Conradin pressed his hand against his shoulder, feeling the sticky warmth seeping through his fingers. When he pulled it away, his palm was coated in blood. The cut was shallow, but it bled heavily, worse than it should have, especially for someone who hadn't trained his body much beyond idle sword drills.
He cast a hateful glare toward the trees where the woman had vanished, fighting the urge to order his men to give chase. But he couldn't abandon the carriage. His orders were clear. He had to deliver it to Prince Emerik…his future depended on that.
"I will find you" - he muttered under his breath, yanking the dagger from where it had buried itself deep into the wood of the caravan. He studied it for a moment, noting the craftsmanship, before slipping it into his pocket.
Then he turned sharply to the three women lying collapsed on the ground. "Wake them up," he ordered, his voice cutting through the night. "And where is the Lenimen powder? I need to treat this damn wound."
