Pain fires through your body with every step. Your head feels as if it's going to burst. But you keep pushing. Driven by a combination of spite and stubbornness, you keep moving. One foot in front of the other.
Your group clears the camp and begins to head for the forest as fast as possible. It's only forty yards away, but exhausted, injured, and weighed down by Darin, it feels like miles.
In between gasps of exertion, you call over to Velinor, "What about… my gear?"
"Fuckin' prince took it with him," he replies. "Maybe as proof… or maybe a trophy."
"Shite! Maybe we should go get it," you say.
"Are ye fuckin' mad? We are—" Velinor stumbles, nearly taking the three of you to the ground. He recovers and continues, "We's got two injured fighters, a barely armed queen and meself. Just leave it!"
Elya interrupts your conversation, calling out to you, "Look out!"
A crossbow bolt slams itself into the soil only a yard to your right.
You had just begun to think you'd gotten lucky. That you might be able to slip by.
The enemy has spotted you. Rade, his companion, and Vedran charge toward you atop their mounts. The footmen chase after them. They're only four hundred yards out and closing fast.
Velinor curses and says, "Marshal, you and yer sister take Darin into the forest. Look for my horse, and get 'em the hell out of 'ere!"
Elya, hearing this, runs over to switch off with Velinor. You call back, "What about you?"
"I's gonna buy you some time."
As he switches out with Elya, he calls back, "I's should be sayin' that to you."
You and your sister continue to haul Darin. You're only twenty yards away, but the mounted trio is closing in on you at a rapid pace. They have only two hundred yards to go before they reach Velinor.
At this rate, they'll overtake you well before you reach the woods.
Velinor stands alone, staring down the charging horses. He raises his longbow, draws, and looses an arrow at the first rider. You watch as it makes contact, but the rider continues on, unaffected.
The huntsman takes a few steps back and shoots again. He then repeats this, over and over.
The shots force the unarmored Vedran to take refuge behind his armored compatriots. The column slows down.
But it isn't enough.
You and Elya push with desperation. Even Darin has begun to hobble, trying to help the three of you move quicker.
The riders continue charging, only eighty yards from Velinor. Far in the distance, a camp of rebel noblemen, survivors of the battle, stir and ready themselves as they watch the conflict. Even farther away, the remnants of the rebel army watch the struggle.
Velinor stops shooting. Instead, he turns back around and begins to sprint for the woods, longbow strapped over his shoulder.
You don't blame him.
The horsemen are only fifty yards away.
You won't make it.
Next
------
Vedran smiles to himself as he watches the archer flee. A feeling of power fills him. The enemy flees before him. He feels invincible behind Rade.
The prince twirls his new sword around in his hands. The worn blade once belonged to the Marshal. It suits me.
Suddenly, another arrow flies from the retreating loyalists.
But the archer has already begun to flee…
Vedran scans the woods. He narrows his eyes. A new soldier is standing just beyond the threshold, bow in hand. He motions toward Rade's group. "There they are! Give 'em hell!"
A dozen cavalrymen burst from the woods, mounted and armed to the teeth.
A feeling of terror settles into his gut.
Next
The men weave their way past the Marshal and his companions. Half form a screen around the retreating loyalists, while the rest charge forward, straight toward Vedran and his companions.
Rade calls out, "Break formation! Scatter!"
Vedran tugs hard on the reins of his mount, pulling to the side as the horsemen swarm around him.
Two men chose Vedran as their target, pursuing him relentlessly. The prince glances over his shoulder as he rides. His eyes widen. Obren?
The knight pulls his horse alongside Vedran's. For a moment, he believes that Obren has come to join him.
Just like the good times.
The appearance of a blade shatters all illusions.
Next
Vedran barely raises the Marshal's sword up in time. Their blades meet. The ringing of steel on steel echoes through the air.
The knight is silent and relentless. He slashes again. Vedran once more barely manages to parry the blow.
The realization of the possibility of death settles deep into his gut. Confusion, anger, but most prominently, fear grips the young prince. The intense, primal fear of death.
It is this fear that fuels his clumsy attack. Still riding at high speeds, Obren blocks the slash and counter-attacks, cutting a deep wound across Vedran's shoulder. Vedran slumps forward on the saddle.
Both men slow their horses.
Vedran looks back over his shoulder. Obren is riding just behind him, blade raised up for a killing blow. Vedran tenses up, waiting for his death. His mind races with terror. He doesn't want to die. He doesn't want anyone to die.
But the strike never falls.
Obren still rides, blade raised, but his face is torn by internal conflict. After a few long seconds, he lowers the sword and brings his horse to a halt. He gestures with his blade, shouting, "Go! Go, before I change my mind!"
The prince doesn't look back. He turns for the camp of the rebel riders and speeds away.
Obren watches as he flees, blade still clutched in his grasp.
Next
You curse under your breath as you watch the escaped noblemen beginning to mount up. The traitor infantrymen have stopped sprinting and instead have formed a tight shieldwall, but they continue to advance. The archer, who Velinor has informed you is named Gideon, continues to rain hell upon the advancing enemies.
Your own cavalry still pursue their targets, or form the screen protecting you and the queen. Two have dismounted to assist an injured Darin onto a horse.
Velinor, after retrieving his own horse from a concealed location in the woods, offers a hand to Elya. She takes it, and the huntsman pulls her up onto the back of his horse. You say to the huntsman, "Get the queen out of here."
He salutes. "Meet ya back at camp." His horse sets out at a quick gallop.
You turn back around to the skirmish unfolding around you.
Darin has finally been helped onto the back of a man's horse. He grips the shoulder of the cavalryman in front of him. This cavalryman flicks the reins and his horse sets out, following closely behind Velinor.
One of your own cavalrymen comes rushing back, brandishing a bloodied blade. He comes to a stop in front of him. The man, who you now realize is Obren, calls out, "I hit the prince pretty bad, but he evaded me. He's runnin' to the rest of 'em nobles."
"You manage to get my sword?" you ask.
He shakes his head. "Sorry, Marshal."
Your conversation is interrupted as another man rides up to you, sliding the visor of his helmet up. You recognize the face of Milon. He offers you a hand, saying, "Greetin's, Marshal. We'd best be on our way, no?"
You grasp his hand, and he helps haul you onto the back of his horse. You take a deep sigh of relief. Now on a mount, you feel much safer.
Obren brings his horse up beside Milon's and says dryly, "Marshal, do we have permission to get the hell outta here?"