Her child twisted in her arms, watching at his father advance swiftly across the ramparts. The Betrayer stood still; hesitating between anger and hopelessness. Then, with a cry of hate and despair, he turned upon the huddled shadows at his feet.

In one heavy motion, he swung his blade up for a death stroke. All the ages of the world were compressed into that one beat of her heart. The dread was pressing on her ears, drowning her, the darkness was consuming her.

The sound of her husband's voice raised her gaze. She saw him bearing down on them. He was warmth and life in her sight; the haze dispersed before him as night does before the dawn.

With a shiver, she flung her son and herself closer to the parapet as the sword fell sharply. Missing his mark, her cousin twirled to face her new position, howling with fury. She stared at him in horror; his face was so twisted and convoluted with hate and evil that he resembled the orcs.

He threw up his arm for another strike, and she bowed her head. She could not move away from this blow. The Betrayer's sword began to descend. Her son gasped in fear. She rested her wet cheek on his hair, kissing him gently.

A dull clash of steel. Her husband was beside her, straining to hold the weight of the enemy blade away from his wife and child.