Orphan of Destiny by Michael Spradlin

Author:Michael Spradlin [Spradlin, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Europe, Christian, Medieval, Action & Adventure, Juvenile Fiction, General, Royalty, Historical, Religious
ISBN: 9780142419595
Google: n39czgAACAAJ
Publisher: Penguin Group USA
Published: 2011-10-12T18:30:00+00:00

17

Their sudden appearance was so shocking that I nearly cried out. After a moment, two of the bandits took the lead horses by the reins while two others blocked our retreat. We were effectively cut off.

Despite our situation, Robard was a study in calm determination, his hands in the air.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

None of them answered. Without speaking, the leader directed the others with a series of shrugs and shakes of his head, the arrow in his bow never wavering from the center of Robard’s chest. One of the men went for Sir Thomas’ battle sword at Robard’s waist. He removed it, belt and all, and slung the sword over his shoulder. I was thankful for the robe Tuck had given me, for I had taken to wearing the satchel beneath it so it was not visible. I strained to listen, hoping for the Grail to sound, assuring me we would survive this encounter, but it was silent.

“You’ll answer for this,” Robard said. “I know these woods and know them well. There is nowhere you can hide that I won’t find you.”

His threats had no effect. The thieves stood as still as statues, save for the one gathering up our valuables. Brother Tuck made his familiar clicking sound as the man advanced and rocked back and forth nervously astride his horse. He was scared, and I worried he might do something to cause himself harm.

“Easy, Tuck,” I said, reaching over to take him by the arm, hoping I could calm him.

Maryam started acting like a frightened girl. “What do you want with us?” she whined. “Please don’t hurt us!” She dropped her reins, slumping in the saddle, and cried the worst fake tears I’d ever heard. But as she hugged her arms, I could see she was reaching up the sleeves of her tunic.

The cowled leader, however, kept his eyes on Robard. Finally, he said quietly, “Drop the bow.”

Robard still clutched his bow in one hand. “I think not,” he replied.

“I don’t want to shoot you, but I will if I have to. Release it.”

“Not on your life,” Robard answered.

“Drop it! Or it’s an arrow for your morning meal!”

The bandit standing next to Tuck was momentarily distracted and thus caught completely unaware when the monk goaded his horse forward and brought his giant fist down on top of the bandit’s head. The man crumpled to the ground as if he had been felled by an ax.

“Now!” Robard shouted. I dropped the reins and winced as I rolled backward off my horse. The distinctive twang of a bowstring sounded, and for a moment I swore I felt the rush of air as an arrow passed through the space where I had been just an instant before.

I landed on my feet with my horse between me and the bandit on my right, and drew my sword. Maryam’s ululating cry echoed off the trees, and Robard’s shouts and curses rang through the morning air. To my left, Little John shouted that he and Tuck had already subdued the other archer.

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