The bowman seemed to stare at Elrik, a careful expression of concentration on his face.

Then in one smooth motion, he turned his body, drew his bowstring back to his ear-

Not good

-and loosed the arrow.

Very not good

Then, time stopped and Elrik’s brain exploded.

[Slight breeze. Wind speed 2 knots, bearing right. Although the draw weight of a typical English longbow is disputed, it’s estimated to be between three hundred sixty and six hundred newtons]

Thoughts like fireworks - memories - smatterings of half read wikipedia binged half a lifetime ago, flickered like lightning through his brain

[Well-designed recurve shortbows can actually have draw lengths near those of longbows, around 28 inches. Their draw weights, however, are always much lower.]

Time was frozen.

[When shooting a moving target always aim for the center of mass - specifically the upper torso.]

No.. it wasn't time that frozen.. it was if his brain was overclocking, stretching time, squeezing a million thoughts into a split second

[The upper torso has less motion - is easier to hit - and is more likely to debilitate the target]

The arrow bent, the bowstring compressing it against its own inertia. Everything moved as if through honey.

[The bowman is left handed. Drawing back the arrow with his left. Leather armor around the midriff - probably cured leather - openings at the neck and shoulders.]

Elrik’s knuckles tightened on the spear

[Only between ten and fifteen percent of the population is estimated to be left handed. Left handed archers tend to have a slight right-side drift of about 0.1 degrees depending on distance to target]

Elrik felt an intense pain at his temples. He could feel something wet, the startings of a nosebleed, somewhere in his nose. Actually his whole body felt strange - otherworldly - it was as if he was controlling his body from somewhere else - removed from himself. Somehow, intellectually, he knew that tickling wet feeling was blood running down his face - but it was as if it was happening to someone else entirely.

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

[Recurve arrows can fly up to 225 feet in a second. Compound bows have been known to hit up to 300 feet per second.]

The arrow sprang from the bow, bending and leaping forward through the molasses-like-air

[Umm. Wow. So… A hundredish yards to target, so that’s 1.25 seconds. Whoops there goes a quarter of a second just thinking a bunch of thoughts. Ugh. Listen, just swing the spear up and across at.. Right. About. Now!]

Time returned.

“Aaah!”

Elrik shouted as he swung the spear in a wide arc, twisting to the right. There was that roar in his ears, his blood pumping. There was a high keening shriek in his ears. He felt the shock of impact - the arrow shattering on the spear haft.

The archer stared at Elrik, not fully understanding what he’d just seen. Elrik stared back, equally confused.

For a heartbeat, they just stared at each other in mutual disbelief.

Elrik felt concussed - his head felt like a rung gong. His vision was starting to swim and double.

His thoughts had turned to mush - all except one that sprang to the forefront of his brain.

[Move. Now.]

Elrik lurched forward and broke into a run, an incoherent snarl on his lips - the spear surging up.

The archer blinked, shaking off the moment and started to draw a second arrow - before he thought better of it. He threw the bow aside to draw a blade from his waist.

That momentary indecision did the archer in. As he reached for his waist, and wrenched at his blade - trying to put it between them - Elrik was on him. The spear caught the archer in his shoulder, stabbing and pushing him off balance. Elrik drew back and stabbed again, his thoughts an utter jumble. Even off balance, the archer slashed out with his blade - haphazardly catching Elrik on his off arm. Elrik felt the burning line across his forearm even as the second stab with the spear caught the archer in the throat.

The archer stopped nonplussed. A little gurgle escaped his throat. Then he crumpled and fell.

…

Elrik, painfully crawled over the archer’s body. His head felt as if it was splitting open, his hands had started to shake. He was not in good shape. He felt the wet trickle of a nosebleed down his throat.

He struggled to form coherent thoughts.

The archer was one of the ambushers. They had doubled back and had been coming up behind Elrik’s little band, hoping to catch them at the mouth of the clearing.

The archer had been alone though. They must have sensed, somehow, that the band had doubled back behind them - and split up.

Elrik’s vision was still swimming, but he started to search the archer’s body. The archer had a small, lithe looking crossbow strung from his waist.

Who carries a bow, a blade and a crossbow?

[An assassin does. An assassin preparing for an ambush.]

Elrik felt very vulnerable right now, lying here. He could barely stand up straight - if another one of the ambushers found him - he wouldn’t stand a chance. His best bet was to find a dense thicket, crawl inside, hide and hope Agrisu and his people found him first.

Elrik didn’t want to do that. He was tired of being chased around and hoping to make it out alive.

More than that - he wanted to be useful.

The metallic scent of blood hit him, mingled with the odors of the archers now dead body. He felt suddenly, the awareness of the dead man’s corpse he was crawling over.

No - not now - time for that later.

Elrik shook it off and kept searching. He found a pack of bolts on the archer and took them off him. His hands fumbled at the crossbow loading it. He found the little winch and wound it, drawing it back till he heard a satisfying click. The mechanism seemed simple enough.

There. With that, and some luck, he could do some damage.

He hung the crossbow strap over his head and side, like a handbag. Then he reached for his spear.

Still hunched over, not trusting himself to stand, Elrik started quietly and steadily crawling along the path that they had walked down this morning.