“Can’t think about it now,” Arn said, interrupting his thoughts. His bloody gauntlet settled atop Rayan’s shoulder. “Keep your mind on the fight at hand.”

Rayan prayed the young prince could withstand such a foe alone, for Arn was right, he had to focus on what he could directly influence. With Stasia and Mari tearing through the western part of the battle, Rayan faced the soldiers coming in from the east. Unlike those to the south, they did not linger back but instead went on the offensive. There were none to counter them, and so they swept through the crowd. It was chaos, absolute chaos. Men and women fell to their swords, some rebels with hidden weaponry, but most not. They had come to distract at Pilus’s request, or wished to witness the execution of so many of Vallessau’s wealthy and elite. Their reward was butchery.

They were only three, but Rayan trusted the skill of Thorda’s hand-picked elite. He pushed through what few people did not part for his passing. His aim was for the nearest soldier, always the nearest, and never beyond that. One kill at a time, he would fell this army. One by one, he would slay an empire. The first few never even saw him coming. His shield knocked them off balance. His sword ended them before they knew a fight had begun. As he cut through, more soldiers shifted toward him in an attempt to surround and subdue him.

“I thank you!” he shouted. “You spare an old man a tiresome chase.”

His confidence unnerved them. The glow of light upon his blade frightened them. Their attacks were frantic, clumsy, and he defended against them with ease. Another kill, his sword tearing through a soldier’s belly. He ripped the weapon out through the man’s waist, a shower of blood accompanying the following block. Sword crossed sword, and when strength met strength, it was the imperial who retreated a step, groaning in protest. Rayan surprised him by suddenly pulling back, and when his foe attempted to counter, he was met with the paladin’s butterfly shield to the face. His nose broke. His blood splattered across the gray surface. Dazed and blinded, it was easy to cut him down.

The panicked screams of the trapped crowd faded into the background. Another foe, a woman wielding a spear and shield that seemed more together than most. Rayan positioned his shield directly between them, and he approached with quick shuffles of his feet. He never left himself vulnerable. He never dared attempt a swing, not until he knew it was safe. The woman tested his defenses, her spear thudding into his shield each and every time. On the fourth strike, he lunged instead of blocking it. The spear struck the side of Rayan’s breastplate at a poor angle and deflected off. Rayan’s sword passed right over the defending shield and into the soldier’s face, ending her.