Shouts from up ahead spread through the woods, reaching everyone in the group.
The party of more than twenty—soldiers, city guards, and two knights' squires—stretched loosely through the trees, with over thirty paces between the front and rear. Slanting branches and undergrowth formed layers of barriers that filtered information; only the nearest squire had seen what happened.
The city guards at the rear hadn't even heard the metallic scrape. The word "Ambush!" bounced around in their long-peaceful minds before they realized that something impossible had happened. Yet in the dense woods, they had no idea where the attackers had come from.
The warning had failed to achieve its purpose. Instead, amid the breakdown in command, it caused even more confusion. Most of the men, who had never seen combat despite their training, hurriedly drew their weapons, then stood at a loss.
They had never imagined they would face any resistance within Westminster. There shouldn't have been any armed force willing to openly defy the ruling power.
Every direction was filled with deep, shadowy woodland. The crooked silhouettes of fungus-covered trees seemed to shift in the background, while weeds and wild vines underfoot tripped those rushing to regroup with their companions. One man fell, and those around him, already as skittish as startled birds, scattered in panic. Their shapeless formation grew even more chaotic.
Diego couldn't see any of this. Instinctively, he scanned his surroundings, searching for the source of the arrows.
The second attack came. An arrow flew past the squire hurrying toward him to offer cover, struck a ridge on his pauldron, and snapped. The broken shaft smacked against his helmet, making his ears ring.
After his brief shock, a surge of unbearable rage filled him. He was furious at the attackers' audacity, at their using a sneak attack