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And an arrow smacked into the hull of the carriage next to me, freezing me in place as it landed a hand’s breadth from my face.
My eyes bulged.
I looked out and saw nothing, turned, and gripped my knife with slick palms. Another glint of reflective light, and another arrow off to my right, smacking the wood and exploding chips near my face. It forced me to back up into the doorway of the carriage.
The ranger in the woods was toying with me. My fury flared. My people were getting cut down, and I was too scared and selfish to help them. I didn’t want to die here, but it seemed like we were all on our way to that outcome.
The man in black with his two swords weaved through the darkness behind the armless soldier. My heart stopped as the soldier turned, begging for mercy with a raised hand, and lost that hand at the wrist.
Now limbless, in shock, he toppled backward, convulsed, and died.
The monster with the two swords stepped closer, his eyes glittering in the darkness. He wore a sash of something red—brighter than the rest of him—around his neck, and stepped closer to the firelight.
Our eyes locked. I sucked in a sharp breath, reflexively backing up into the carriage.
My heel hit the step and I tripped, falling on my ass.
Uncle Gregory burst free from the trees, flanking the swordsman.
Blades clanged and sparked as the two met.
Their melee was fierce, quick. The mercenary was younger and faster, but my uncle was no slouch. He managed to punch the man in the face, taking a slash across his arm at the same time.
Not a fair tradeoff.
Around them, more bandits snuck into the clearing.
I lost track of Gregory and lost sight of the guards as bodies filled the space.
I knew I was going to die. Robert, why is this happening?!
No one answered my cries.
After everything Gregory had said—that we were safer out here in the woods than inside the hamlets—and we were still going to die!
My uncle fought with everything he had.
Then another bandit joined the fray against him.
Where the hell is Father?!
Gritting my teeth, unwilling to give up, I steeled myself and pushed up from my ass. I grabbed the dagger and rushed outside.
If I was going to die, I was going to go down fighting. Not hiding like Sir Thomas the Stiff.
I made it ten feet before my nerves got the better of me. I knew I stood no chance rushing into a vicious melee. I found myself cocking my arm back, aiming at that dual-wielding bandit locked in combat with my uncle.
My dagger flew end over end.
My aim, thanks to my bow work, was excellent.
The man growled as it landed in his side with a satisfying thud, and he staggered onto one knee.
My uncle took the opportunity to try and end him by dislodging his head from his shoulders.
Something hard and wooden caught his blade and turned it aside.
A newcomer stood over the kneeling bandit, protecting him—taller, broader, scarier than the rest. He turned my uncle’s blade aside with a shepherd’s quarterstaff, bringing the other end of it crashing against Gregory’s head.
