Carlos and his three remaining knights reached the base of the hill far earlier than Eric.
All three knights were injured — one limping heavily, one with a cut on his forehead that hadn't stopped bleeding and Sir Cronin himself cradling his side. Their armor was dented, their breathing ragged.
Carlos didn't wait.
"Up!" he snapped, climbing the steepest part of the slope immediately, using both hands and boots to scramble upward.
Sir Cronin gritted his teeth but followed, helping the others when they stumbled. The hill here was exposed — no cover, no shade, and the wind cut through the rocks like a warning.
Halfway up, a sharp screech echoed through the air.
The knights froze.
The Viewing Orbs zoomed up.
Three large birds circled above them—long wings, lean bodies, talons sharp enough to grip a man. Their feathers were dark and heavy, spreading wide shadows over the stone.
Sir Cronin's face paled.
"Your Highness—shields up!"
