Lord Darian's world narrowed to pinpricks of clarity amidst the chaos. His hand found the familiar weight of his shield, muscles tensing as he hefted it. The camp erupted into a maelstrom of panicked shouts and clanging metal.
"Form up!" Darian's voice boomed over the cacophony. "Shields to the perimeter!
He spun, scanning for threats. More arrows whistled through the air. One glanced off his pauldron with a metallic ping. Another found flesh – a scream cut short as a another church zealot fell.
Darian's eyes locked on Aelindra, still frozen by the cooking fire. Vulnerable. Exposed. He lunged, crossing the distance in three rapid strides. His shield arm wrapped around her waist, yanking her close as he crouched, sheltering them both behind the steel barrier.
"Stay down," he growled in her ear. Her body trembled against his, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps. But there was no time for comfort. Not now.
Darian's eyes darted across the chaotic scene, assessing threats and opportunities. His men scrambled to form a defensive line, shields interlocking with practiced precision. But it wasn't fast enough. Another volley of arrows rained down, finding gaps in their hastily assembled formation.
"Tighten up that left flank!" he roared, spotting a weakness. "Torches! I want every shadow lit up!"
With his free arm, Darian reached for his sword. The familiar hilt settled into his palm, a comforting weight. He risked a glance at Aelindra, still huddled against him. Her eyes were wide with terror, but there was something else there too. A spark of... determination?
No time to dwell on it. A war cry erupted from the treeline. Dark figures burst from the underbrush, brandishing crude weapons. Darian's mind raced. Bandits? Rebels? It didn't matter. They were under attack.
"Hold the line!" he bellowed,
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The crowd's jeers and taunts suddenly turned to gasps of shock and screams of terror.
Darian's world exploded into chaos. One moment, he'd been watching the punishment with a mix of guilt and necessity. The next - blood, screams, pandemonium.
The Inquisitor dropped like a sack of meal. Thunk. Arrow in the throat. Gurgling. Dying. One of Darian's own men followed suit, Thomas a young man with promise, his life cut short. Crack of bone on stone as he fell.
Then they came. Bandits. Filthy, scarred, hungry-eyed bastards pouring into the square. Steel rasped on leather. War cries. The stink of unwashed bodies and desperation.
Darian's sword was in his hand before he realized he'd drawn it. Muscle memory. Training kicking in. He bellowed orders, rallying what guards remained. "ON ME! STAND TOGETHER!"
A bandit lunged, axe whistling for Darian's head. He parried, the shock juddering up his arm. Riposte. Blade biting flesh. Hot blood on his hands. No time to think. Only react. Survive.
Darian's eyes locked on Aelindra. Helpless. A bandit advancing on her, blade glinting with malicious intent.
No time. No choice. Darian lunged, abandoning all thought of self-preservation. His sword flashed, catching the bandit's arm. A scream. Arterial spray painting the cobblestones crimson.
Pain exploded in Darian's side. A dagger, slipping past his guard. Buried to the hilt. He staggered, gasping. Warm wetness spreading across his tunic.
The remaining Church zealots charged in, halberds sweeping. Rebels fell, hewn like wheat. But more poured in. Endless. Relentless. The square a maelstrom of steel and screams.
Darian gritted his teeth. Ignored the agony. Planted himself before Aelindra. His sword a barrier between her and the chaos. Blood dripping from his wound. Each breath a struggle. But he would not yield. Could not.
Darian watched in horror as his men - brothers in all but blood - fell. Gareth, always ready with a bawdy joke. Thorne, quiet but loyal to the core. Faces he'd known for years, voices silenced forever. Just moments ago, they'd been alive. Laughing. Now... nothing.
The world narrowed. Survival. Escape. His eyes darted, found the oil lantern. Without hesitation, he snatched it up, hurled it into the nearby brazier. Fire exploded outward, a roaring wall of flame and smoke.
Darian spun, ignoring the searing pain in his side. His hands, slick with blood, fumbled to grab Aelindra. "Hold on," he growled, voice raw. He scooped her up, her slight form trembling against him.
They plunged into the darkness of the forest. Screams and clash of steel fading behind them. Darian's breath came in ragged gasps, each step agony. But he pushed on, deeper into the shadows, praying for salvation.