Mark of the Black Arrow Read Online Free PDF Page A

ground to flour and carefully bagged.
    The miles between the mill and the Donal farm.
    The taste of blackcurrant brandy.
    Much swung the pole with all his strength before he realized what was happening. It clanged across the top of the birthmarked guard’s helmet, bouncing off the curved steel. The impact vibrated the pole, jarring Much all the way to his teeth.
    The guard didn’t fall down.
    As one, the three men turned toward him.
    The guard’s face was purple behind a deep scowl, birthmark glaring out over his eye like a hot coal. Lifting his halberd in a smooth motion he struck Much in the side of the head with the flat of the wide blade.
    Much’s head spiked with pain, and black washed across his vision as if someone had thrown ink into his eyes. The metal blade drove him to the ground, hard steel as unforgiving as a hammer to a nail. He lay there, unable to hear, unable to see, held in place by the weighty throb of his rattled brain inside his skull. He blinked and blinked, trying to clear his vision. Slowly the black faded to red, and the world began to come back.
    The three guards loomed over him.
    The marked guard had pulled off his helmet, sweat-damp hair in a mess. He had one hand pressed against his ear, and his face was still purple.
    “Why did you go and do that, you imbecile?”
    Much dug his hands in the dirt and pushed, trying to scramble away.
    “Pin him down!”
    Both of the other guards stepped forward, driving down the butts of their halberds. Bartleby of the patchy beard punched him in the shoulder. The big guard leaned into it, pressing the circle of hardwood into Much’s joint, making pain blossom from his elbow, across his chest, and up into his neck. Quentin’s halberd end drove into Much’s thigh, twisting the muscle before slipping off and pinning his trousers to the ground.
    He lay there, unable to move or crawl away.
    The marked guard stepped over him.
    “You shouldn’t have done that, boy,” he said. “Now you
really
have to pay the price.” He raised the halberd shaft over his head, then drove it down with all his strength.
    The butt of the weapon smashed into Much’s stomach in an explosion of pain. The air was yanked viciously from his lungs, making them feel as if they’d been turned inside out and pulled from his throat. He folded into himself, muscles jerking him into a knot around his injured midriff, pulling him free from the shafts that pinned him. All he could do was suck air, trying to force oxygen back into his lungs through a throat that had closed like a fist.
    From the corner of a watery eye he saw the marked guard raise his halberd again.
    Much closed his eyes, and waited.

CHAPTER THREE
    “ C ome, sit child, here beside me.”
    Lenore put her sling and stone in the pocket of her tunic and moved to her father’s side. He was leaning back against the side of their house, legs stretched out. She hopped up and scooted back on the worn log that acted as a bench. Her father smelled of sweat and dirt, the product of work on Longstride land. He bit into an apple, taking a big chunk between his teeth before handing it to her. She took a bite herself, much smaller than his. Her mouth puckered at the sourness.
    “I have a bit of time before going back to work. Would you like a story?”
    She sat up straighter. “Yes, Da.” She took another bite. “Please, one of the Hood.”
    “How about the time the Hood saved the monastery from a band of sea wolves?”
    Her eyes widened. “He left the forest?”
    Her father chuckled. “Yes. He did it, but rarely.”
    Her brow furrowed in thought. “He saved the monastery? This was recent?”
    “No, child, this was long, long ago. The monastery was little more than a burned-out hill fort that some industrious monks were living in. This is when the light of Christ was new here. A time when the Northmen would raid the shores in their dragon-headed ships and come a-viking ashore, killing everyone they met and taking anything of