows. More horses.How many of them could there be? Too many, his brain registered, as his body started to falter. Judging by the red seeping through his chain mail, they’d wounded him several times. He still didn’t feel the pain, but he knew his body wouldn’t hold up long.
His arms grew heavy. He braced for more, found depths of strength deep inside and continued to fight.
De la Roche came at him again, his horse’s eyes bulging, nostrils flaring. William advanced on the horse as he had during other battles, mounted on his own steed. He stumbled, but he kept pushing himself forward.
Frightened by the flash of steel a hairsbreadth from its eyes, the horse reared, sending de la Roche to the ground.
William mustered all his strength and charged, forcing the men back, forcing de la Roche back. But that one burst of energy cost him. He stumbled again and hit the ground with one knee. His borrowed sword fell to the ground. His arm went numb. His chest heaved. His own sword wobbled in his grip. He held tight. Losing his sword meant losing his life.
De la Roche grinned. “You’ve fought well, but now it’s time to die.”
Suddenly a volley of arrows pierced the doublet of the Frenchman, and cries of anguish filled the air.
William staggered to his feet and stumbled away from the next volley. Hoofbeats sounded behind him. Friend or foe? He braced himself for more. Holding his weapon high, he turned to see a horse and rider bearing down upon him.
William’s chest tightened at the sight of Simon heading toward him. And then he saw the others and went weak with hope and excitement. The air’s cold dampness suddenly seeped into his bones, and pain sizzled along his nerves, but he barely let the sensations register. Allhe could think about was maybe, sweet Mary, maybe there was hope to survive.
Simon rode straight for him. “Take my arm, you fool.”
William reached out and felt himself being hoisted into the saddle behind his Templar brother.
Arrows continued to rain down on de la Roche’s men as Simon guided the horse away. “Where’s your horse?” Simon asked with a hint of irritation.
“I sent Phantom away with the girl. She’s at the monastery.” William gasped as pain rushed over him, no longer willing to stay buried inside. Battle was like that. It had a way of disguising the pain until the danger was gone. Then, when one’s body relaxed and felt safe once more, pain flowed over one’s being with bitter intensity.
“Hold tight,” Simon said as he kicked the horse into a gallop.
“How did…you know…I needed help?” William forced out the words between waves of agony.
“We still have friends in this land. Friends who would lay down their lives to preserve our cause.” They crested a hill. At the top stood several men on horseback, each bearing a longbow and quiver. Crofters, and men he knew as former Templars. His brethren.
William could only nod at the men as he and Simon rode by. We have friends who will help us. The thought comforted him as he clung to the saddle, trying to keep the pain at bay.
They remained silent during the rest of the journey. At the monastery, Simon dismounted. William slid from the horse’s back. He hit the ground, then stumbled as pain seared him.
Simon frowned. “Just how
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