Red Rider RIsing: Book 2 of the Red Rider Saga by D.A. Randall (ebook e reader .txt) 📕

I moved, to avoid wrapping my shoulders tightly into the cloak, but I wouldn’t fall over myself or tangle my legs together the way I might in a dress. And I needed the cloak to feel less exposed.

I smiled. In this outfit, I could run and leap without holding back. I could climb or descend a hill fast, and quickly position myself to launch a bolt in any direction. Most important, I could fight.

I could dodge or strike someone without fear of stumbling or appearing unladylike.

I caught my reflection in the mirror and my heart sank.

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I looked like a man. Not even a handsome man, but a pretentious dandy with blonde locks.

Scarred and disfigured by some accident, now trying to compensate for it by dressing in a flowing silk shirt, cuffed leather boots and an oversized red cloak. I looked horrendous.

I took a deep breath and released it. What did it matter how I looked? I had lived with my ugly scars for nine years. What did it matter if I looked even worse?

I kept staring at myself – at the strange person in the mirror – and wondered what would become of me, if I even survived this night. Would anyone mourn the strange scarred girl from the sheep farm outside the village?

But if I didn’t go, who would even be left to mourn? Those beasts would return, again and again. Picking us off one by one until they had eaten their fill. They had to be stopped. They had to be killed.

I donned the hood. It shaded my eyes and made me look fearsome. Otherwise, I felt naked with my legs uncovered. But there was nothing I could do about it. I left the dress in the wardrobe, my legs exposed for all the world to see. I prepared to venture into the forest, looking like an animal.

I descended the ladder.

I heard Pierre scraping metal against metal, sharpening something, as I clomped onto the wood floor and stepped past the furnace to face him.

He gasped. “Helena. You look –.”

“Even less attractive, I know.”

“Uh, no. Just, uh – just different.”

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“How I look doesn’t matter. What matters is how well I can move, and I can move more freely in this.”

“Uh – All right.” He continued to stare at me. At my legs in particular. “Are you sure you want to – go out like that?”

“Are you sure you can’t stop staring?” I was glad the long cloak covered me from the rear or he might have had fits.

“Sorry. It’s just odd to see you – I mean –

for you to wear trousers.”

I drew the cloak around myself a little, knowing how bizarre I looked. “Why should it matter? You’ve seen other men in trousers.”

“Well, that’s a little different. I mean –

they’re men.”

He finally shook his head, like a dog shaking himself dry, and tore his eyes away from my legs. He returned his attention to the table, where he had arranged a couple of slim daggers he had sharpened, several bolts, and a rope and hook beside a pair of leather gloves. “I’ve been working on some things here to give you some extra help.”

He

demonstrated

the

various

tools,

including an impressive grappling hook for scaling a wall or a cliff face. Its prongs flicked out when he slid a metal catch open with his thumb. With each new device, I found myself more enchanted by his cleverness.

Finally, he held up a crossbow, crowned with something that resembled a long snuff box.

“What’s that?”

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“Chinese repeating crossbow,” he said with pride. “I read about it and figured out how to build one. You load the top slot here –.” He dropped in ten bolts, one at a time. “Then you just keep pulling back on this top lever. Every time you pull back, it fires another bolt.”

I almost yanked it from him. Then stared at the priceless treasure in my hands. “Pierre. This is

– incredible. Thank you.”

He shrugged. “Anything I can do to help. I figure, this way, you can fire again if you miss the first time.”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “I won’t miss.”

“All right, but – if you need to shoot again, you can fire right away.”

I studied the crossbow up and down. It was pure genius. “This is perfect, Pierre. Two