“…[Bandits], then. Well, we’ll probably all be ravished. You two might not be ransomed. Some cause for alarm.”

The two [Handmaidens] screamed in horror. Seraphel felt a beat of nervousness herself. That had been…close.

More flashes of green light. The Thronebearers were shouting; someone was blowing a horn. Idiots.

Seraphel had cause to dislike her father a second time. He could have sent one Level 30 [Knight] with her. But no, and now this situation sounded bad.

“Protect the [Princess] with your lives! Get the carriage moving! She cannot be captured!”

Ser Dalimont was shouting. Not the kind of thing you wanted to hear. Seraphel heard a scream, the clash of arms—strangely, few shouts from the attackers. There were voices, but they were distant.

What was going on? She had to know. So the [Princess] slowly reached for the handle of the carriage door.

“Milady—”

Seraphel stepped out as a golden [Knight], his armor charred, rushed towards the front of the coach.

One of the horses was gone. Ser Dalimont skidded to a stop.

The [Princess] stepped out into a battle. The road had stopped at a bend and the ambushers had hit them. They’d come out of the woods after casting a spell to kill the [Driver]. Seraphel looked around, blinked. That explained the lack of noise. She saw over a hundred shambling figures, or skeletal bodies, armed with rusted weapons. Burning, magical eyes.

“Ah. Undead. Dear me.”

And behind them—eight hooded figures. The [Necromancers] were raining down the green spells, shooting missiles of burning energy that harried the [Knights] as they fought the undead coming at them from all sides. Seraphel saw Ser Dalimont hack down a zombie with his sword, wrench the blade free of the gore, and parry a thrust from a skeleton.

That made the [Princess] feel quite ill. She leaned on the door of the carriage, ignoring the screams from within. She wasn’t used to blood. But—after a second, she stopped herself from puking. She eyed the battle and saw the Thronebearers were losing. They had no grand Skills, and their armor and weaponry was enchanted, but it was also ornamental. One went down under half a dozen bodies which hammered on his plate armor as he shouted for aid. The lesser zombies couldn’t kill him. But a bounding shape crashed into the man and began tearing at him with considerably more strength and animation.

Ghoul. Faster, deadlier—another [Knight], female, went to the aid of the first, bringing her axe around and hacking at the foe. If it was just Ghouls and zombies they would have still won handily. But then a black bolt of energy struck her in the back. The female Thronebearer stiffened and the life drained out of her. She fell, dead, without a word as her comrade was covered in undead bodies.