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The sun was fully set when they came. I sat on the stoop of the carriage, legs dangling off the stair that dropped to the grass. A small campfire flickered in the center of the clearing, circled by logs. Four guards sat at the fire, talking in hushed voices as they finished off a spit of smoky meat. I’d had my fill first, after the rabbit was cooked. Thus were the advantages of nobility.
Uncle Gregory was off to the side, near Mama’s carriage. My father stayed with her in that carriage, tending her. Their door was closed, and I hadn’t seen Father in hours, ever since he poked his head out to scowl at me.
A soldier stood between two trees to the north, keeping watch, peering into the black forest ahead. The sky shone purple and silver with moonlight, the canopies of the trees protecting our clearing.
The soldier turned with a sigh to face the campfire, rubbing his hands together in the chill.
I kicked my legs.
The soldier started laughing—or was that coughing?
My head shot up, brow rising.
The laugh-cough turned into a continuous gurgle as the soldier stumbled and swayed toward the fire, pointing at something behind him.
He stayed on his feet until he got to the edge of the firelight.
“What is it, Geoffrey?” Uncle Gregory asked aloud, his voice cutting through the whispered conversation of the guards at the fire.
I gasped when I noticed a glinting reflection—an arrowhead, punched through Geoffrey’s neck, protruding out. When he spoke in a bubbled gargle, blood rushed down his chin and throat.
Uncle Gregory shot up to his feet, tossing his scabbard aside as he drew his huge sword. “Enemies!”
The first guard who rose to his feet from the campfire took two arrows in the skull, both of them thudding into his head and turning him into a pincushion. He dropped in a breathless heap of limbs.
I screamed, unable to contain myself from the sudden, jarring violence, and the other three men at the fire grunted with alarm.
My heart plummeted to my boots and I jumped to my feet, wheeling from the open door of the carriage to try and find something to use as a weapon.
I didn’t have my shortbow, having left it at the Wilford estate to stow myself away. I managed to find a small cutting knife near one of the crates, which I quickly palmed and lurched toward the door.
“Stay inside!” Gregory commanded as I showed my face in the doorway. Fully armed and armored, he disappeared into the shadows away from the fire. “Men, apart!”
The remaining soldiers took my uncle’s command and scattered from the fire, into the darkness where I could hardly see them.
That’s when I saw our enemy—the wraithlike bodies skirting through the trees, around the clearing; shadowy specters dropping down from branches, popping up from bushes with bows in their hands.
Two guards burst free from Father’s carriage with their swords drawn.
One of them was met with a whizzing arrow that pelted into his chest and stopped his forward momentum. The second soldier took his falling body and used it as a shield as he rushed forward, toward the trajectory of the arrow.
We were being cut down right in front of me. I couldn’t just stand and watch, regardless of Uncle Gregory’s demand.
I also liked to think I wasn’t a complete idiot, so I hesitated, waiting to pick my best move.
It was pure pandemonium from the onset. The guards from the campfire had bolted, assumedly to find the bastards shooting from the trees. The remaining soldier near my father’s cart stayed there to watch it—though Father, a knight himself, hadn’t yet shown his face.
Steel clashed in the distance, ringing out, rustling the leaves. Wind moaned through the branches and shook them—or were those enemies on the hunt?
My eyes darted left to right, scanning the whole scene, trying to make sense of it. I’d never been in actual combat before. What I imagined Robert went through, well, it wasn’t this. There was more chivalry and heroism involved.
This was cowardly. Sniping and pinning us down, keeping us scared and locked in place. This was barbarous, savage. Feral bandits or mercenaries trying to slaughter an entire family.
I heard a scream. A guard I recognized came running out from the trees, missing an arm. A pursuer in forest-black garb followed him into the clearing, two swords raised.
I laid eyes on the enemy. They were not monsters or apparitions, but men. Stark, wicked men, who cared nothing for the lives of the people they tormented.
I charged from the doorway, unable to stop myself—
