"How... what the fucking hell is holding that ice together?" Erik whispered, his eyes wide.
The flawless trap had completely failed. The 5,000 screaming rebel warriors were sprinting across the exact center of the frozen lake, their boots slamming against the fresh ice.
But instead of shattering and swallowing them into the freezing depths, the ice held firm.
"Erik!" Halig roared, grabbing his mace with both hands. "They are crossing! They are already at the bottom of the hill!"
"Musketeers! Halt the retreat! Form the line! Prepare for volley fire!"
"Form up! Damnit, stand your ground!" Erik shouted, drawing his mace and waving it wildly in the air.
But it was too late. A massive shower of steel-tipped arrows rained down from the sky, whistling over the heads of the charging rebels.
Several musketeers screamed as the black arrows pierced their wool coats, dropping them into the bloody snow.
