Free A Skillful Warrior (SoulNecklace Stories Book 2) by R.L. Stedman

from the waterfall mingled with the dark shape, made it harder to see.
    Jed stared. ‘What’s that?’
    ‘Think it’s an eagle.’
    ‘Nah. That’s no bird.’
    The speck grew larger. It’s falling, thought Will. Birds don’t fall. Then, suddenly, he realized: It’s not a bird. It’s a man .
    Thump . The earth shook. It sounded like a rock hitting the ground hard. Or a ripe pear, falling from a tree. The sort that breaks apart when it hits. All its juices fly out, and bits of fruit go everywhere.
    ‘There’s more,’ Jed pointed.
    He was right; more men fell. And horses. Screaming, twisting, fighting the air. A few dropped quietly, as if this was a final adventure. These ones laid themselves flat, like arrows pointing at the ground. They had their arms by their sides and they plunged fast. A rain of men, falling.
    ‘So,’ Jed looked at him.
    ‘So.’ Will couldn’t bear to watch. To draw his mind from the sight, he asked, ‘Do you think that’s the army?’
    ‘Must be,’ said Jed. ‘Unless there’s a crowd of men failing flying lessons at the top.’ He turned back to the track. ‘Not much further to go, now, Will. Wonder how the Enchantress and your Princess are faring?’
    ‘You think N’tombe’s done this?’
    Jed nodded.
    Will felt sick. So many men, dying. So many horses, too. ‘Such a waste,’ he said.
    ‘You’d rather it was your head on their spear, lad?’
    A favorite trick of the Shield: if you needed to be made an example of, you were impaled, and then beheaded. Your head, stuck on the top of a spear, would be carried into battle — a warning to others.
    ‘I guess falling isn’t a bad way to go,’ said Will, over the thud of bodies.
    ‘Over quickly and only hurts once,’ agreed Jed, his eyes tracking a falling figure. He winced when it hit the ground.
    Finally, the sky above was clear. Relieved, the men turned to go.
    ‘Hold,’ said Will, quickly. More specks had appeared in the sky above. But these were different. Were they men? Or something else?
    ‘Down,’ hissed Jed.
    Will threw himself behind a rock. Jed flattened himself onto the ground, pulled his cloak above his face, so blending into the mud.
    They were men, falling, sure enough. Some screamed and fell. But others spread their cloaks, holding them open so they looked like giant bats. They watched the ground as they fell. Who were these men? Will half-expected them to lift above the treetops, to grow wings, and at the last minute soar upwards.
    But the men fell and hit the ground hard, and then there was no more sound. The birdsong quieted. Even the wind seemed to hush.
    ‘Think we’d better check them ones. Seem like the kind of people who might just endure that fall,’ Jed picked himself up off the track.
    They were magicians, thought Will. Soothsayers. I hope Dana is all right. Those men, they’re not to be trifled with. He loosened his blade. How ruthless N’tombe must be, to send so many men to their deaths. Yet what choice did she have? It was as he’d said to Dana — kill or be killed. What choice did any of them have?
    The dead lay far from the base of the cliff, as if they’d flown westwards while falling. They’d torn branches as they’d landed, creating a clearing, so the men lay under open sky. The place smelt of fresh sap and blood.
    They looked like broken toys. Blood pooled beneath them, splattered the rocks. The magicians, their matted hair blood-specked, lay staring angrily up at the cliff. Jed dismounted and plunged his knife into their necks, just to be sure.
    ‘No bleeding. They’re definitely dead.’ He sounded pleased.
    Ripe fruit, thought Will, feeling nauseous. He turned away.
    ‘Shame to let that meat go to waste,’ Jed eyed the broken bodies.
    ‘You’re not suggesting ...’
    ‘No! Hell, no! Not the men. Just the horses.’
    ‘ Eat the horses?’
    ‘Why not? They’re dead, ain’t they? And we’ll need food before long.’
    Flies hummed. The cliff reflected warmth from the