He wished he could believe it, but this time his muscles were trembling from holding up the weight of his own body, and blood gushed from his wounds. This wasn’t a dream. His tunic had turned red from the blood that had blended with the rain soaking his body. With his fingers slipping, he finally managed to bring his hurt arm around and grab onto the vine as well.
Aye, he should have waited for his squire, Miles, to travel the road with him and could only hope now that he followed and would come to his assistance. After a few minutes he realized no one was coming to his aid. What a stupid way to die! When he left this world he wanted it to be a warrior’s death protecting his king or saving another noble, not from being shot by a ruffian, thrown from a horse, and falling over the edge of a cliff.
Cursed be the bandit who had done this to him. He wanted to kill that man right now, but knew his attacker was also the only one who could save him.
“Is anyone there?” he called out, hoping the man would have a change of heart and come to his rescue. “I know you’re there,” he called out. “I need . . . help. Can you hear me?”
Pirate in the Mist_Brody Page 10