“Do you and your friend take your stand here,” he commanded. “If an attack comes, be on your guard and repel it.”
He left us and went back to the door. Charles picked up the chair with the broken legs while I, with my dagger in my hand, stood ready.
A sharp click echoed through the room. It was an arrow crashing against the table. Then three more followed in quick succession. By that I knew that our enemies were still in the front of us and for the moment we had nothing to fear from our end of the inn.
Then came a lull. The leader of the archers passed his hat across the opening between the table and the jamb of the door. Before he had time to breathe an arrow sung in the air. It passed into the room and caught with a snap in the plaster not far from my legs.
“They know how to shoot,” exclaimed the archer.
He walked back where the light was dim and raised his bow. He peered out for a moment, taking careful aim. The twang hummed in my ears and the arrow sped through the opening at the door.
A cry as of a man hurt came back to us, loud and penetrating.
“That’s one of them!” I shouted in glee.
The archer gave me a look.
“Don’t be deceived, lad,” he said with a frown. “I missed. My arrow is sticking there in a tree. It was only a trick of theirs.”