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Rade stares at the Marshal, dumbfounded.
There really is no stopping him, is there…
From his position, Rade watches as the first loyalist cavalrymen cross over the makeshift bridges. He shakes himself back to reality. More and more pour from the mouth of the jungle. He turns to the trumpeter at his side.
"Signal a retreat."
The trumpeter hesitates. "Your Majesty? Not a charge?"
"Signal a damn retreat. Now," Rade says through gritted teeth.
The soldier nods and places the instrument to his lips.
With the loyalists arriving in greater numbers and Rade's army divided to block the jungle trails, he's in no position to launch an offensive. Especially with the jungle at the loyalists' back, the rangers could continue to harass his line.
The best move would be to abandon the idea of trapping the Marshal.
Instead, Rade will withdraw. He will lure the Marshal into better ground, where he can bring his superior numbers to bear more effectively.
His eyes drift to Vuk's lifeless body in the grass. And then they drift back to the Marshal, dressed in his bloodstained brigandine.
Watching the man, Rade feels something he hasn't felt in a long time.
Fear.