The huntsman's vision swam with red haze as pain pulsed through his body in ragged waves. His knife felt heavy, slick with blood. Around him, assassins moved like wolves circling a wounded stag, blades gleaming with dawn's cold light filtering through the shattered cabin door.
Crowshade stood back, watching with dark satisfaction in his eyes as his men closed in for the kill.
The huntsman roared, forcing himself upright despite the stabbing agony in his ribs. He lunged at the nearest assassin, his knife punching into the man's stomach up to the hilt. Blood sprayed across the floorboards, hot and dark. Before the dying man fell, the huntsman ripped his blade free and pivoted, slashing another attacker across the face. The man screamed, clutching at ruined eyes, stumbling back into the hearth where flames licked his cloak, igniting it with sudden orange fury.
Another assassin thrust forward with a spear. The huntsman caught the shaft under his arm and yanked hard, pulling the man off balance. He slammed his knee into the assassin's face, shattering his nose with a wet crunch, then wrenched the spear away and stabbed it through his throat. Blood gurgled from the wound as the man collapsed, limbs twitching.
For a heartbeat, the huntsman stood alone in the centre of the ruined cabin, chest heaving, blood dripping from his wounds onto the floor like dark rain. Beyond the door, the pale dawn spread across the forest clearing, illuminating the snow-streaked trees with ghostly silver light.
"Lira," he gasped, turning toward where his wife knelt with the children in the far corner.
Her eyes were wide with terror, her arms wrapped protectively around Sila while Aryn clutched her waist, sobbing softly. Her lips moved in silent prayer, tears streaking down her pale cheeks.
Another assassin lunged from his blind side. The huntsman pivoted to meet him, knife raised, but pain exploded in his chest as Crowshade's curved blade plunged deep under his arm, slicing between ribs to pierce his lung.
His breath caught with a wet, rattling gasp. Blood bubbled from his lips. He staggered, dropping his knife, clutching at the wound as agony roared through him like wildfire.
Crowshade ripped the blade free and stepped back, eyes gleaming with cruel satisfaction. "Enough," he rasped. "End it."
Two assassins seized the huntsman by his shoulders, forcing him to his knees. His vision blurred, darkness creeping at the edges. He could hear Sila's sobbing wail, high and broken. Aryn's whimpers. Lira's trembling voice whispering prayers.
"Please…" he gasped, his voice barely audible over the hammering in his ears. "Leave them… they're just children…"
Crowshade tilted his head slightly, regarding him with cold amusement. "Orders are orders."
He turned and gestured sharply to one of his men. The assassin strode forward, unsheathing a heavy beheading sword with a slow, deliberate hiss of steel. The huntsman's heart froze in his chest as he realised the man was not walking toward him, but toward Lira.
"No…" he croaked, struggling weakly against the grip of the men holding him down. "No! Leave her! Leave them alone!"
The assassin grabbed Lira by the hair, dragging her forward. She screamed, clutching Sila and Aryn, but the man tore her from their grip, forcing her to her knees on the blood-slicked floor.
"Please!" the huntsman roared, his voice breaking into a ragged sob. "I beg you! Take me! TAKE ME INSTEAD!"
But Crowshade only watched, impassive.
The beheading sword rose. Lira's tear-filled eyes met the huntsman's across the cabin, full of love, sorrow, and a silent apology.
Then the blade fell.
It chopped clean through flesh and bone with a dull, heavy thud. Blood sprayed across the straw and broken furniture. Her body collapsed forward, head rolling away across the floor, hair fanned out like a chestnut veil.
A scream tore from the huntsman's throat, ragged and inhuman. His vision pulsed with black and red. The assassins holding him tightened their grip as he thrashed violently, blood bubbling from his lips with each ragged breath.
"Mama!" Aryn screamed, his voice high and cracking. "Mama!"
He tried to run to her, but another assassin caught him by the collar, yanking him back. The boy struggled, clawing at the man's gauntlets, tears streaming down his small face.
"Papa! Help me!" he screamed.
The huntsman strained against his captors with all his fading strength, muscles screaming, wounds tearing wider. "Let him go!" he roared. "PLEASE, GODS, LET HIM GO!"
The assassin drew his knife and without hesitation, slit the boy's throat.
Aryn's scream cut off with a wet gasp. Blood gushed down his chest, staining his simple linen tunic crimson. His small hands grasped at his neck, eyes wide with shock and terror, mouth opening and closing soundlessly like a dying fish.
He collapsed to the floor beside his mother's body, blood pooling around him, mingling with hers. His eyes flickered once toward his father before glazing over, dimming forever.
The huntsman fell silent. A numb, dead cold spread through his chest, killing the agony. His head slumped forward, breath coming in shallow, rattling gasps. Tears mingled with the blood on his cheeks as he stared at their lifeless bodies.
He felt Sila's small, trembling sob behind him. She had crawled into the corner, clutching her stuffed hare against her chest, her blue eyes wide and empty with shock. Silent tears streamed down her cheeks, dripping onto the rabbit's worn grey fur.
"Please… gods… no more…" he whispered, his voice broken and hollow.
Crowshade stepped forward, crouching before him. The assassin's dark eyes studied his battered face with cold curiosity.
"One remains," he said softly.
The huntsman's eyes widened in horror. "No… please… she's just a baby… PLEASE…"
But Crowshade only tilted his head. "Orders are orders."
He gestured to the beheading swordsman. The man stepped forward, raising his blade toward Sila.
"NO!" the huntsman roared, fighting to stand. Pain lanced through his chest as blood poured from his wounds, his vision fading in and out. "TAKE ME! TAKE ME INSTEAD!"
But the assassins held him fast, forcing him to watch as the swordsman approached his daughter.
Sila whimpered, pressing deeper into the corner, clutching her stuffed hare so tightly her small knuckles blanched. Tears streamed down her face. "Papa…" she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Papa, help me…"
The swordsman raised his blade.
The huntsman's scream split the dawn like thunder.
Then pain exploded in his skull as the assassin holding his left arm slammed a pommel into the side of his head. White-hot light flared behind his eyes. The world tilted sideways, then went black as he fell into darkness.
The last thing he heard was Sila's small, broken sob echoing through the shattered cabin.