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

at L’atelier de Forgeron de Leóne. Not after attacking the wolves last night. Some villagers might expect me to seek help from Pierre, and that expectation could endanger him and his parents. I would have to avoid meeting him too often.

After I returned there today, of course.

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25.

By late afternoon, I had bathed and eaten a little more. I even slept another few hours in Father Vestille’s underground retreat, which smelled much nicer once he finished his cleaning. After I woke, I cleaned and fed Crimson, who seemed to feel as fresh and alive as I did, eager to gallop again.

As we pounded toward the blacksmith shop, a few villagers cast odd glances at my bright hood and burnt umber horse. They would surely 231

have gaped at my offending trousers as well, if they knew I was a girl.

The odor of burning iron filled the inside of L’atelier de Forgeron de Leóne. Pierre looked up from his smelting pot and quickly extinguished the flame, setting his tools aside. He met me with eyes full of panic. “Red! Where did you go? Where have you been all day? Father Vestille was searching for you for hours, and I’ve been –.”

“He found me,” I said. “I’m –.” I stopped short, catching myself before I announced I was staying with Father Vestille. Pierre was the one person I could confide in. But to protect him and myself, I had to keep that retreat secret. From everyone.

“What?”

“I’m not sure where I’ll be staying now.”

He looked wounded. “Red. You can stay here as long as you want.”

“That’s not entirely safe. I appreciate the offer, and I may take advantage of it now and then.

But your loft can’t be a permanent home. It will draw too much attention.”

“From who? I don’t care what anyone in town thinks.”

“Not from people in town.”

“Red, what’s happened?”

“I found them.”

Color drained from his cheeks. “The wolves?”

“And I fought them. About twelve of them.”

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He glared at me, trembling slightly. He looked me up and down, apparently checking for cuts or missing limbs. “Are you – Are you all right? You – You got through it.”

“Yes,” I said, sounding more annoyed than I should have. Pierre knew I was a better hunter than most men. But no one, man or woman, would likely survive an attack from a dozen wolves. If it weren’t for Father Vestille, I would be dead. I softened, touching his hand. “I’m fine, Pierre.

Thank you for your concern, and your help.

Everything you gave me.”

He released an anxious sigh. “How did the blades work for you?”

“Fine, Pierre,” I said. “They work just fine.”

“And the new crossbow?”

I lifted the repeating crossbow for him to see. “It worked perfectly. Twice. That’s why I need your help.”

He took the crossbow and studied it with a quizzical expression. “It only fired twice?”

“No. It fired thirteen bolts.”

He blinked at me, looking even more amazed. “You missed?”

Heat rose in my cheeks and I stuck my fists on my hips. “I sank every single bolt into those things.”

“Oh,” he said, satisfied with the answer to one puzzle but still confounded by the remaining one.

I calmed myself and realized he was complimenting me. He believed his own repeating 233

crossbow was more likely to fail than I was likely to miss. “Most of my shots would have killed a normal wolf. But these things kept coming. The bolts had no effect on them. Except for these two.”

I held up the grimy bolts I had pulled from my satchel.

He took them from me and squinted

closely. “What’s so special about these two?”

“That’s what I need you to find out. Do you make every bolt the same way?”

“Yes,” he said. Then he seemed to recall something and looked a bit ashamed. “Although –

the process is the same, but – we don’t always use the same material. You asked me to make you extra bolts, so I used the metal we had in supply. I had to mix in some other metal for some of them, to give you a few more.”

“How many bolts did you make that way?”

“Only