The Death Of Joan Of Arc by Michael Scott Read Free Book Online Page B

certainly wasn’t a friend. He watched the arrow arc high into the air and drop, and knew his shot had been true. The force of the blow should be enough to unseat the rider. Then, before she could clamber to her feet, he and the other guards would rush in and …
    The rider’s right hand moved; the sword flashed … and sliced the arrow in two.
    “Impossible,” Thomas said in a ragged whisper.
    William fired again, twice in quick succession. He heard the twang-hiss of arrows shot from the battlements above his head, and suddenly there were six arrows raining down on the rider.
    Sitting tall in the saddle, she moved her left and right hands, the swords blurs of metal as they sliced the arrows to slivers of wood.
    “Demon!” The Dutchman turned and ran. The rider was close enough to see clearly now. It
was
a young woman, with pale skin and shockingly green eyes beneath the mane of bright red hair. And then William saw her lips curl and realized that the woman was smiling.
    And that frightened William even more.
    He fired again, this time aiming to take down the horse, but the unnaturally fast woman chopped the hissing arrow out of the air. He distinctly heard the whistle of the blade and the snap as the heavy arrow was sliced in two. Then he turned to run. “Close the gates, close the gates!” He heard wood scrape as the huge gates slowly started to close, but he knew the rider would be upon thembefore the gates sealed shut. They would have to stop her before she got into the town. The Dutchman suddenly appeared in front of William, a long, hook-headed pike in his hands. He planted the end of the pike in the ground and positioned it so that the horse would run onto the spike. The young archer, Thomas, stood behind him and fired arrow after arrow at the approaching creature. Wood pinged and cracked as the rider cut arrow after arrow out of the air.
    William reached the Dutch mercenary, grabbed hold of the thick shaft of the pike, then turned to face the rider, confident that she would not be able to stop her headlong plunge.
    Arrows whistled over their heads as Thomas continued to fire at the rapidly approaching rider. “Who is she?” he shouted, his voice high with terror.
    “
What
is she?” William muttered. Unlike most others, he was not a superstitious man, but he had seen enough in his years fighting in the Scottish Highlands and the wilds of Ireland to realize that creatures who were more—and less—than human walked the shadows of this world. The rider was so close now that he could see the speckling of freckles across her nose, and he realized that she was around the same age as the condemned Frenchwoman. Her eyes, a brilliant grass green, were mesmerizing.
    Only his reflexes saved him.
    At the very last moment, just as the huge black mount reached the razor-sharp tip of the pike, the rider leaned low over the beast’s neck and the great horse leapt into the air. It sailed over the wooden pike. William and the Dutchman ducked. An iron-shod hoof punched into the mercenary’s breastplate, leaving a perfect semicircle in the metal. William saw the silver arc of a sword flashing toward him and threw up his bow to protect himself. The blade sliced through the thick yew, the force of the blow driving him back onto the muddy ground. The horse landed neatly and surged ahead. Thomas threw himself to one side to avoid being trampled, and then the red-haired rider was through the half-closed gates and racing toward the square.
    “After her!” William shouted. The Dutch mercenary and the English bowman looked at him as if he was mad. Then they turned and ran in the opposite direction.
    William grabbed Thomas’s abandoned bow and raced after the rider. Maybe this Joan
was
a witch, and maybe the rider was a demon come to rescue her … but he’d never heard of a demon with freckles before. And why would a demon need to ride into the town—why not just materialize in the square? He was sure the red-haired girl