“That doesn’t look good,” Khouri remarked. A single phalanx of Shanka’s women broke through Rastaban’s ranks and were forging their way slowly up the hill.
“It doesn’t look too bad either,” Rastaban said, and signaled for the archers to fire.
By the time the women made it up the hill, they’d lost over half their numbers to archers, but Shanka was leading the charge, blood-smeared sword flashing in the moonlight.
Rastaban squinted. Her shoulder was bleeding, and it looked as though she’d been struck by an arrow, but she seemed unfazed by the pain.
She headed right for him.
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