Excerpt Sword of Tilk Book Three: At Sword's End
“Lucas!” Heather shouted.
Lucas raced toward them across the courtyard dodging people and carts and horses.
“Everyone close together!” Elder shouted as he stood before them.
The group huddled close.
“And you must maintain physical contact with one another for all of you to transport!” Elder reminded them.
Those thick black clouds were moving closer. And in a hurry.
As a precautionary measure, everyone looped their arms about each other’s waists and huddled as close together as they possibly could.
Lucas was almost there when he collided with a man, his eyes wild with panic. Lucas went tumbling to the ground ending up face-down within feet of the group. The man continued running, unaware or uncaring that he had knocked someone to the ground.
“Lucas!” Heather shouted and tried to break free of her mother’s arm tight around her waist.
“Heather, no!” Barbara shouted. She strained to maintain her hold on her daughter while also keeping her hold on Tiernan.
Heather stretched out her arm as far as she could reach.
Lucas reached out his hand.
The bag on Heather’s right shoulder slipped. “No!” Heather breathed. She shrugged her shoulder up in an attempt to keep the bag in place. But when she did that she couldn’t reach Lucas.
“Heather!” Lucas cried. “Help me!”
Heather reached out again, straining against the hold of the entire group. For one bright moment she thought the bag would hold; she could almost touch Lucas’s outstretched hand.
Then the bag slipped and slid down her arm.
“No!” Heather cried out as the bag slid down her slender arm and off her wrist.
She heard her heart beating loudly within her chest. She heard someone shout, “She’s almost here!” and heard the thunder: it sounded as though it were almost overhead. She heard the panicked cries and screams of all those around her, felt their fear as an almost tangible thing being passed from one person to another in the tumult that was the courtyard. She smelled the ozone of the lightning, that metallic-like odor that accompanies thunderstorms and felt the hair on her neck stand on end. She saw the look on Lucas’s face as the bag fell from her arm. She felt her own face contort with pain and indecision.
All of this, Heather was acutely aware of all of this; acutely aware that Lucas lay upon the ground, his face flushed with anguish and hope; acutely aware that there was no more time left, the time was now, right now, this instant and this instant in time was the only chance they had to escape the clutches of Desdemona. One single solitary breath of hesitation would be too late.
The bag was still within her reach.
So was Lucas’s hand.
Heather made her choice.
Lucas raced toward them across the courtyard dodging people and carts and horses.
“Everyone close together!” Elder shouted as he stood before them.
The group huddled close.
“And you must maintain physical contact with one another for all of you to transport!” Elder reminded them.
Those thick black clouds were moving closer. And in a hurry.
As a precautionary measure, everyone looped their arms about each other’s waists and huddled as close together as they possibly could.
Lucas was almost there when he collided with a man, his eyes wild with panic. Lucas went tumbling to the ground ending up face-down within feet of the group. The man continued running, unaware or uncaring that he had knocked someone to the ground.
“Lucas!” Heather shouted and tried to break free of her mother’s arm tight around her waist.
“Heather, no!” Barbara shouted. She strained to maintain her hold on her daughter while also keeping her hold on Tiernan.
Heather stretched out her arm as far as she could reach.
Lucas reached out his hand.
The bag on Heather’s right shoulder slipped. “No!” Heather breathed. She shrugged her shoulder up in an attempt to keep the bag in place. But when she did that she couldn’t reach Lucas.
“Heather!” Lucas cried. “Help me!”
Heather reached out again, straining against the hold of the entire group. For one bright moment she thought the bag would hold; she could almost touch Lucas’s outstretched hand.
Then the bag slipped and slid down her arm.
“No!” Heather cried out as the bag slid down her slender arm and off her wrist.
She heard her heart beating loudly within her chest. She heard someone shout, “She’s almost here!” and heard the thunder: it sounded as though it were almost overhead. She heard the panicked cries and screams of all those around her, felt their fear as an almost tangible thing being passed from one person to another in the tumult that was the courtyard. She smelled the ozone of the lightning, that metallic-like odor that accompanies thunderstorms and felt the hair on her neck stand on end. She saw the look on Lucas’s face as the bag fell from her arm. She felt her own face contort with pain and indecision.
All of this, Heather was acutely aware of all of this; acutely aware that Lucas lay upon the ground, his face flushed with anguish and hope; acutely aware that there was no more time left, the time was now, right now, this instant and this instant in time was the only chance they had to escape the clutches of Desdemona. One single solitary breath of hesitation would be too late.
The bag was still within her reach.
So was Lucas’s hand.
Heather made her choice.
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