There was a rustle from the trees at the near side of the stream and the archer stumbled into view. He was about twenty yards downstream and was soaking wet. He looked upstream and called out, “Your Highness!” He walked as quickly as he could along the stream bank, limping heavily. “Oh, thank you!”

      The prince cocked his head to listen. There was a noise in the woods. His eyes searched the far side of the stream for a few moments but saw nothing. The birds had stopped chirping. He moved toward the archer and quickly put an arm around his left shoulder.

      “Thank you for coming back, my Lord! I stumbled in the water and turned my ankle. I lost all my arrows, too. I was able to grab three of them, but when I looked up everyone had gone. I tried to follow but I could not find the path.” 
 “All is right, now. The path is not far. Let me help you.” With the prince supporting the archer's weight the two hobbled back onto the path and into the woods. The archer winced in pain but said nothing.

      The noise in the distance grew louder now. It was a wild blend of many voices yelling and growling and barking. There was also the muffled clanking of armor and sword, savage pursuers crashing through the undergrowth. The archer glanced back behind him along the path and tried to hobble quicker. His bow swung wildly in his right hand.

      “I am sorry, my Lord, that you had to come back for me.”

      “I am sorry we left you behind.”

      The archer smiled. “But you did not, my Lord!”

      The two found a pace as they skirted the rocks and tree trunks. Behind them came the sound of many feet splashing through the stream. The wild, growling yells were closer now and the two tried to mover quicker. When the first sounds of the pursuers were heard in the trees on the near side of the stream, the prince bent down and swept up the archer's legs. Then he began to run.

      If running in a suit of armor was awkward, then doing so while carrying an injured man was far more awkward. The archer's body pressed against the armor muffled some of the noise, but the archer's legs tearing through the underbrush created even more. The archer fought to keep the lower branches and vines from entangling his bow and hitting the prince's face. The archer looked back along the path toward the noise of the pursuers. One particularly hideous yell sent a shiver up his spine. He looked at his master. The prince's face was red from strain. Sweat was running down from under the polished helmet and his eyes were fixed with concentration on the path ahead.

      They came to the steep part of the path. The prince charged up the muddy slope, but any momentum he had was spent with the first three or four steps. He turned his feet outward to gain traction, but despite this effort, his right foot slipped and the prince went down hard on one knee. The noise behind them continued to grow.

      “I am sorry, my Lord,” said the archer, his throat tightening. “Please put me down. I can walk.”

      “No,” whispered the prince. He regained his footing and plodded ahead. “We are almost there.”

      They reached the top and soon emerged from the trees onto the rocky clearing. The king and all of the knights and pike men were across the bridge. They watched intently from the other side of the chasm as the prince set the archer down gently at the foot of the bridge. In addition to the growling yells they could now hear the stampede of feet on the forest path and the brush of leaves over many shields and helmets.

      “We can only cross one at a time,” the prince said through heaving breaths. “Go now, quickly.”

      “No, my Lord! You must go first.”

      “I will go after you.” The prince gestured with his head. “Now hurry.”

      “But you are the Prince!”

      “Yes. And it is my station to risk myself, if need be, for my people!” He pointed to the far side of the chasm. “Now go!”

      The archer started across. He hobbled quickly, using the heavy ropes that formed the sides of the bridge for support, but it was not the pace of a running man. His bow in his right hand threatened to become entangled in the frayed strands. Below him he could hear the rush of water and he caught a glimpse of rapids and rocky pools. Ahead the other men began calling out to him.

      “Do not look down!” said one knight. “Keep your eyes ahead!”

      “Come on, Archer! Move!” said another.

      The archer hobbled quicker. His swollen ankle was screaming with agony as the foot flopped around at the end of his leg, occasionally striking the deck boards or the rigging. His bow got tangled in some loose strands of rope and this brought him to a stop.

      “Just drop the bow and come on!” shouted a knight.

      But the archer struggled with the strands and quickly freed the bow. He was about to start forward again when the noise of the pursuers burst triumphantly from the forest. The archer turned to see the prince still standing at the foot of the bridge, patiently watching his progress. To his horror he could also see, behind the prince, thirty or forty hideous man-like creatures swarm out of the woods. They were dressed in black rags with corroded breastplates and helmets and they carried outlandish weapons. Their faces were gray and their lips were curled into leering grins that exposed sharp, crooked teeth. The creature's mouths opened and shut as they howled with glee. With twisted, claw-like hands gripping rusted swords or greasy lances they began to surround the prince. They moved toward him tentatively at first, then, as they realized that he would not fight, with crass boldness. They began to poke at him with the jagged tips of their lances. They stuck their tongues out at him and mocked him defiantly.

      The prince shifted his eyes to his father and gave a subtle nod. A lance poked his cheek and he turned his attention to his antagonist, but he did not draw his sword.

      The archer screamed in horror and rage. “No!” He brought his bow to the ready and reached back for one of his arrows.