It happened in an instant.
The troops in the distance saw only that the young nobleman had ridden away from them, then suddenly been flung from his horse and riddled with arrows.
Everyone's mind went blank. Chaos reigned.
A young knight shouted furiously, his voice breaking with shock. "What happened?!"
Old Sir Adam's roar cracked like thunder. His gaze swept over Jarell Legg, lying in the mud. There was no hope he could survive after being shot so many times. "Save the young lord!"
Jarell Legg was the lord's only son and heir. With him dead before their eyes, the only thing they could do was take his body back and hope to lessen their punishment.
Seeing that everyone was still reeling, Sir Adam drew his longsword and pointed its tip ahead. "Enemy attack!"
"It's the enemy!"
At last, his voice roused the knights and soldiers who had been stunned into paralysis.
Adam roared again, his voice hoarse. "Save the young lord! Quickly!"
Five heavy knights shook off their shock, fury blazing in their eyes. The noble heir had been killed right in front of them; they couldn't escape the blame.
The knights shouted repeatedly at the squires behind them.
"Helmets!"
"Lances!"
The squires were so frightened by the knights' fury that their hands and feet went weak as they hurriedly passed over the heavy equipment.
The knights had drilled countless times, and their movements were practiced and swift. They donned their helmets and lowered their visors, the cold steel hiding their furious faces.
The warhorses stamped their hooves restlessly and snorted hot breath, waiting for their masters' signal to charge. Five heavy knights, five moving towers of steel, gleamed in the morning light, their full suits of plate armor flashing coldly.
Sir Adam's voice drowned out all the noise.