Free Terror At The Temple (Book 3) by Craig Halloran Page B

white-ears are impossible targets. You just have to know where to shoot before they go. It’s called ‘anticipation’. And, I had a little help, too.”
    I held Akron out.
    “What is that?”
    Snap-Clatch-Snap!
    “Whoa,” he said when the bowstring coiled along the bow and into place. “Is that magic?”
    “No, all bows do that.”
    “Really?”
    “Of course not. This is Akron. A gift from my father. Elven made. Elven magic. Can you shoot?”
    “Can I shoot? You bet I can shoot. My uncle started teaching me when I was just a boy. I once shot a sparrow in the sky. I feathered a boar, too. Right between the eyes. It was him or me that time.” He licked the rabbit meat from his fingers. “Can I try?”
    Ben rose up, twisted and cracked his back. His eyes were alert, and the rangy muscles throughout his body were supple, not stiff. If he had some armor that fit, he’d actually look like a soldier, and the fact that his uncle was a Legionnaire archer left me a little more comfortable. I handed over the bow and an arrow.
    “ If ,” I emphasized, “you can pull the string back, let it fly.” I pointed. “That oak tree will do.”
    Ben took the grip in his hand, loaded the shaft on the shelf, and nocked it back like a seasoned soldier. Arms quivering, he pulled the fletching to his cheek.
    “Hold it steady, Ben.”
    He took a small breath, held it, steadied his aim, and released.
    Twang!
    The arrow sailed with speed and accuracy.
    Thunk!
    “Yes!” Ben pumped his arm. “This bow is amazing!”
    “That’s a great shot, Ben. You’re pretty strong for a scrawny man,” I said, taking my bow back. “You were a little low, however.”
    The tree was thirty yards off, but I couldn’t have him getting cocky.
    “I don’t think many men could do much better.”
    I loaded Akron, pulled the string back, and let one arrow fly after the other.
    Twang! Thunk!
    Twang! Thunk!
    Twang! Crack!
    The first hit above Ben’s, the second below. The third went right through his shaft.
    “Uh, that was amazing!”
    “Of course it was,” I said handing him my bow.
    “Can you teach me to do that?”
    “Probably not, but…” I eyed the heavy sword on his belt, thinking. “Ever swing a sword before?”
    “Just the once. My mother didn’t like weapons, and my father didn’t care for them much, either.”
    “Well, if you have to use it, better try it two-handed. I’ll show you a few things later. Now run down there and fetch those arrows.”
    Ben started walking towards the tree.
    “I said Run !”
    He sprinted for the tree. At least he’s fleet.
     
    ***
    Looking backward, the Pixlyn wiped the sweat from his brow. The skies were empty. His pursuers gone. The Firebites, who in comparison to him, for all intents and purposes, might as well have been full-sized Dragons, had chased him until it felt like his wings would fall off. He zipped down into the trees and took a seat on a branch behind the leaves. He’d never flown so much in one day before.
    Chest heaving, he frowned as he thought of his companion: her beautiful pink eyes and sweet smile. Even if he returned with what the evil man wanted, he knew they were both still dead. But it was better they died together, rather than separate. They’d lived for one another. They’d die for one another. That’s what love is.
    He shuddered as he thought of the Firebites. He could only guess they had tired out or found the scent of easier prey. As for the rest of the journey, he’d have to be more careful. No doubt they would pursue if they found the scent again. He shivered, mumbling in Pixlyn to himself. He rubbed his belly. The strange aching had grown stronger. He could sense the man he’d been sent to track was getting closer. His toes lifted off the branch as his wings hummed to life, and he darted off. His neck whipped around at the sound of tiny Dragons roaring.
    Zip!
    Into the night, he was gone.

 
    CHAPTER 1 9
     
     
    The next couple of days occurred without