The ambush was a brutal, one-sided affair. Elias's plan worked flawlessly. The enchanted armor, so formidable in a one-on-one fight, was useless against the shower of rocks and rusty blades that rained down from the cliffs. The knights were confused, unable to use their magic effectively in the cramped choke point. Elias's tactics had worked. The sound of shattered stone and splintered wood filled the air as the rebels, for the first time, fought with a sense of purpose. They were no longer fighting for honor; they were fighting to survive, and they were winning.
The leader of the patrol, the knight with the glowing hand, was shocked. He had expected an honorable duel, not a guerrilla war. He turned his attention to Elias, a man with no armor, no magical abilities, and a mind that was a weapon unto itself. "Who taught you this dark art?" he demanded, enraged. The knight's magic pulsed, a sickly green light that made Elias's skin crawl. The man was a master of his craft, but he was a man of the old world, a world of rules and honor. Elias was not.
Elias simply smiled. "It's not magic. It's science." He unsealed the canister he'd shown Ser Kael and poured a small pile of the fine, black powder into his hand. The knight recoiled, sensing a power that was raw, chaotic, and completely alien to him. "This is not of your world, outlander."
Elias nodded. "No. It's from mine." The canister contained enough gunpowder for a hundred more shots, but they needed a source. "We can win this war," he told the now-reverent Ser Kael. "But we need a foundry, a workshop, and a man who can turn this from a curiosity into a revolution." Kael, who had seen the power of the "devil's powder" firsthand, nodded in agreement. He had seen the future, and it was loud, dirty, and terrifyingly effective. He was a knight without a horse, a man without a kingdom, but he was a man with a purpose. He would help Elias build this new world, one where the common man could stand against the g
ods.