“What are you waiting for?” Rastaban asked.
Rhajj drew his sword and led the second wave down the hill.
Khouri signalled the archers for another volley. Rastaban drew his sword and waited. The last of Shanka’s phalanx fell beneath the second wave of men, but Rastaban was unsurprised when she emerged from the slaughter with a severed head in one hand and murder in her eyes.
Her hair was wet with blood and her armor was stained with gore, but she’d never looked more beautiful.
She flung the head aside and lunged at him.
He blocked her strike and laughed.
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