jerking his head up and down quickly, and Sir Hector almost toppled over. A quick stab of pain between his shoulders made his eyes widen. He had been shot!
Will raised the weapon a second time and fired, and Sir Hector saw rather than felt the bolt strike his chest. His head was an insupportable weight, and his chin fell to his breast. Slowly, as the animal under him walked on, he slid from the saddle. As his back struck the ground, he gasped with the agony.
The men continued on their way. For the most part none glanced in the direction of their leader, but one kicked him, pushing with his foot until the knight rolled into the ditch. There he lay, staring after his company while they carried on. Sir Hector swallowed, but the liquid in his throat would not clear, and he recognized the clattering sound of his breathing: he had heard it before. He tried to sit up, but the pain stopped him. It would be better to rest, he thought, and let his head drop to the grassy bank beside him. He had an urge to retch, but knew he couldn’t.
When the men reached the next bend in the road, one of them turned to stare. He could see a splash of color by the roadside where the captain had fallen, and hesitated a moment, then ran back.
He could hear the breath rattling in Sir Hector’s lungs as he drew near. The knight was lying as if asleep. The approaching figure was a blur to him, and he tried to smile-at least one of his men was loyal-but his mouth would not respond. “Help…me…”
Will crouched and drew his dagger. “We need a new leader,” he said simply.
