Free Behind The Wooden Door by Emily Godwin Page A

carried a crudely-made bow and arrow that looked as if he had made it himself. His brown hair was flecked with golden blonde, and his grey-blue eyes reminded me of the ocean he had sailed over to be here.
    “Guards. Maybe two hundred yards from here. Where there’s guards, there’s usually a way in,” Cormac whispered. “You’ll have to get closer, but I need you to take them out.”
    The boy didn’t speak a word as he readied his bow. His hands shook violently. I could only imagine his fear. He knew just as well as we did if he didn’t kill the guards instantly, Artair’s men would hear the turmoil. An early notification was the last thing we needed. I would have been shaking too.
    With a single nod from Cormac, he disappeared around the castle’s tower. I held my breath and grasped tightly to the sword in my hands.  This war was more real than I had ever imagined it to be. I had heard war stories from my grandfather before he passed away, but they never sounded how this felt. His stories were of victories and nameless soldiers. This war was fear and the death of brothers. My grandfather had never once told me of the young archers who may have never told war stories of their own.
    A heavy thud sounded through the air followed by a hoarse yell and another thud. No one dared to move as we waited for the boy to come back. A soft whistle floated with the wind toward us, and Cormac let out a sigh of relief. He nodded to the soldiers, and we followed him around the tower.
    The boy stood by his kill with his bow loosely in his hand.
    “Good job, Barden,” Cormac said, but the boy could only give a faint smile in return.
    Barden looked tired of fighting and killing, but here it was kill or be killed, and if he was from a peasant village like most, it would be the same way at his home. There was no escaping the horrors of death for most of the soldiers. It was the same for them everywhere.
    His sad eyes met mine, and I wondered if his reason for being here was a bit like his leader’s.  The yearning to die but the will to live constantly battling in his head as it did in Cormac’s.
    “Alright men, this is it. This could be the turning point of this war. They have our brothers, and I don’t need to tell you what to do to get them back,” Cormac called out. “This will be chaos, but don’t hesitate. Revern zaunt!”
    “Revern zaush!” the men called back in unison.
    I tried to hide my smile, but it was pointless. I now knew why Tristan had so much pride in his men. Where was Tristan now? For all any of us knew, he could have already been in the castle rescuing Tommy and Hawk, or he could be lying on the floor of Norric covered in blood. If Cornelia’s prediction was right, he would never make it back home. I shook the idea from my head instantly because I knew she was wrong. He was Tristan Aissur, and he was invincible.
    Cormac stared through the archway in front of us and walked into his enemy’s home. I stayed only a step behind him as the beige walls engulfed us. None of us knew where we were going as we stole through my cousin’s castle, but we followed faithfully.
    We rounded the corner of the corridor and came face to face with the enemy. There were only three soldiers, but that’s all they needed to alert the castle of our presence.  Two of the men in blue advanced toward us even though they knew they were facing death, but as long as one got to the others in the castle, they would not die in vain.
    With a swift move of Cormac’s sword, a fountain of blood sprayed from one of the men’s throats. Before he had even fallen to the ground, his comrade was dead. I had never seen death this closely. Never seen the light leave the eyes of men. I wanted to turn and run away from the men I trusted. Run from the fresh blood leaking onto the floor. And run from the bitter cold that consumed my body. This war was nothing at all like the stories.
    Cormac ran down the corridor, but I couldn’t move. My eyes