The first arrow did not make a sound.
It only cut the air—just a faint stitch of pressure—before burying itself in the carriage wall. The feathers quivered. Dust sifted down. And then the world exploded.
Guards barked orders outside—boots pounding, armor scraping, the thump of bodies scrambling to form a shield wall. Horses whinnied and lurched sideways, hooves striking the earth in wild, panicked beats. The entire carriage shuddered as if something huge had slammed into it.
Neria's scream hit Aaron like a slap. He dragged his sister down again, covering her head, but she trembled like a sparrow trapped in his hands.
Lira, wounded, pressed herself against the wall and forced her body between the windows and the children. Her dagger gleamed pale in the dim carriage light—a sliver of silver against the growing red blossom spreading down her sleeve.
Another arrow struck the roof. Then another. And another—dozens, until the carriage rattled like a drum beneath hail.
Outside, a guard's voice roared through the chaos, "SHIELDS UP! PROTECT THE—"
His command cut short with a choking sound.
Aaron flinched.
Lira didn't move. She couldn't. She sat so still it made his stomach twist.
The driver whipped the reins with frantic desperation. The carriage lurched again, jolting violently as the horses stumbled over loose stone. Their iron shoes scraped the ridge path, throwing sparks.
The ridge.
Aaron's breath hitched. The drop was right outside that window. A few steps too far, and the carriage would plunge into the forest canopy below.
Neria buried her face into his tunic, sobbing, "Make it stop! Make it stop, Aaron!"
He held her tighter, voice shaking. "I'm trying. I'm trying."
A horn blast tore through the woods—long, shrill, echoing between the cliffs. Not the clarion of the Queen's hunt. This one was sharper, thinner, almost serpentine.
Lira's eyes snapped open. "That's not ours."
The guards outside seemed to understand as well. Panic sharpened their orders.
"LOCK FORMATION!"
"DON'T LET THEM THROUGH!"
"AIM FOR THE RIDGE! I SEE THEM!"
Aaron risked a glance out the shattered window.
Shapes darted across the cliffside—slender figures wearing charcoal-gray cloaks and iron half-masks that hid their mouths. Only their eyes showed, glinting coldly between the shadows of their hoods.
Archers.
Seven—no, eight—moving in synchronized precision. Each held a curved bow of pale yew wood. Each nocked another arrow in the same heartbeat.
One of them looked down toward the carriage. Straight at Aaron.
He ducked instinctively, heart hammering.
Lira saw it too.
"Aaron—keep Neria's head down. Don't look outside."
"But the guards—"
"LISTEN TO ME!"
Her voice cracked on the last word, iron forced through pain.
He pressed Neria back into the cushions as another volley screamed past.
The guards tried to retaliate. Arrows shot upward—ragged, rushed. They clattered harmlessly against stone.
One guard—a veteran Aaron recognized by his dented pauldron—raised his shield too slow. An arrow punched through his visor. He toppled, limbs twitching, spear clattering against rock.
Someone cried his name. A second later, the cry turned into the wet sound of steel meeting flesh.
Lira's breathing turned shallow. She held her wounded shoulder with one hand, squeezing hard to stem the blood.
Aaron crawled to her, keeping low. "Mother, let me bandage it—"
"No." She took his wrist, grip trembling but fierce. "Later. Not now."
"But—"
"Look at me."
Her dark eyes locked on his—wide, bright, and brimming not with fear, but calculation.
"This ambush was planned. Perfectly planned. They knew we would take this ridge."
Aaron didn't understand how she could be so calm with blood dripping off her fingers.
An arrow shattered the lantern beside them. Flame guttered, glass sprayed, and for a heartbeat, the carriage dimmed to a low, smoky glow.
Lira continued in a whisper, "They aren't here for sport or ransom. They're here for—"
The carriage suddenly lurched sideways. Aaron grabbed at the bench to keep from rolling. Neria cried out as she slid across the floor.
Outside, a guard bellowed, "RAVINE! HOLD THEM BACK—HOLD—"
His voice ended abruptly with a horrible crunch.
The assassins did not shout. They did not chant. Their attack came in total silence. Only the hiss of their arrows broke the air, relentless and precise.
Aaron felt the world narrowing—every sound too loud, every breath too sharp. The smell of pine mixed with blood, the crack of branches under hooves, the metallic tang of arrows piercing the wood around them.
The driver's voice broke through. "WE CAN'T HOLD THIS PATH!"
Lira shouted back, "KEEP MOVING! DO NOT SLOW—"
Another volley rained down.
One arrow punched through the roof, grazing Lira's cheek before embedding in the floorboards. Blood trickled down her skin in a thin line.
Neria wailed, "Mama, stop bleeding! Please stop!"
Lira cupped her face briefly. "Hush, little star. I'm fine."
She wasn't fine. Not even close.
Outside, the guards repositioned, forming a tight ring around the carriage despite losing men with every passing breath.
"AIM FOR THEIR HANDS!" one guard screamed desperately. "THEIR HANDS, DAMN YOU!"
An arrow severed his sentence—and his throat.
But Aaron had heard something else. A different voice. Farther back. A harsh bark of words that did not belong to Avalon's tongue.
Sharp consonants. Clipped syllables.
It came again, louder.
"Kharan'vel toras! Kharan'vel toras!"
Aaron's head whipped toward the sound.
"What language is that?" he whispered.
Lira froze.
"What did you hear?"
"I—I don't know. But one of the archers shouted something. Something like Kharan… vel…"
Lira's face drained even further.
"That's not possible."
"What does it mean?"
Before she could answer, the carriage slammed into a fallen log. The impact hurled them sideways. Aaron hit the opposite wall with his shoulder, pain flaring. Neria bounced from his arms and tumbled toward the door.
"NERIA!" he lunged forward, catching her ankle just before she struck the wood.
The door buckled from the impact. It creaked dangerously on its hinge.
Lira grabbed both children, dragging them back. Her dagger fell from her fingers and clattered onto the floor.
"Driver!" she shouted hoarsely, "Get us off the ridge!"
"I'M TRYING!"
Through the window, Aaron saw one of the horses frothing at the mouth, eyes rolling wide with terror as arrows peppered the dirt around its hooves. Another horse had an arrow buried deep in its thigh and struggled to stay upright, staggering with every step.
The carriage tilted again. The cliff's edge loomed dangerously close.
A guard slammed his shield into the side of the carriage, using his own body weight to push it away from the drop. He braced himself, teeth gritted, blood trickling from his forehead.
Then an arrow hit him directly in the ribs.
He didn't scream. He only exhaled sharply, pushed the carriage one last time, and fell backward—disappearing over the ridge in silence.
Neria sobbed into Aaron's chest.
He felt helpless—small—useless. The guards were dying one after another while he shook like a leaf.
Outside, the assassins adjusted positions. The archers on the cliff dropped to one knee, bows raised at a new angle.
Lira noticed. Her voice cracked. "DOWN! NOW!"
Aaron pulled Neria flat beneath him.
Arrows slammed through the carriage roof in a brutal cascade. One sliced across Aaron's arm—just a graze, but the sting made him flinch.
The driver screamed as a shadow leapt from the cliff onto the driver's seat.
A masked assassin landed with perfect balance, one knee bent, bow discarded in favor of twin curved daggers. His cloak fanned behind him like wings.
He slashed the reins.
The horses, already wild with terror, bolted.
The attacker turned toward the driver.
The driver swung his whip desperately, cracking it across the assassin's mask.
The assassin didn't react. He plunged one dagger into the man's chest.
The driver gurgled and slumped sideways, half falling off the seat.
"NO!" Aaron shouted.
The horses, now unguided, careened down the path at breakneck speed.
The assassin reached for the door handle.
Aaron's blood turned to ice.
Lira surged upward, grabbing the fallen dagger on the floor. With her injured arm shaking violently, she hurled it through the open lantern frame.
The blade struck the assassin's wrist.
He hissed, recoiling, and lost his grip. The dagger clattered down the cliffside. The sudden shift in weight and momentum sent him sliding off the carriage roof. He tumbled across jagged stone and vanished over the edge.
The horses barreled forward, hooves thunderous, dragging the carriage in a wild, uncontrollable sprint through the forest trail.
More arrows chased them but fell short.
The assassins did not follow on foot—they held the ridge, watching.
Waiting.
"Why aren't they chasing us?" Aaron whispered, panting.
Lira pressed her good hand against her wound, face strain-pale. "Because they accomplished what they came for."
Aaron shook his head. "But we're alive—"
"They wanted us separated." Her voice was faint but filled with dread. "They wanted the guards pinned on the ridge."
As if answering her, a guard's death cry echoed behind them—sharp, abrupt.
Aaron twisted to look through the broken back window.
The escort had formed a desperate wall of shields and steel to block the ridge path. But they were outnumbered. Arrows pierced their armor. Blades flashed in the gaps. Men fell in crimson arcs against the dirt.
One guard saw the retreating carriage and managed a battered smile—relief washing across his face.
Then an arrow struck him through the eye, extinguishing him mid-expression.
Neria sobbed harder.
Aaron's throat tightened. "They're dying because of us…"
Lira pulled both children closer. Sweat beaded on her brow. "They're dying for their oath. Not for you. Oaths are… stronger than fear."
The horses ran blindly, nearly slipping on a patch of wet leaves. The carriage bounced violently. Loose arrows rattled like bones inside a tomb.
Aaron heard more shouts behind them—distant, fading.
But among them, the foreign phrase rang out again:
"Kharan'vel toras!"
Lira winced. Her jaw clenched.
Aaron whispered, "What does it mean? Tell me."
"It means," she said through gritted teeth, "No survivors from the gold line."
Aaron felt the air leave his lungs.
The gold line.
His family.
Neria looked up at them, wide-eyed and trembling. "Are they going to get us?"
"No," Lira whispered into her hair. "No, little star. Not while I breathe."
Her blood dripped onto the carriage floor.
The forest swallowed the ridge behind them. The sounds of battle dimmed beneath the wind rushing through the broken windows.
The carriage hurtled downhill, swerving dangerously with every twist.
Aaron secured Neria against him, holding her tight.
Lira slumped against the wall, fighting to stay conscious. "We must… reach the main grounds… someone will come…"
Aaron wasn't sure she believed her own words.
He wasn't sure he did either.
An arrow lodged in the ceiling finally dislodged and fell between them with a dull clack.
The horses screamed—one last cry—and the carriage plunged into a shadowed ravine path.
Behind them, the ridge burned with the memory of dying men who had stood their ground.
The assassins did not pursue.
They watched.
They waited.
And as the carriage tore deeper into the forest, Aaron felt, for the first time, that this attack was only the beginning.