Chapter 150: Seventy-Two Arrows

-PoV: Annie-

"EVERYONE TAKE DEFENSIVE POSITIONS!"

Erik’s voice tears across the settlement. I stop what I’m doing and turn toward the family tents.

"Guards! Apprentices! Get your armor and weapons! Everyone else get away from the north side!"

My stomach drops. I run for my tent. People are moving everywhere. Workers abandon the unfinished wall. Guards shout for their apprentices while people hurry away from the northern side of the settlement. I grab my leather archer armor and start pulling it on. My fingers fumble with the first buckle.

"Come on."

I force myself to slow down enough to fasten it properly before putting on the rest. I grab my recurve bow and reach for my arrows. Forty-eight broadheads and twenty-four hunting-tips.

Seventy-two arrows. It always seemed like plenty before.

"Annie!" Haelia shouted.

"Coming!"

I grab all three sheaves and run outside. Haelia is already armored with her bow in hand.

"NORTH SIDE! MOVE!" Erik shouts.

We run. Guards and apprentices pour between the tents around us. More join as we cross the settlement. We reach the northern side just as Erik turns toward everyone.

"Everyone with a shield form a wall with polearms behind them! Dual wielders on the flanks, drive them into the shield wall! Archers in the back on the wagons!"

Haelia points toward one of the wagons. "There."

We run to it and climb into the back. From up here I can see over almost everyone. The shield users form a wall ahead of us. Polearms gather behind them while fighters spread toward both sides. The other archers climb onto the wagons around us. Then birds burst from the northern forest. My mouth goes dry. Branches snap.

Hundreds of feet pound toward us.

"Arrow," Haelia says.

I pull a broadhead from my first sheaf and nock it.The first brown-skinned orc charges through the trees.

Then another.

Then dozens.

They just keep coming. The entire tree line fills with them. There are so many.

"Holy shit." I whisper to myself.

"Archers ready!" Erik shouts.

I draw.

"ARCHERS! LOOSE!"

I release. My arrow flies toward the horde with the others. I reach for another.

"Again!"

Draw. Aim. Loose.

"Again!"

The third volley hits before the front of the horde reaches us. Then the orcs slam into the shield wall. The sound makes me flinch. Haelia is already drawing again.

"Keep shooting!"

I pick an orc near the center. Draw. Loose. It drops. I grab another broadhead. Another target. Draw. Loose.

The orcs are packed so tightly that hitting one isn’t difficult. Killing one is different. I aim for chests, throats, and faces whenever I can.

Another falls. Then another. My hand keeps moving between my bow and the sheaf.

Draw. Loose. Reach.

Nock. Draw. Loose.

I fire again. An orc jerks when my arrow buries itself in its shoulder. I wait for the notification.

Nothing. Damn. Didn’t kill it. I reach for another broadhead. There isn’t time to worry about one arrow. I keep firing. Below us, the fighters on the flanks begin forcing the orcs inward. More of them crowd in front of the shield wall until the ones at the front can barely move. That makes my shots easier. I loose another arrow. An orc drops. Another. Another. My first sheaf gets lighter every time I reach back.

I glance down.

Twelve broadheads left in it.

Sixty arrows total.

That still sounds like a lot.

It doesn’t look like a lot.

I fire again.

The arrow punches into an orc’s side.

It staggers but stays upright.

No notification.

I grit my teeth.

Again?

Haelia fires beside me.

"Don’t watch one target too long."

I nod and pick another.

Draw.

Loose.

This one falls.

I settle back into my rhythm. The shield wall below us is disappearing behind a growing mass of orcs. The fighters on the flanks keep driving more toward the center while polearms strike from behind the shields. I reach back.

Nothing.

My first sheaf is empty.

Twenty-four gone.

Forty-eight arrows left.

I pull the first broadhead from my second sheaf.

The battle hasn’t slowed at all.

I shoot.

A kill.

Again.

Another orc drops.

Again.

My arrow strikes an orc high in the chest.

I wait.

Nothing.

"SHIT!" I shout to myself.

Haelia looks toward me. "Slow down."

"I’m hitting them!"

"Hitting isn’t the same as killing."

I know. That’s the problem. I take a breath and choose the next target more carefully. An orc raises an axe above the shield wall.

I draw.

Loose.

The broadhead disappears into its throat. It falls. Better. I keep shooting. Thirty-six arrows left. Then thirty. My shoulder is beginning to ache. My fingers hurt. I ignore them. I draw again. The arrow strikes an orc in the upper arm.

It keeps fighting. No notification. I’m wasting arrows. I stare at it for half a second before forcing myself to look away.

Another target.

Another arrow.

This one drops.

I reach back again.

Only a few broadheads remain.

Then I hear someone behind and to my left swear.

I glance toward the next wagon. Amanda reaches behind herself. Her hand searches once. Then again. Nothing. Her two sheaves are empty.

She looks down at them like she can’t believe it.

Kaila keeps firing beside her. Amanda lowers her short recurve bow. My stomach tightens.

She’s out. I turn back toward the horde.

I still have arrows.

For now.

Draw.

Loose.

Another orc falls.

I reach back. One broadhead. I nock it and search for a clean target. An orc exposes its throat while climbing over the bodies in front of the shield wall. I release. It drops. My hand reaches back automatically.

Empty.

I check the other broadhead sheaf even though I already know. Both are gone. Forty-eight broadheads. Gone. I look at my last sheaf.

Twenty-four hunting-tips. That’s all I have left.

A deeper roar rises from the forest. Larger orcs begin forcing their way through the others. Orc Warriors. Of course they show up now.

"Keep firing!" Haelia says.

I pull a hunting-tip.

Twenty-four.

I choose an ordinary orc.

Draw.

Loose.

It falls.

Twenty-three.

Another.

Twenty-two.

The hunting-tips still kill when I put them in the right place. So that’s what I do. Throats. Faces. Exposed chests.

Twenty.

Nineteen.

Eighteen.

Every time I reach back, there’s more empty space. I glance toward the other wagons again.

Sophia draws her longbow. Releases. Then reaches back. Nothing. She checks again. Her hand drops. She’s out too.

Two archers gone.

Not dead.

Not hurt. Just out of arrows.

I look at my remaining ammunition.

Sixteen.

"Annie."

I turn toward Haelia.

"Focus."

I nod.

Fifteen.

An orc falls.

Fourteen.

Another.

Thirteen.

The shield wall is still holding, but bodies are piling so high that the next orcs have to climb over their own dead.

Twelve.

Eleven.

Ten.

My arm burns every time I draw now.

Nine. An Orc Warrior smashes into one of the flanks. Several ordinary orcs break through. Erik runs toward them. I almost stop shooting. The first orc reaches him. Erik punches it. Its head explodes. Another goes down. Then another.

I force myself to look away. Erik can take care of himself. I have my own job.

Eight.

I fire.

Seven.

Another orc falls.

Six.

The last few arrows rattle loosely in the sheaf.

Five.

I reach back.

Four.

Four arrows. That’s all. For the first time since I started shooting, I hesitate. Hundreds of orcs came out of that forest. There are still far too many standing. I nock one of my last four arrows. An Orc Warrior pushes through the crowd near the shield wall. I move my aim away from it. Not with a hunting-tip. I find an ordinary orc beside it. Its face is exposed.

Draw.

Loose.

The arrow punches through its eye.

It drops.

Ding!

[You have reached Level 10.]

My breath catches. Level Ten. I did it. Another roar comes from below. The battle snaps back into focus. I reach behind me.

Three arrows. Only three. Haelia fires beside me. I pull one free and nock it. Whatever happens at Level Ten can wait. I draw my bow. Three arrows left. And the horde is still coming.

I loose.

Two.

I grab another.

Draw.

Loose.

One.

I pull my last arrow from the sheaf. For a second, I just look at it. Then I nock it.

Draw.

Loose.

My hand reaches behind me again. Nothing. Seventy-two arrows. Gone. I lower my bow.

Amanda and Sophia are already standing on the other wagons with their bows hanging uselessly in their hands. Below us, everyone else is still fighting. The shield wall keeps killing. Polearms move behind it. The flanks keep driving orcs toward the center. I can only watch.

Beside me, Haelia draws again.

She releases.

Then she reaches for another arrow. Her hand finds nothing. Haelia lowers her bow.

I look at her. "What do we do now?"

Haelia keeps her eyes on the battle.

"We’re archers. Without arrows, all we can do now is watch and hope our side wins."

Another bow goes silent on one of the other wagons. Then another. I look back toward the hundreds of orcs still fighting below us.

Level Ten. Seventy-two arrows.

And now there isn’t a damn thing I can do but watch.