The Unforgiven (Skharr DeathEater Book 1) by Michael Anderle

Author:Michael Anderle [Anderle, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: LMBPN Publishing
Published: 2020-10-26T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

The day had started so well.

They had found a pleasant place to set up camp away from the darker areas of the woods—at least according to the damn Drow—and it was conveniently located near a small stream that would provide them with a steady supply of water if they needed it. The word was that they only needed to remain in the area for a couple of days before the caravan reached them, and their scouts had reported the same thing the previous day.

Gurand had targeted travelers through these parts for years, and those who ventured forth had grown more and more suspicious of the location. These days, they generally journeyed in larger numbers and with an armed escort—like they thought it would help.

The sun was shining and he had little to do except watch as his men prepared the camp for the night. They would ambush the caravan the next day and return to the camp to enjoy the spoils and divide the prize. He was the leader of the group, which meant he would get the larger share.

Others would grumble, of course, but if anyone wanted a change in how things were run, they were welcome to take it up with him. Provided they could handle their swords well enough, they would be entitled to the larger share of the spoils.

None had attempted thus far, which had earned him enough of a reputation to keep folk from challenging him on a whim.

They were almost ready to start preparations for the evening meal when the unthinkable happened.

A soft whistle, barely audible at first, caught his attention. The humans in his band would certainly not hear it, but the benefits of having an Orc for a mother were difficult to ignore. The Drow heard it too, inclined his head, and turned to try to find the source of the noise.

His frown turned to astonishment when the arrow struck him in the next moment.

It was the size of a small javelin with sufficient force to drive the smaller Drow off his feet and pin him to the forest floor.

Gurand stared at his comrade for a few seconds. The Dark Elf’s eyes widened in shock and went vacant in a matter of moments, and his blood seeped quickly into the dirt beneath him.

All those in the camp stopped what they were doing, unsure of what had happened to him.

The half-Orc felt the same. The shot seemed to have come from nowhere—which made it impressive enough on its own—but it also brought them all to the same conclusion about the reality of their predicament.

"We're under atta—"

One of the other Orcs started to raise the alarm but he was cut off when another arrow whistled in out of nowhere and thunked into his neck. His head was almost severed by the sheer size of the arrowhead, and he simply slumped heavily where the momentum had driven the arrow into the soil. He tried to stop the blood that gushed from his wound for a few precious seconds before he went limp.

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