Tristan: Book 3 of the Forsaken series

Lance felt the dart swish by his ear. His royal bodyguard answered the shot with a volley from their long bows. A Dozen enemy soldiers tumbled from their horses into the tall prairie grass. The enemy’s crossbows were lethal, but they were no match the deadly accuracy and penetrating power of his people’s long bows.

“Begging your pardon, general, but they can see you up here as well as you can see them down below, and if I’m going to keep you in one piece, well...”

Lance nodded to Nash, his chief bodyguard. His people needed him alive. His best archers were hiding along the canyon’s ridges waiting for the enemy’s advance. Nearly 3,000 volunteers, mainly farmers and fishermen armed with short bows, slings, long spears and axes, hidden in small groups of twenties or thirties in the rocky crevices and behind the large boulders. Their orders were to strike and run for safety behind the next group. Lance could feel the uneasiness in his stomach. He knew their chances of surviving the day were worse than none. He would never again look down his nose at the non-warriors among his kin—these dirt farmers and fishermen fought like lions and died like men. What they lacked in experience, they made up for in determination and sheer guts.

On the plains below him, a sea of flowing white plumes waved up and down like a gentle surf rushing to shore. The Lion Clan had come to conquer Lance’s people, to destroy all those who opposed them and enslave the rest.