Garinor shook his head. He didn’t think they could fend off a contingent of forty men on their own. His sword skill was weak at best and whatever distraction he might provide, Song couldn’t possibly win against all the rest. Even a vantage point from the trees didn’t seem like an opportunity that would help in the end.
“Let’s get to the camp and let them know about this force,” Garinor decided.
Song agreed readily and they sprinted off through the trees, determined to get ahead of the soldiers, then cut across them and into the Daggerfist camp. They were able to travel faster than the soldiers because the soldiers themselves were wholly concentrated on moving stealthily. And though they needed to also remain concealed, Song and Garinor went with haste, pouncing around the dirt from one clear space to another, hiding behind trees all the while.
The sounds of battle echoed through the air as they went and Song increased his steps until it was all Garinor could do to keep up with him. They passed the soldiers and then cut sharply west, approaching the sounds of battle now only yards away. They turned to a full run and withdrew their swords, barreling into the fight.
Garinor couldn’t believe he was entering into the fray, but there was Song, cutting a path through the prince’s forces, leaving few behind. Song made a beeline for a bearded warrior and it took Garinor a moment to recognize him as Chief. In the heat of battle, he looked utterly untamed and ferocious. Song explained that other soldiers were coming from the east and they parted ways, each seeking to inform key others who could tend to the new threat.
Garinor noted all this in an abstracted sort of way, for he was put upon by the prince’s men. They were coming at him, seeing the boy as an easy target. Swords and daggers whirled about and Garinor reacted on pure instinct. His training with Song was helpful, but he wasn’t thinking about tactics. Sweeping his sword outward, he twisted and ducked down, slashing one man, wrenching the sword about, spinning another way, and lunging again.
The fury of battle swept into Garinor as he faced off against the other fighters. Instead of wearying him, each man who attacked him gave Garinor another shred of strength and determination. He would fend off this army and he would find the prince and end the terrible work he was doing in this land.
As he thought of the prince, Garinor spun about and saw him, as if a beacon had shown him the way. His eyes transfixed on the prince, who had come down from his horse and hacked his way through the battle. A wild rage took over and Garinor released a feral cry as he charged forward, determined to take the prince down.
He was not the only one screaming out, for at that moment the hidden contingent of soldiers burst into the camp and began attacking. Foreknowledge of the force helped prevent it from becoming a total rout, but the casualties mounted.
In the chaos, Garinor’s charge wasn’t noticed by the prince at first. His feet thundered into the ground and he lashed out as he passed other fighters, but his sights were set. When he was but steps away, only then did the prince recognize the charge.
With years of practice behind him, the prince was easily able to fend off Garinor’s wild rush. He lazily swung up his sword and stuck out his leg to trip the boy. Garinor sprawled on the ground, clutching his sword tightly so as not to lose it in his fall. He scrambled to his feet, promising to finish this fight, and he launched himself into the air.
But one of the prince’s men saw the move and intercepted Garinor’s attack. He cut in front of the prince, taking a hit on his side, but he cast his own sword into Garinor’s gut, shocking him and dropping him in a heap.
As he lay there, he heard the prince’s voice cry out in dismay. “No! I need him alive!”
But even Garinor knew that it was too late.