Free Sovereign by Ted Dekker Page B

the wasteland. And then she gathered her pack and her bow and moved to within thirty paces of the unsuspecting guard. She set four arrows on the curved concrete, notched a fifth on her bowstring, and knelt tosteady her aim. At this distance the steel-tipped arrow would pack the power of a pickaxe.
    She drew breath, held it, and sent the arrow directly at the Dark Blood’s head. She didn’t see it hit, but the sound of metal into bone was unmistakable. The Blood grunted once and pitched forward, dead before planting facedown on the ground. A cry of alarm sounded.
    She strung a second arrow and waited, her sighting eye trained on the culvert’s left edge, ready to switch to the other side if they came from the right. Two Bloods stepped into view fifty paces beyond the culvert, far enough to avoid any projectile. They obviously had no intention of suffering the same fate as their comrade.
    But staring into the dark culvert, they couldn’t see her. She eased to her belly and waited, eyes fixed on the Bloods, who waited to see if their attacker had taken a quick shot and ran or intended to engage them again. Bonded as they were to their Maker, Feyn, Bloods had little concern for their lives, which made them utterly fearless warriors. Brutal. Luckily, that same disregard for their own lives often put them in unnecessary danger. They rarely retreated or called for assistance, at least when Sovereigns were concerned. Immortals were a different matter, but Immortals did not attack during the day.
    She watched them discuss the matter for a full ten minutes, during which time they were joined by a third Blood. Finally one of them strode forward, sword drawn. They’d evidently concluded that a Sovereign had made the kill and ran. After all, Sovereigns were cowards in their eyes, preferring to hide rather than fight.
    Jordin waited patiently until the Blood was at the opening peering in, and then longer until he turned and waved the others forward.
    She rose to a knee while the Blood was turned and sent an arrow at his head. Without waiting for the impact, she grabbed her remaining arrows and launched forward into a sprint. The Blood lurched, an arrow through his temple.
    The other two seemed unaware that their comrade had beenattacked until he hit the ground, and by then Jordin had closed the distance by another ten paces. Twenty before they realized that they were caught in the open.
    Jordin exited the culvert at a full run, leaped over the two fallen bodies, and slid to her knees thirty paces from the fast-approaching Bloods. In rapid succession, she shot her remaining three arrows into their bodies.
    Two struck the one on the left, one in his gut, the other in his chest. He dropped his sword and let out a roar, clutching at the projectile in his breast, then fell to his knees.
    Her third arrow took the last Dark Blood in his side as he turned to evade, hand on his hilt.
    Without hesitation, Jordin sprinted to the one who’d fallen, keeping low. She grabbed his sword by the handle and rushed the upright Blood.
    He spun to face her, face red with rage. Swung his steel with a grunt.
    Nomadic instinct did not abandon her now. She ducked, committed, and sliced her newly acquired sword up and into the Blood’s jaw while the warrior was still ending his swing.
    Her blade nearly took his face off. Roland had taught her how to compensate for her size with quickness. She’d successfully beaten many a larger opponent at the Nomadic games—on occasion, all of them. It was one reason she’d been chosen as personal guard for Jonathan.
    Had the Dark Blood a jaw and mouth, he might have screamed. As it was, he flung his hands to what had been a face, lurched forward three steps, and toppled to the earth where he twitched for a few seconds and then lay still.
    Dead by Jordin. Four with five arrows and one borrowed blade. The arrows’ steel tips would alert Feyn that these hadn’t been killed by Immortals, who preferred bone heads on their