"Damn it." Count Lavier quickly tore off the scarf from his neck to cover his face and discarded his noble fox fur coat, "The transport team, move first!"
The Falan smugglers, indifferent to the corpse of the cloaked man on the river, jumped into the cold water and began to push the boats, while the sound of the attack grew closer behind the clustered reeds.
The pack horses snorted heavily among the reeds, whinnying in discontent as their masters whipped them furiously, yet still turning around amidst the chaos.
Crouched behind riverbank rocks and trees, the troops of vagrant mercenaries drew short swords, round shields, or crossbows from their waists or from the horses' backs.
The thuds of crossbows and bowstrings tore through the night, scattering fibers like strands of gold as the barbed arrows pierced the reed stalks.
Yet amidst the reeds, only a series of jingling sounds could be heard, with the scattered golden strands swirling in the air.
