The noise of battle engulfed all senses. The world was reduced to the rumble of wheels, the smell of sweat, blood, and dust that burned the nostrils, and the metallic sound of clashing blades. Kael swung his sword, cutting down another opponent who had dared to leap from the enemy wagon. The blade flashed in a deadly arc, and the body was thrown backward, falling under the horses' hooves.
He had no time to breathe. Three more approached from the flank, and at a glance, Kael noticed something amiss in the coachman's posture. The man pulled hard on the reins, trying to keep the animals on the road. Sweat dripped from his forehead, running down into his thick beard.
It was then that the deadly whistle was heard.
An arrow sliced through the air at high speed. There was no time for shouts of warning. The projectile tore through the side of the coachman's skull, entering through his left eye and exiting through the back.
His body immediately fell, limp.
