CHAPTER FOUR
1389 Words
CHAPTER FOUR
Sam braced himself as their boat, rocking wildly, propelled itself inevitably toward the rocky shore. He could feel Polly’s apprehension, as dozens of vampire warriors scurried down the steep cliffs, heading towards them.
“Now what?” Polly asked, their boat just feet from shore.
“No other way,” Sam answered. “We make our stand.”
With those words, he suddenly leapt off the boat, holding Polly’s hand, taking her with him. The two of them leapt several feet in the air, landing at the water’s edge. Sam felt the shock of the icy cold water on his bare feet; it sent a shiver up his spine, waking him completely. He realized he was still clothed in his battle gear from London—tight black pants and shirt, thickly padded around the shoulders and arms, and he looked over and realized that Polly was, too.
But there wasn’t much time to take in anything else. As Sam looked to the shore, he saw dozens of human warriors charging towards them. Dressed in chain mail armor from head to toe, wielding swords, carrying shields, they were the classic vision of knights in shining armor that Sam had seen in picture books all throughout his childhood—the knights he had once wanted to be. As a child, he’d idolized them. But now, being a vampire, he knew he was so much stronger than they would ever be. He knew they could never possibly match the strength or speed that he did, never come close to his fighting skills. So Sam wasn’t afraid.
But he was very much protective of Polly. He wasn’t quite sure how evolved Polly’s fighting skills were, and he didn’t entirely like the look of these humans weapons. They were unlike any other swords and shields he had seen. He could already see, gleaming in the morning sun, that they appeared to be silver-tipped. Designed to kill vampires.
He knew it was a threat he had to take seriously.
From the looks on their faces, these humans meant business and he could see from their tight, coordinated formations that they were well-trained. For humans, these were probably the best warriors of this time. They were well organized, too, charging from both directions.
Sam wouldn’t give them the advantage of the first strike.
Sam charged them himself, breaking into a sprint, suddenly approaching them faster than they were him.
Clearly, they hadn’t expected this. He could sense their hesitation, unsure how to react.
But he didn’t give them any time. With one flying leap, he leapt over their heads, using his wings to propel him, until he cleared the entire group, and landed behind them. As he did, he reached down and grabbed a lance from a rear knight. As he landed, he swung it wide, knocking several of them off of their horses in one motion.
The horses neighed and kicked, charging the rest of the group, and causing chaos.
Still, these knights were well trained, and did not let it faze them. Any other human knights would have dispersed immediately, but these, to Sam’s surprise, turned and re-grouped, forming a single line and charging for Sam.
Sam was surprised at this, and wondered exactly where he was. Had he landed in some sort of elite warrior kingdom?
Sam didn’t have time to figure it out. And he didn’t want to kill these humans. Part of him sensed that they weren’t out to kill; he felt they were out to confront, and maybe, to capture them. Or, more likely, to test them. After all, they had landed on their turf: he sensed that they wanted to see what they were made of.
Sam had, at least, succeeded in diverting them from Polly. Now they charged only for him.
He reached back with the lance, and aimed for the shield of their leader, wanting to stun but not kill him, and threw it.
A direct hit. He knocked the shield clean out of his hand, and knocked him off of his horse. The knight landed with a loud clang of metal.
Sam jumped forward and grabbed the sword and shield from the knight’s hands. Just in time, as several blows descended upon him. He blocked them all, and as he did, tore a mace from another knight’s hands. He grabbed on the long wooden shaft, reached back, and swung the deadly metal ball and chain in a wide arc. There was the clang of metal in every direction, as Sam managed to knock swords out of the hands of a dozen warriors. He continued swinging, hitting several on their shields and knocking them to the ground.
But again, Sam was surprised. Any other human warriors would surely have dispersed in chaos; but not these men. Those who had been knocked off their horses, dazed, regrouped, grabbed their weapons off the sand, and formed around Sam, encircling him. This time, they kept a greater distance, enough of a distance that Sam couldn’t reach them with the mace.
More distressing, they all, from every direction, suddenly extracted crossbows off their backs, and aimed right for him. Sam could see they were loaded with silver-tip arrows. All meant to kill. Perhaps he had been too lenient with them.
They didn’t fire, but they held him in their deadly sites. Sam realized he was in a bind. He couldn’t believe it. Any rash move could be his last.
“Drop your bows,” came a cold, steely voice.
The humans slowly turned their heads, and Sam turned his, too.
He couldn’t believe it. Standing there, on the outer perimeter of the circle, was Polly. She held one of the soldiers in a deadly embrace, her forearm wrapped around his throat and holding a small silver dagger to his throat. The soldier stood there, frozen, unable to move in Polly’s grip, his eyes wide with fear, the look of a man about to die.
“If not,” Polly continued, “this man dies.”
Sam was stunned by the tone of her voice. He’d never seen Polly as a warrior, never seen her so cold and firm. It was like looking at a whole new person, and he was impressed.
The humans, apparently, were impressed, too. Slowly, reluctantly, they dropped their crossbows, one by one, onto the sand.
“Off your horses,” she commanded.
Slowly, each one obeyed, dismounting. The dozens of human warriors stood there, at Polly’s mercy as she held the man hostage.
“So. The girl saves the boy, does she?” suddenly came a loud, joyful voice. It was followed by a deep, hearty laughter, and all heads turned.
From out of nowhere there appeared a human warrior, mounted on a horse, draped in furs, wearing a crown, and flanked by a dozen more soldiers. Clearly, from the look of him, he was their king. He had wild, orange hair, a thick, orange beard, and glowing, mischievous green eyes. He leaned back and laughed heartily, as he took in the scene before him.
“Impressive,” he continued, seeming amused by the whole thing. “Very impressive, indeed.”
He dismounted, and as he did, all his men immediately parted ways, as he walked into the circle. Sam felt himself redden, as he realized that it must have looked as if he were unable to handle himself, as if he would have been helpless if it weren’t for Polly. Which was, he realized, at least partly, true. But he couldn’t be too upset, because at the same time, he was so grateful to her for saving him.
Furthering his embarrassment, the King ignored him, and walked right up to Polly.
“You can let him go now,” the King said to her, still smiling.
“Why should I?” she asked, looking back and forth from him to Sam, still cautious.
“Because we were never going to hurt you. It was but a test. To see if you were worthy of being on Skye. After all,” he laughed, “you landed on our shores!”
The King broke into hearty laughter again, and several of his men stepped forward, handing him two long, bejeweled swords, gleaming in the morning light, cover with rubies and sapphires and emeralds. Sam was taken aback at the sight: they were the most beautiful swords he had ever seen.
“You have passed our test,” the King announced. “And these are for you. A gift.”
Sam walked over to Polly’s side, as she slowly let go her hostage. They each reached out, and took a sword, examining the jewel-encrusted hilt. Sam marveled at its craftsmanship.
“For two very worthy warriors,” he said. “We are honored to welcome you.”
He turned his back, and began to walk, and it was clear that Sam and Polly were meant to follow. As he walked, he boomed out:
“Welcome to our Isle of Skye.”
- Writer
