However, moments before reaching his goal, he saw two Water Clan warriors struck by arrows while attempting to engage the behemoth of a man. Though neither arrow strike was fatal, both were easily overcome in their hampered state. He almost screamed in frustration as his body bounded toward the archer perched on a roof ledge. He knew it was imperative to Vindrake’s success to remove the bowman before he could pick off any more Water Clan warriors. The trim young warrior, clearly illuminated in the glowing moonlight as he stooped to retrieve a new quiver of arrows, would be no match for him in close combat.
Climbing the trellis toward the roof, Daegreth attempted to produce a battle cry, but his blood fealty kept him silent as he ascended toward the unsuspecting archer. The noise of battle gave cover as the wood cross-planks creaked under his weight. Bile rose in his throat at the thought of what would happen next.
Having already used up half his supply of arrows, Jireo strapped on a second quiver. He congratulated himself that not one of his arrows had been wasted yet. His new position allowed him a perfect opportunity to aid Morvaen on the ground, but he’d be vulnerable if an enemy archer spotted him. And when his arrows were spent, he’d be forced to descend and engage with his sword and knives.
Kneeling to steady himself on his inclined perch, he nocked an arrow and took aim at a man swiftly surging toward Morvaen’s side while the weapons master was occupied with two other warriors. Savoring the feeling of power flowing through his hands to perfect his aim, Jireo watched his arrow fly straight and true, striking the man in the thigh, the cry of pain alerting Morvaen to the danger.
As he reached without thought over his shoulder to retrieve another arrow, he felt a vibration in his knee. Again, a slight shudder of the wood transmitted through the bone in his leg. Another small shake rolled through his rooftop platform, setting him on high alert. Had someone climbed the trellis behind him?
Leading with his bow, he swiveled and stood, feeling and hearing the rapid heavy thump of footsteps on the roof. With no time to take aim, he let his arrow fly in the general direction of the man thundering toward him. Fortune held, and the arrow imbedded in the warrior’s arm. Yet the Water Clansman only stopped for a moment, long enough to break off the wooden shaft protruding from his skin and drop his sharpstop, transferring his long blade to the other hand.
The Water Clan fighter approached with more wariness in his expression, but Jireo knew he’d be no match for the well-muscled young warrior if he got close enough to use his sword. He dropped his bow, withdrawing two throwing knives and flinging them in close succession. The first hit the man’s stomach and bounced off with a noisy ping of metal against metal. The second knife found its mark, burying in his chest.
Momentarily stunned, the warrior gazed at the knife handle jutting from his chest. When he lifted his eyes toward Jireo, he smiled—a wild, crazed grin. Then he staggered forward, still brandishing his sword with his left hand, while his right arm hung limp at his side and blood dripped from his chest wound. All the while that strange smile adorned his face.
Jireo took one step backward, his boot coming to rest atop the discarded bow, which slipped under his weight, sliding down the slanted perch. Crying out, he toppled to the roof, extending his hand to break his fall. His wrist folded and snapped when he landed, and he screamed in pain, even as he began to slide toward the edge of the roof. His yell was cut short when a heavy weight fell across his back. The warrior had pinned him in his precariously balanced position, legs dangling unsupported. He waited for the stab of pain to come, the inevitable deathblow, but the dense body didn’t move. He must be dead.
Ignoring the searing pain in his wrist, Jireo struggled but couldn’t budge the smothering weight holding him captive.
*****
The textbook slid from Alora’s fingers to clunk on the wood floor. A cramping in her chest competed with the new stabbing sensation in her head, and she cried out concurrently with Kaevin, who jumped to his feet.
“Jireo! It’s Jireo! I’ve got to get to him. Now.” He sandwiched his head between his palms.
Alora popped up from the couch with her heart beating a hundred miles an hour. The insistent pain outweighed the effect of the melting ice she held against her head. She dropped the ineffectual baggie on the floor beside Kaevin’s discarded ice.
“Your uncle isn’t home. He’ll throw a fit if you go without permission. And so will your grandmother.” Beth moved close to peer up at Kaevin. “Are you sure it’s Jireo and not your imagination?”
He shook his head. “No, I’m certain it’s Jireo.”
“What if Vindrake has him?” asked Wesley. “If he’s got Jireo, and you transport to him—”
“I have no choice; I must go. I can’t explain it.” Kaevin’s eyes pleaded with Alora.
“No, I totally get it. We have to go. I feel like… I don’t know how to describe it… like I’m going to die if we don’t get to him. I’ll just have to hope Uncle Charles understands.”
“Wait a minute… When your heads hurt this badly, doesn’t that mean your soulmate bond is getting weak? What if you pass out as soon as you get there?” Beth snaked her arm around Alora’s, attempting to pull her away from Kaevin. “I’m trying to be the voice of reason, here. We should wait until your uncle gets home and see what he says.”
Alora jerked her arm free from Beth’s grasp. “We’ll figure something out, but we’re going. We can’t wait for Uncle Charles. I can’t explain what I feel, but I know it’s an emergency.”
“Then take me with you,” said Wesley. “Whatever it is, I can help. That way, if you pass out when you get there, I can take care of you. It won’t do you any good to go if you’re too weak to take care of yourselves.”
“I’m sorry, Wesley.” Kaevin accepted his coat from Alora, shrugging it on. “We can’t risk your life again by taking you to Laegenshire. Your parents would be very angry. Instead of moving straight to Jireo, we’ll transport to Father first. Then we’ll be safe even if Vindrake has captured Jireo, and Father will know what to do should we be weak or unconscious.”
“Then you might as well take these with you.” Biting his lip, Wesley wedged his hand in his pocket to withdraw two sheathed ceramic knives—the only kind of blade they could carry on a transport with Alora.
A grim smile appeared on Kaevin’s face as he retrieved three similar knives from his own pocket. “I’m always prepared.”
Alora was anxious to go, until she saw a tear streak down Beth’s face. She could count on one hand the times she’d seen Beth crying. She pulled her diminutive friend into a hug, sensing her fear.
“Please, Alora… I have a bad feeling about this,” she whispered. “If you go without us, we won’t even know if you’re alive or dead.”
“Everything will be fine, Beth,” she soothed. “You know we can’t take you with us. It’s bad enough if I defy Uncle Charles’ instructions, but if we take you it’s even worse. I promise we’ll come back as soon as we can.” Though she knew it was the right thing to do, she felt immensely guilty leaving Beth behind. Wesley moved to place a comforting arm around Beth’s small shoulders.
“I think we should probably try kissing again while we transport.” Kaevin’s voice was desperate, and her pain mirrored in his eyes.
Closing her eyes, she turned toward him and felt his strong arms wrap around her. His