Suddenly, a sharp whistle cut through the air.
Medea's instincts kicked in immediately. "Ambush!" she shouted, her voice slicing through the stillness like a blade.
Before Adrian could react, a volley of arrows came whistling from the dense brush on either side of the road. The envoy scattered, guards raising their shields to block the incoming arrows.
Chaos erupted as horses reared and men shouted orders, scrambling to form a defensive circle.
Adrian's heart raced as he drew his sword, feeling its familiar weight in his hand. His eyes darted toward the tree line, where figures emerged from the shadows—rough, hardened men with makeshift armor and hungry eyes.
Bandits.
Medea was already off her horse, her blade drawn, with a calm focused look on her face. "Stay sharp," she muttered to Adrian, her eyes flicking between the advancing thieves.
