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Rade rides furiously up and down his line, shouting, "Shields! Shields! Raise your damn shields!"
A crossbow bolt slams against his helmet, nearly knocking him off his horse. But he holds and fights through the pain.
Twirling around, he scans the ridge behind his army's rear.
Figures stand atop it. Bolts fly from it.
How the hell did they even get there? Rade wonders. No way they slipped through the trees. This many men? Undetected? He has scouts positioned at secondary trails for miles, and others patrolling up and down the jungle border.
So where did they come from?
He catches the glint of an armored figure standing at the front. Their armor is unfamiliar. But the way they stand… the way they command…
Rade bursts out laughing. Of course you did, Arthur Hornraven. Of course you did. He's not even mad. In fact, he's impressed. Only the Marshal could make an entire ambushing force materialize out of nowhere.
He's also relieved. If the Marshal is there, it means he isn't hiding. He's exposed. In the open. Vulnerable.
I can finally put you down.
Vuk rides up beside Rade. In a stoic, emotionless voice, the man says, "Your Majesty. We've been encircled."
"I know."
"Your orders?"
Rade gestures to the Marshal, leading his men. "You see that man on the ridge? The one in the brigandine?"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"That's the Marshal. Take your contingent. Move in. Kill him."
Vuk hesitates, his expression grim.
"It must be done," Rade insists.
Finally, Vuk nods in agreement.
"Yes, sire. By your orders."
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