"You've no idea how terrifying he is," he said, nodding toward the ashen-faced Carl. "He had his shield raised, yet still went down in an instant."

  "I have companions waiting at the forest edge," the knight said, pointing northeast. "Horses, supplies. We can provide emergency treatment, then transport him back to our encampment."

  "Even leaving this position is perilous. The moment we move, that black rider will surely spot us..."

  Another arrow whistled through the air, striking the redwood they'd just abandoned. "Damn—he's resumed his attack."

  "No, that's not him," the knight insisted firmly. "This is our moment—we must move now. Hurry!" he urged, desperation edging his voice. "Will you trust me and live, or remain here and perish?"

  Barbed arrows continued to fly at regular intervals, roughly every two or three seconds. The knight took point, Simon carried the wounded Carl in the middle, while Tyler brought up the rear. As they reached the forest's edge, the arrows abruptly ceased. Another armored knight approached on horseback, leading a second mount. "Arian," the first knight called out. "Any others?"

  "No, Norton, just this one. He's wounded?" Arian frowned. "Get him mounted, quick. Looks like he's going into shock. That's bad."

  Tyler and Simon carefully hoisted Carl onto the horse. "If we don't treat him immediately, I fear he won't survive the journey back to camp."

  "Take him to the new camp. It's closer."

  "New position?"

  "The breach," he explained. "Seventh and Third Companies have secured the gap in the West Wall."

  "Did you encounter any of our men?" Norton questioned.

  "Actually, it was the reverse—he encountered me while I awaited your return." Arian's mare pranced impatiently, the saddlebag at her flank swinging oddly, filled with several spherical objects. Norton's mount carried similar cargo. "A peculiar white-haired knight... Enough discussion. We must depart immediately—your companion is fading rapidly."

  Carl Clawyn hadn't lost consciousness and could hear every word, though he lacked the strength to participate. "So you both serve with Third Company," Simon said, sharing Arian's saddle. His bulk made riding double with Carl impossible, though he clearly resented the separation. "Indeed, we're Third Company men," Norton confirmed. "Like yourselves, we became isolated. Afterward, I dispatched Arian to circle around with the horses while I maneuvered behind your position to extract you."

  "Fortune smiled upon you that you didn't confront him directly," Arian remarked with a knowing smirk. "Perhaps you didn't observe clearly, but we did. The ground surrounding him was littered with Third Company dead. Instinct warned me that black rider represented exceptional danger, potentially with reinforcements nearby, so we exercised caution."

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  "So you devised a flanking strategy, just as we employed against the Cynthians!" Simon exclaimed with inappropriate enthusiasm. "Though in reality, your secondary attack merely served as distraction! Brilliantly executed! I was certain death awaited us!"

  "It wasn't your neck on the line though, was it, Sir Knight?" Norton remarked dryly. "I heard you talking. Seem to recall it was your friend offered himself up as bait, so you could scamper off with the wounded one. Yes?"

  The fat knight's face flushed crimson amid the laughter. Carl remained too weakened to even smile. "One matter continues to trouble me," Tyler Wynlers interjected suddenly. "Let's establish the sequence of events clearly. First, you observed the black rider attacking our position, correct?"

  "Er..." The two Third Company men traded a quick look. "Aye. That's right."

  "Then, one of you circled around with the horses, while the other—you, Norton—approached from behind to facilitate our escape. Is that accurate?"

  Both knights nodded in confirmation.

  "Then who the hells was shooting the arrows?!"

  The knights' expressions froze instantaneously.

  "Arrows?"

  "Yes, arrows. The black rider had his bow trained directly upon us when someone shot him from behind. Simon witnessed it as well."

  "Oh! Oh, I see!" Arian's face brightened with sudden comprehension. "That was my doing. I loosed an arrow at him before departing, to provide cover for Norton's approach."

  "That's impossible," Tyler stated with cold certainty. "The arrows continued without interruption, even as we approached the forest perimeter. You couldn't possibly have fired at his back and subsequently positioned yourself at the edge to await us."

  Their expressions underwent subtle but unmistakable shifts. "Tyler!" Simon protested indignantly. "These men just saved our lives! Surely such trivial details warrant no further scrutiny."

  Tyler didn't let it drop. "Alright," Arian finally admitted, licking his lips. "It wasn't us firing the arrows. It was a Cynthian."

  "A Cynthian archer? You suggest they inadvertently struck their own comrade?"

  "After a fashion. But the Cynthian responsible wasn't acting deliberately—he was already dead. A corpse."

  Tyler and Simon's expressions hardened into masks of perplexed disbelief.

  "A Cynthian corpse. Been dead awhile -- probably one of the first poor sods killed when the fighting started," Norton explained coolly. "My idea, that was. Saw the rigor setting in, so I put a loaded crossbow in his hand. Used his own stiff fingers on the trigger."

  Simon's prepared accolades died unspoken. "I can certainly accept you might discover such a conveniently positioned corpse," Tyler remarked with deliberate composure, "but the crossbow narrative stretches credibility beyond acceptable limits. A dead man cannot reload between shots."

  "Because," Arian revealed with a triumphant sneer, "it was a repeating crossbow. Dwarven engineering, fully automatic."

  He'd thought the arrow would steal all feeling, take it all away. Wrong. The arrow struck, but death held back.

  He'd expected searing pain. Wrong again. First came only the spreading numbness, cold and deep.

  He'd thought oblivion would take him swiftly. Wrong a third time. He stayed awake, watching his comrades die, seeing it all too clearly.

  Toyef Bilinski watched it all unfold. A battle, yes, by any measure, despite the hopeless odds. He'd never feared Cynthians, not until the arrow found him. Now fear squeezed tears from his eyes. He was the first of the company down, but somehow, curse the gods, the last to leave this world.

  Flames eagerly consumed the trebuchet, the dragon tendon crackling as it ignited. Initially, Toyef had felt a pang of regret for the valuable material's destruction, but that sentiment vanished entirely when the Cynthian black riders appeared. They charged across the open plain, only to find their advance temporarily impeded by the collapsed siege engine.