Rayan drew his sword. Faint light swirled across the naked steel, the blessing of his faith as a paladin. The sight of it gave him meager comfort, and it spurred him into a sprint. His shield led the way. Keles and Arn accompanied either side of him, a deadly trio.

A thin line of six soldiers formed along the southern edge of the clearing. Their weapons were drawn, but their backs were to Rayan as they focused on the increasingly panicked crowd. The first died with Rayan’s sword in his back. Not the most honorable kill, but nothing about this bloody day was honorable. Arn caved in the second soldier’s head. Only Keles’s target even offered a defense, but Rayan saw not how it went from the corner of his eye, only heard the man scream in sudden, horrid pain. The closest imperial spun, saw Rayan, and swung wild with her sword in both hands. Rayan blocked it high with his shield, stepped close, and punched with his shield arm. The sharp edge of it broke in her teeth. The pain doubled her over on reflex, and that brief span of vulnerability was all it took for Rayan to jam his sword into her neck.

With the nearby soldiers dead, the three took in their surroundings. Fires spread across the homes overlooking the gallows, forming a backdrop of smoke and flame to outline the macabre sight of so many hanging bodies. Soldiers positioned by Pilus had rushed to the west, where they fought against a large contingent of imperial soldiers. A glance to his right, and he saw a smaller group of soldiers coming in from the east. It couldn’t be coincidence. This was an ambush, set by someone who knew every single detail of their planned rescue.

Cyrus? Where was Cyrus? Seeing him nowhere on the ground, Rayan looked to the bell tower from which he was meant to observe the battle. His discovery only confirmed his suspicions that the ambush was planned with the aid of a traitor. Up in the belfry, as many in the trapped crowd watched, Magus of Eldrid battled the Vagrant Prince.

A sound of horns. Rayan turned, and behind them marched over fifty imperial soldiers, approaching in tight lines to seal off the southern road. How far back had they waited? They must have been prepared to come in such numbers and at such speed while ignoring the distant fires set by Clarissa’s gang. The only blessing was that they held back, content to seal off anyone’s escape. And why wouldn’t they? Time was on their side. More soldiers would come, an entire army to bury the resistance if it must. The crowd currently surging their direction slowed considerably upon seeing their approach. With their tightly packed lines, and the scowls on their faces, the soldiers showed no intention of letting the innocent pass.