Ever the Hunted (Clash of Kingdoms #1)(81)

His hands fly into the air as he searches the trees for his attacker. “I mean no harm to you.” His voice wobbles.

Harmless isn’t an accurate descriptor for a border guard. My mother’s story is proof of that.

“I’m looking for Cohen Mackay. Are you with him?” His words echo through the trees and warm me with their honesty. I am immensely more wary than seconds before. Of course he’s looking for Cohen. All the king’s guard are searching for the alleged murderer, but I’d serve myself up to another mountain cat before I’ll turn Cohen over.

The guard must think I’ve left because he drops his hands and twists to snap the arrow. Before he is completely free, I shoot another, catching the man unaware as the arrow slices through the material at his shoulder, possibly nicking skin. Instantly, the man freezes.

“I—?I—?I got your message.” His face is gray as his wide eyes zip from limbs to the needled groundcover. “I meant what I said about meaning no harm. If you don’t wish to be known, leave now. I won’t follow. There aren’t many travelers through this pass, and . . . and yesterday I came across a sign from my friend. I thought you were him or with him. If I’ve made a mistake, let’s both walk away from this as strangers. Please. I’ve a family.”

I bite my cheek, debating what to do next, but the verity of his words stops me from walking away without making myself known. “Who left you a sign?”

He jerks toward the location of my voice. “Cohen Mackay. Is that—?are you Britta Flannery?”

He knows me.

“He’s my friend,” the guard says urgently. “He left signs so I’d know he was passing through. I’m here to give him news.”

I cannot get over the stag and stripes on his coat. “You’re one of the king’s guards.”

“I am,” he says. “Though I’m here now not as a guard, but as his friend.”

Before I can answer him, my neck prickles, sensing Cohen’s nearness.

“Britta?” Cohen whisper-yells. He cuts through the undergrowth, directly for me, his steps only slowing when he has me in sight. His shoulders relax. “What are you doing over here?” he asks, at the same time the guard says, “Cohen.”

The tension snaps back into place over Cohen’s features; his body coils like he’s ready to pounce. His gaze darts to me, to my bow, and then around the woods in search of my target.

“Cohen, it’s me, Bernard.” The guard jerks against the arrows, breaking them.

“Bernard! You found my tracks,” he says.

“You left tracks?” I’m stunned I didn’t notice. I cannot afford to miss anything out here.

He turns back, tilting his head to the side. “Yes.”

“You didn’t tell me how friendly the bounty hunter’s daughter is.” Bernard smirks as he saunters closer. I lift my bow and draw another arrow. I’m down to my last three. The two I wasted on Bernard are useless because he destroyed them in the effort to free himself. He sees me pulling the arrow to the bow and pauses.

“Dangerous words for almost having had my arrow in your back,” I tell him. “Perhaps instead of jesting, you should just get to business.”

“Britt,” Cohen warns.

My nostrils flare in irritation. I lower my bow and slide the arrow back into the quiver. Bernard’s eyes fix on my position as though he’s waiting for me to leave. I remain planted on the forest floor, my refusal to be in the dark anymore. I’m relieved when Cohen shakes his head at Bernard.

The guard’s mouth twists like he’s swallowed a tub of pickles. “Fine. There isn’t much I have to report. Rumor has reached the front that Shaerdan has sent a declaration of war. With or without the king’s response, they’re going to attack. Your brother’s unit has been called to go to Meridian.”

“When?” Cohen’s voice is shy of a whisper.

“They left at sunrise,” says Bernard.

“I don’t understand.” Cohen shakes his head, his face darkening. His hands grip his hair, pulling it at odd angles. “Why? Why’d they send them out?”

I cross the distance to him and put my hand on his arm, hoping the contact will ease his distress somehow.

“They’ll be surrounded,” Cohen says, horror lining his words. “Shaerdan has set up camp in Meridian. The bulk of their army is there. Why would the king send such young and green soldiers there?”

Bernard’s expression twists in compassion. His hands stray to the new hole in the arm of his jacket. “I’m sorry, Cohen. I don’t know why they’re going. Word is they’re meant to be part of the first strike. That’s why I came to tell you.”

I’m new to warfare, but I understand enough to know first strike isn’t promising. Not for a boy of fourteen. The border town of Fennit was littered with tents and campfires and weaponry. Moving a massive group doesn’t seem feasible. Unless the entire group isn’t headed to Meridian.

“How many were sent?” I ask.

Bernard stops playing with the two arrow marks, and his eyes cut to Cohen. “Er, I been told it was only his unit. Two dozen men in all.”

I don’t notice Enat’s approach until she’s standing beside me. “Those men are going to Meridian to lay down their lives. They’ll be a bump in the road to the Shaerdanian army. It’s a shame.”