Gallop. Gallop. Gallop.
The sound of hooves thundered through the barren wilderness. Dust rose in the wake of five riders, each one cloaked in urgency and desperation.
Travis leaned low over his horse, wind lashing at his cloak. Behind them, a black tide closed in—the Skull Rocks Bandits, ruthless and relentless, their steeds stronger, their numbers greater.
"Faster!" Travis shouted.
Tallan, the team's sharp-eyed archer, turned in his saddle. Without hesitation, he drew an arrow, nocked it, and let it fly. The arrow cut through the air like a lightning bolt, slamming into the chest of a masked bandit. The man fell from his horse with a grunt, only to be trampled by the riders behind him.
The bandits hesitated, forced to slow to avoid trampling one of their own. It gave Travis and his team the window they needed.
Ahead, the path split—a forked road, one side winding long through shadowed hills, the other shorter but less concealed.
"We take the right!" Travis called.
