Forging Silver into Stars

Soldiers are coming down the lane. We can hear them chanting, clear as a bell.

Kill the king! Kill the king!

My heart slams hard against my rib cage, and I hear every breath that rattles into my lungs. The king has managed to get to his feet, but he seems less steady than I am, and that’s saying something. He’s pulled the final arrow from his shoulder, but his magic is still slow to work, and blood soaks the side of his armor. His arm hangs limply. I’ve got an arrow nocked and waiting, and the king’s bracer on my forearm. He’s been giving me a litany of instructions.

If they’re wearing armor, the throat is the most vulnerable, but it’s a narrow target.

Better to aim for their legs. If they can’t walk, they can’t advance.

Or the face. No one can fight with an arrow in their eye.

Don’t wait to see if your arrow strikes true. Either it does or it doesn’t. Find your next shot.

Don’t forget to breathe! Take time to aim. Don’t waste your arrows.

I’ve never even hit a moving target. I don’t know if now is the time to tell him that. Probably not.

“I’m not a soldier,” I say to him, as if there’s any chance he wasn’t sure.

“No one really is until they have to be.”

He says this like it’s nothing, but the words lodge in my heart and stick there. In a way, this reminds me of shooting with Tycho that first day in the snow. This could be a lesson. Nothing at stake except a little bit of tree bark.

Then the king shifts his weight, and his breath hitches the slightest bit, the only sign he’s still in pain.

There’s a lot at stake.

I swallow as the sun fully climbs above the mountains, giving us a clear view of the path.

“Any magic yet?” I say. His wounds seem to have stopped seeping blood, but I can’t tell if that’s a good sign or a bad one.

“Some. Nowhere near enough.” He looks to the sky, then glances at me. “But I’ve beaten bad odds before.”

There are dozens of soldiers coming. I only have twenty arrows in this quiver. Even if every single one shoots true, that won’t stop them all.

“This bad?” I say.

“Fate has already drawn a path beyond this moment, Jax. Let’s follow it through.”

I’ve never believed in fate, but his voice is so sure that I nod. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

The soldiers come into view. There are so many. They seem to blur together, and I realize it’s sweat dripping into my eyes. For an instant, I can’t breathe. I can’t think. My fingers shake, and I tighten them on the arrow.

“Hold,” the king says, as he pulls his sword. “Wait for my order.”

I nod. My hand is slick on the bow.

“Breathe,” he says, and I exhale slowly.

The soldiers must realize the king is no longer bound, because a shout goes up, interrupting their eager chanting. I see bows and crossbows lift. Some are pointed at the king—but others are pointed at me.

My father is among them. I see the shock register in his eyes as he sees the bow in my hands—but he lifts his own weapon. I can’t tell if he’s aiming at me or at the king, but it doesn’t matter. There are so many of them, and all at once.

“Now,” says the king, and I loose the arrow, just like I’ve practiced.