Zodak - The Last Shielder (Tempest Rising Series Book 1) by Max Moyer

Author:Max Moyer [Moyer, Max]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Foxhall Press
Published: 2024-04-09T00:00:00+00:00

22

Zodak sputtered, gasping for breath. He made a wild lunge toward the wagon, but his foot caught the edge of the table leg, and he lurched forward. The stranger’s huge hand shot out and caught the back of his shirt just before he hit the sawdust floor, lifting him like a child and setting him back in the chair. Zodak dropped his head into his hands, cursing himself.

The man looked at Zodak intently for a moment as if wrestling with a decision, and then spoke. “Don’t worry, son. I will help you.”

Zodak looked up. The tall stranger still stared, then nodded his head in confirmation. He emptied the goblet and tossed it on the table. The imposing figure turned from Zodak, gesturing for him to follow. Striding across the patio out into the street, the man ducked his head to avoid the roof line. Zodak scrambled after him. The man glanced down the street toward the city and back in the other direction out the Fahyz Gate. Zodak followed his gaze. A hundred mounts ahead, the road passed through the Fahyz Gate carved out of the hulking city wall, turned slightly right, and then ribboned out of sight. The man calmly reached down and picked up a pinch of dirt. He rubbed it loose in front of him. With the other hand, he reached back and unstrapped the massive bow. The dark polished wood bow towered over Zodak.

“What are you doing?” asked Zodak.

The man said nothing. In one fluid motion, he slipped his leg behind the bottom of the bow and pulled down from the top, adding his own weight to bend the stubborn wood. The bow sighed and creaked as if awaking from a long slumber as he flicked the bowstring on top. It snapped back forcefully, pulling the string tight. Even curved, the massive weapon stood well above Zodak’s head. The man pulled a long arrow from among five that stood like sentries in a quiver over his shoulder, each fletched with azure feathers. The arrow shaft seemed as if it had no end. From the ground it would easily have reached Zodak’s chin. Facing the Fahyz Gate, the man took a deep breath, nocked the arrow, and slowly drew it back. The wiry muscles in his arms flexed beneath the skin. With the bow drawn fully, he closed his eyes and froze.

Zodak watched anxiously. He picked nervously at his thumbnail, the fear rising in him. It had all gone wrong. Wasn’t I just steps away from meeting the Elder hours ago? Who is this man? And what is he doing? Sending a message?

Zodak could tell few had the strength to draw this bow, yet the man before him stood completely still with eyes closed, the electric tension of the straining wood submitted to his will. He wore a leather vest, stamped with intricate patterns, and a rich blue shirt beneath. A leather cuff running the length of his forearm caught Zodak’s eye. It bore an intricate design:

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