I pushed open the carriage door abruptly, letting the light emanating from the forest filter in and illuminate my face. As I stepped outside, I was greeted by the metallic stench of blood. A bright red pool stretched out to the wheels of the carriage.
Several of the soldiers who had accompanied us lay on the ground, dead, with no signs of life. Their broken bodies were scattered among the grass and mud, their limbs torn apart and their armour shattered as if it were made of paper.
Baltasar, alone, fought against one of the manticores. His every movement was precise and fierce, his spear engulfed in flames as he tried to keep the monster at bay. Further away, the rest of the guards were desperately trying to contain the second beast, barely managing to drive it away from the carriage.
The price had been high: more than five men had already fallen, all leaving behind a trail of blood and pain.
No one noticed my presence. There was no time for that.
