Gome “the Agile” Fletcher* strode the top of the wall around First Warren. Though it was a beautiful day, he was not happy. Being up here on watch was not what he had been expecting to do on this day. It wasn’t the duty he minded, but that it had come with so little warning.

Fess, Harlan, and Stam going off by themselves hadn’t been a problem. The King’s Arm leaving hadn’t been a problem. Even King Jupiter himself setting off with only a small escort wasn’t an issue. But for the vast majority of the army to march off under Lord Rake when none of the others had yet returned-that had put a strain on things.

Suddenly, Gome had found himself expected to command the Highwall Wardens. It was a task he had undertaken many times and did not mind in and of itself. But with so few bucks left in the city to attend to the duty, it was not a particularly agreeable assignment. Moreover, he had hoped to spend the day with his wife and brothers. Except for one, they were all in First Warren at the present.

Perkin and Pickwand, he knew, were at the palace with what few other military personnel were in the city. The palace guard and one or two other small units was the extent of it. Only a few ships were moored on Lake Merle, with a smaller craft or two docked on the Goforth River. Like the army, most of the navy was off on some exercise or other.

On that account, at least, Gome was less bothered. The navy’s duties, such as they were, had little overlap with the army’s. As far as Gome was concerned, the navy was more a tradition than a practicality. Pickwand was the only one of the Lord Captains who had bothered with it in years, and the others were more than content to leave him to it.

As if summoned by this thought, a ship suddenly appeared on the River Flint, making its way towards the lake. Even from a distance, Gome saw something was wrong. Black smoke rose from the vessel, and it was moving along like a limping animal more than a proud ship of the line. What, he wondered, could have happened to it?

The question might likewise have been a summons. In the sky to the northeast appeared a mass of shapes. Gome’s keen eyes soon picked them out as birds of prey. It was not, perhaps, the greatest host of raptors he had ever seen.

But it was certainly more than he wanted to face with the few fighting bucks left in the city.

With a sinking heart, Gome nonetheless raised his signal horn to his lips and blew the warning call. The noise soon drew most of the other Highwallers to his position. Though pitifully few in the face of the advancing armada, they were all brave and skilled archers. Gone only wished that his younger brother Clay, or his friend Rand Bowyer of Harbone, were among them.

Directing his bucks to what seemed the best positions to fire upon the approaching raptors, Gome unshouldered his bow and nocked three arrows. At his order, the Highwall Wardens let loose their first volley. Not expecting even this small resistance, one or two of the birds fell shrieking and riddled with shafts. But the remainder quickly spread out, and with a screech several dove for the walls.

Gome managed to hit one of these with another quick shot before dodging quickly out of the way. The beast shot over the wall, narrowly missing it as its faltering flight carried it into the city beyond. Cries of terror arose from the city as the reason for Gome’s earlier signal became apparent to the populace. With a sinking heart, Gome heard evidence of what he already knew: many of the voices belonged to does, children, and the aged.

All the raptors not engaging the Highwall Wardens swept into the city, many of them dropping burdens that exploded as they landed. The blastpowder bombs not only caused great damage, but set fires that soon began spreading. High above, three birds greater than the others gave out terrible cries of command. Gome felt his blood turn to ice at the noise, and he realized that the eagle, falcon, and hawk were members of the Six.

Looking around despairingly, Gome saw that some of the other Highwallers were dead, killed by the raptors that had targeted them. Not all, however, and his fainting heart swelled as he saw the remainder releasing brave, defiant arrows at their tormentors. Joining four of them, he targeted a swooping kite. This one, pierced by their shafts, fell outside the wall.

If any of the group felt a sense of accomplishment, it was swiftly banished. One of the three horrible voices rang out again, closer this time. Only the agility that had earned him his epithet allowed Gome to leap safely out of the way as one of the members of the Six, the hawk, plowed into the little band of archers who had brought down the kite.

Contemptuously, the raptor king sent the four bucks plummeting off the wall to join the bird they had just slain. Then, eyes burning with hate, he turned towards Gome, flapping his wings so that he hovered a short distance above the wall. He did so out of no audacity, for a quick glance told Gome that no other rabbits remained on the walls. Some, he hoped, had fled down into the city, but he knew most had met fates not unlike the ones the hawk had just attacked.

Howls filled the air, and Gome saw a sight that brought an end to whatever frail hopes he might have held that this attack, though terrible, would be over swiftly. From several of the city’s many gates, as poorly garrisoned as the walls for this day, wolves poured into the city. Some among them carried torches or small bombs, and added to the fires already blazing in the city. The shrieks of the citizens were renewed, and Gome knew that many would undoubtedly be silenced now only by death.

Meeting the gaze of the hawk, he saw the hatred turned to cruel amusement. Both of them knew that the hawk did not have to kill Gome. One rabbit archer, no matter how agile or skilled, could not stem this tide. It would be futile to try, and ever so easy to lay down his weapons and accept a swift death or whatever other fate the invaders might see fit to inflict upon him.

Gome knew all this, as surely as he knew his own name. Yet he also knew that, whatever his own fate, a Mending had been promised. He had lived in the hope of that Mending, and knew that his wife, his brothers, and everyone he loved had done so too. And he knew, as surely as he knew the bow in his hands, that to give in now would be to betray that hope for the paltry sake of a life to be lived without hope.

Without breaking eye contact with his foe, Gome reached up to his quiver and drew another trio of arrows.

Shrieking in fury, the hawk came for him, talons outstretched. Gome nocked his arrows and aimed. Time seemed to slow as he aimed at the massive form looming over him. Knowing he could not hope to do any great damage, he let fly at the bird’s chest.

Three ringing notes sounded as the arrows clanged off the hawk’s breastplate. With no hope of drawing again, Gome watched death come for him. He thought of his wife, and his brothers, wishing his partings from them could have been happier. But he trusted that, whether they too died this day or lived through whatever would come, he would see them again…

…in the Mended Wood.

*In my typical fashion, my headcanon that Gome was an archer led me to merge him with Clay Fletcher’s unnamed brother, mentioned in The Archer’s Cup.