The big man's roar, like the bellow of a raging bear, shattered the messenger's last shred of resolve. His knees buckled, and he was about to collapse.
Roslyn caught him.
Before he could answer, the big man on the battlements had already grasped the whole situation.
He said no more. He simply drew back the longbow in his hands, and the bowstring twanged.
An arrow ripped through the night with a piercing whistle, heading straight for the messenger's head. Roslyn remembered Lord Suleiman's words: the messenger was still useful to him. He hurriedly raised his own arm to block it, but the arrow pierced his right arm.
Roslyn grunted. The pain jolted him to his senses. He didn't look at his arm, but roared with all his strength, "Shields up!!! Fall back!!!!"
In an instant, arrows rained down from the cliff face. They kept flying in from ahead, filling the air with the sharp hiss of their passage.
The soldiers carrying shields reacted swiftly, stepping forward to form a tight shield wall and protecting their unshielded comrades in the middle. They covered their heads and fronts with their shields, braving the arrow storm and rocks tumbling down from above as they struggled to retreat along the narrow mountain path.
The clanging of impacts rang out without pause. Deflected arrows flew in every direction. Even so, several soldiers were struck in their unprotected ankles and cried out in pain. Their comrades dragged them along as they retreated step by step to safety.
Roslyn retreated, covered in blood and dust. His face was ashen, and his right arm was wrapped haphazardly in strips of cloth. Dark red blood had soaked through three layers.
He spoke to Suleiman, his voice thick with suppressed anger and frustration. **"Lord Suleiman!! That path is too narrow!!!