She ran outside, letting the tent flap close, and Magnus cursed as his view was cut off. The thunder of horses grew louder and the shouting more frantic. Other voices joined those of McRae’s men, voices he thought he knew...
With all his might, he strained against the ropes around his wrists, his lips pulling back into a snarl, the veins in his neck and biceps bulging with the effort. The man who’d tied the knots had known what he was doing and rather than breaking, the coarse rope just began to bite into Magnus’s skin, cutting deep and leaving red welts.
Still, he didn’t relent. He had to get free. He had to protect Isabelle. He howled in pain and frustration, his facegoing red and sweat dripping down his forehead as he pulled, pulled, pulled...
The ropes snapped.
Magnus sagged, giving himself one, two, three heartbeats to recover before he reached down to untie his ankles, then leapt to his feet and ran outside.
He was met by a scene of chaos.
Men on horseback swarmed the camp, hooves kicking up a cloud of dust and dirt. Magnus squinted into the sun as he tried to identify the mounted warriors. Their shields bore an emblem of a bird, its wings spread in flight. Recognition hit him like a punch in the gut. The Order of the Osprey. He spotted Emeric amongst them, his sandy hair flying as he laid about him with his sword.
Isabelle was nowhere in sight, and Magnus’s heart pounded fearfully in his chest. “Isabelle!” he roared, his voice barely audible above the pandemonium. His gaze darted across the battlefield, desperate for a sight of her amongst the melee.
Suddenly, a flash of sable caught his eye, darting this way and that. Snaffles!
The huge dog was pelting through the camp, weaving between the legs of horses and warriors alike, barking in a frenzy. His eyes followed Snaffles’ path until they landed on Isabelle who was sprinting towards the dog with a look of unbridled joy on her face.
As they came together, Isabelle went onto her knees and threw her arms around the beast, burying her face in his fur. Snaffles was an excited, wriggling worm, barely able to keep still in his joy at being reunited with his mistress. There was abandage around Snaffles’ middle and he seemed to be favoring one of his back legs but this did nothing to dampen his enthusiasm.
But any joy Magnus took in the scene was quickly replaced by a surge of fear as he saw a group of McRae’s men running towards Isabelle.
Snaffles seemed to sense the danger and positioned himself between Isabelle and the men, his lips curling back in a growl. Isabelle rose to her feet and grabbed a stick, prepared to defend herself and her dog.
Magnus’s gut clenched. Snaffles’ bravery, though commendable, would not be enough to protect her. He surged towards them, his hands instinctively balling into fists.
A man lunged at him but Magnus disarmed him with a swift kick and continued his race. Around him, the world blurred into streaks of color and noise. He heard snippets of battle cries, the clang of steel on steel, the terrified shrieks of horses. He smelled dust, blood and sweat. But none of it mattered. The only thing that mattered was Isabelle’s frightened expression and the protective snarl of Snaffles as he faced down their attackers.
The first man reached them. Snaffles lunged, sinking his teeth into the man’s thigh. The man howled in pain and surprise, trying to beat the dog off with a fist. But Snaffles was like a bear trap, unyielding and relentless. The man crumpled under Snaffles’ weight, falling to the ground with a cry.
But three more of McRae’s men were already closing in, their faces twisted into masks of rage and determination. Isabelle swung her stick at them, but it was like a matchstick against their swords.
Magnus reached them just as one of the men made a grab for Isabelle. With a roar, he tackled him, a burly man with a tattooed face. The man cursed, caught off guard, and they tumbled to the ground. Magnus pummeled him with unyielding fists, knocking him unconscious. He looked up just in time to see another attacker brandishing his sword at Isabelle.
With a bellow, Magnus launched himself at the attacker, ramming into him from the side and sending him sprawling in the dirt. He managed to wrestle the sword away and stun the man with a swift blow to the temple.
Snaffles was holding his ground admirably against another assailant, sinking his teeth into the man’s calf and causing him to howl in pain. But it was not enough. McRae had brought plenty of men with him, too many for one man, one woman, and a giant dog to hold off. They kept coming.
Taking a brief glance at the battle site, Magnus saw that Emeric and the Order were also hopelessly outnumbered. There were only a handful of Order warriors—no doubt the group that Kai had sent with Emeric to track him down and drag him back to Dun Saith. They were fighting desperately to reach him and Isabelle, but McRae’s men had formed a line and were pressing them from all sides. McRae himself, surrounded by a ring of bodyguards, was standing at the edge of the site, shouting orders.
“Get her to safety!” Magnus roared, locking eyes with Emeric across the battlefield. Their gazes held for a brief moment, a silent understanding passing between them. Emeric nodded and he and the other members of the Order forced their way through the throng of McRae’s men.
Magnus turned back to Isabelle, taking out two more men who had gotten too close. But for each one he took down, it seemed like two more took his place. His arms were growing tired and his breath was coming in harsh gasps, but he couldn’t afford to slow down, not when Isabelle’s safety was on the line.
Finally, Emeric broke through the line of men that had surrounded Magnus and Isabelle, his horse snorting and stamping.
“Get her away!” Magnus bellowed.
“We’re gettingbothof ye away!” Emeric shouted back. “I willnae leave ye!”
“There’s too many of them!” Magnus yelled, his voice hoarse with strain. “Remember yer promise! Ye gave me yer word!”
Emeric stilled, his gaze fixed on Magnus. He could see the conflict in his sword-brother’s gaze. Members of the Order of the Osprey did not leave a comrade behind, but neither did they break their word. There were too many of McRae’s men for them all to get safely away and their only hope was to flee whilst Magnus did his best to slow the pursuers. Emeric knew it.
Finally, his sword-brother nodded. Magnus strode over to Isabelle, grabbed her around the waist and unceremoniously hoisted her into the saddle in front of Emeric.
She squirmed and struggled. “What are you doing? Get off me!”
