Silver horns were blaring; captains and lords were yelling at the tops of their lungs. The last of the regent’s men mobbed around the gates in Dun Deverry’s wall, yelling and screaming as they tried to push through to safety.
“Speed, men!” the prince cried out. “If we rush them, we can take those gates!”
The prince turned his horse so hard that his guards rode right past him. Swearing, they swung out in an arc to turn and ride back. The dust of the retreat hung like smoke, but Branoic could see the prince charging straight for the gates.
“My liege!” Branoic screamed. “Wait! Stop!”
But the prince rode on, unmindful that he was alone.…
