The first arrows hissed through the air like whispers of death.
"Down!" Ilyrana's voice cut through the roar of fire. Before Luke could even react, she grabbed the collar of his robe and yanked him hard to the ground. They fell together, sliding against the dirt as a volley of blackened arrows sliced through where they'd been a heartbeat ago. The air above them shimmered with the faint wake of their deadly passage.
Luke's shoulder slammed against the ground; the rough gravel bit into his palms. Vartha crouched low beside them, growling, her striped fur bristling, tail lashing in fury.
More projectiles came—javelins this time, their wooden shafts wreathed in black smoke. They struck the earth around them like bolts of thunder, kicking up chunks of soil and sparks.
Pinned down. Nowhere to run.
