Entire caravan had plunged into chaos and blood.
But situation was much better than Don Quixote had feared.
Tom held off two raiders on left alone.
Shane and Warren blocked three raiders attacking from rear.
All three held their ground better than expected, even carving out a tactical advantage.
Caravan's five guards reacted at varying speeds, banding together to fend off four raiders hitting front.
Except those four front raiders were likely ringleaders.
Far from pushovers attacking from left, right, and rear.
Pitted four raiders against five caravan guards.
One guard had already taken a spear through gut.
Remaining four were barely holding on.
Looked like another guard—or more—could drop dead any second.
Scanning area, Don Quixote reacted instantly.
Spurred his horse toward front of caravan.
His warhorse trampled through bloody mud.
Don Quixote charged straight at fiercest raider.
Raider was massive, with wild hair and a tangled beard.
Roaring, he raised a bloodstained spear, aiming for an opening in guard captain's defense.
Thunderous, head-on charge made raider's face drop, forcing him to abandon his attack.
He twisted frantically, raising his thick iron spear to thrust at Don Quixote.
Spear's tip, caked with gore and shredded flesh, thrust straight into momentum of galloping horse.
Don Quixote didn't dare get careless. Gripping his longsword tight, he slashed down, knocking incoming iron spear aside.
"Bastard, go help others!"
Don Quixote roared at guard captain, who had frozen in a daze, while swinging his sword to parry another spear thrust.
This raider had unnatural brute strength. Every thrust carried enough savage force to shatter bone and rip flesh.
But Don Quixote's strength was beyond ordinary imagination too.
Refined steel blade smashed against crude iron spear shaft.
Raider felt brutal force surge down shaft straight into his grip, nearly knocking weapon from his hands.
Snapped out of it by Don Quixote's roar, guard captain flinched, his face instantly flushing with shame.
Not daring to lose focus again, he spurred his horse to help his men hold off vicious raiders.
Clang!
Ting!
Clang! Clang!
Smash! Smash! Clang!
Clang!
Don Quixote's eighth ferocious counterattack finally broke raider. Shockwave threw man's entire upper body backward.
Raider's center of gravity completely collapsed, and his hands failed to maintain their grip on shaft.
Thick iron spear slipped and hit muddy ground.
Panicking, raider desperately reached back to draw a heavy, polished handaxe from his belt.
But Don Quixote gave him no chance.
Sword blade burst out back of his neck.
Agony ripped a tortured, inhuman howl from raider's throat before he dropped to bloody mud like a torn sack.
Handaxe he had just gripped flew from his hand.
Don Quixote reined in his warhorse, scanning area again.
In blink of an eye, tide of battle had completely turned.
Tom finished off his two raiders and rushed front, helping guards assault last two standing.
Shane and Warren had put down one raider themselves.
Remaining two raiders were forced into a steady retreat.
Moments later.
Slaughter ended completely.
Dozen corpses lay sprawled around wagon circle—mostly raiders, plus one caravan guard.
Caravan hands finally dared to poke their heads out, frantically rushing to patch up wounded guards.
————
Rodney didn't abandon dead guard's remains.
After men tracked down dead guard's panicked, runaway horse.
A caravan hand rode his own mount while leading horse strapped with dead guard's corpse.
Rodney stared at corpse bouncing on horseback, his voice heavy:
"Once in White Harbor, I'll build him a grave myself. Bury him with Old Gods rites.
"His wife and child, I'll send grain and Silver Stags every year until boy can swing a hoe and hold up his house."
He paused, then added:
"May Old Gods take his soul, return him to earth and timber.
"May he freeze no more, bleed no more, fear no more.
"May he find rest."
Blood splattered across his plate armor, Don Quixote spoke softly:
"May Old Gods take his soul. Rest in peace."
Rodney looked back at Don Quixote, full of gratitude:
"Ser Don Quixote, if not for Bloody Hand, this entire caravan would've suffered unimaginable slaughter.
"I'll carve this debt into my heart. I will reward you properly in White Harbor."
Don Quixote shook his head and smiled:
"Lord Rodney, we have a contract.
"Keeping your caravan safe is Bloody Hand's sworn duty!
"Bringing up rewards disrespects contract!"
Rodney thought it over, then said seriously:
"Then once we hit White Harbor, let me buy knights of Bloody Hand a round of drinks!
"As a friend!"
"That, I can agree to." Don Quixote smiled.
————
Before long, entire caravan regrouped.
Wounded guards were laid out in wagons, tended by two hands.
Horse carrying dead man walked in center of line.
Rest gripped their weapons, staring sharply into gray wilderness.
Relaxed chatter from earlier was dead.
Only sounds left were wheels grinding mud, hooves trampling grass, and heavy breathing of wounded.
Road ahead wasn't peaceful either.
Caravan endured three more raids.
Second wave was five robber knights.
Before they even reached caravan, Bloody Hand intercepted them, and Don Quixote quickly put them in dirt.
Last two waves were just common raiders.
Small numbers too.
Five in one, seven in other.
Blocked outside caravan same as before, and slaughtered just as fast by Don Quixote.
After all that, caravan stopped whispering and sneering about Bloody Hand.
Especially toward Don Quixote—caravan hands grew rigid and deeply respectful.
————
Caravan reached White Harbor in fading twilight.
Sea breeze whipped past, thick with stench of salt and blood.
Harbor glowed with endless lights from moored war galleys and heavy cogs.
Waves hammered sea wall with a deep roar.
Massive pale stone walls snaked along coast. Giant merman banners of House Manderly flew from every battlements and tower.
In distance, massive statues of Seven watched over entire port.
Seal Gate swarmed with wagons, sailors, sellswords, and merchants.
Roar of crowd mixed with crashing waves, a total contrast to dead silence of Barrowlands.
White Harbor guards inspected caravan's cargo.
Eyes dragged over bloodstained armor and weapons of Don Quixote's crew.
Interrogated them a bit longer before waving them through.
Wagons ground over cobblestones, winding through streets and alleys.
Finally rolled to a stop outside a stone warehouse.
Warehouse grooms spotted Rodney and rushed forward bowing, barking orders for hands to unload cargo, stable horses, and tend wounded.