Mat, covered in sweat, thinking he was breathing so hard the monsters would hear him long before he could sneak up on them, then realized he was making way too much noise as he run through the undergrowth to the place where the arrows must have been released from.

At most he saw about a dozen of shafts in the air, so really did not expect to run into a whole army of Paleskins.

And going off the main road again, running through the forest again was because he was trying to get them from behind and got lucky there.

The first Paleskiner he saw was a whole head smaller than Mat. Mat thought that he was getting to him too slow, but the ash-skin warrior was caught completely off guard and only turned his head around as Mat's arm went over his neck, snapping it in one furious and violent twist.

A Paleskiner who stood a few feet away saw his friend go down and had turned to see why, saw Mat come on his right flank as he was just putting another shaft in the string. Mat realized again how slow he was moving, but still, Paleskiner was young and inexperienced, froze, and had no chance to move his hands and point the arrow at Mat’s chest as Mat bashed his head with a stone he picked from the ground.

Another Paleskinner had a second to scream, reaching for another arrow with his trembling hand as Mat planted that stone right between his sharp teeth.

Most of them were hidden among trees and bushes, so Mat did not even care to count them.

Two other Paleskiners standing to the right, had enough time to see what was happening and shot at Mat, but he used the body of the Paleskin with a stone between his teeth as a shield, arrows hitting him instead. And when it was time to reload, Mat flew through the air and ripped one of the guy’s throat out, sending the blood in the face of his comrade before Mat punched him in the nose and then snapped his neck as he went down.

Then he picked another stone and smashed it against a tall and lean youngster who was just dumbfounded to see the dead come so early for him.

He wanted to say something, but Mat jumped on his torso, knocked him down and started to bash the stone against his head.

The image of the dead farmers flashed in his eyes, and the weariness made his reflexes slower, so he worked on that head for way too long.

Mat pulled himself off the Paleskinner only after realizing that a few more archers became aware of his presence, shafts flying over his head, one landed next to his boot.

So, he picked a knife from the dead Paleskinner, a rude stone weapon, not good for any serious fighting of slicing. But it was better than a rock.

And then the real carnage had just started.

There were a half of dozen more Pakeskins archers there, but it seemed they had either gone through all of their arrows already or had no stomach to face Mat, who by now, was mad on blood and death of his enemy.

He jumped like a giant cat on his victims, burring the knife inside of their soft necks till the blood got so slippery that it was hard to hold on to the knife.

When most of them started to run away in confusion and fear, he realized there was not a single fighting-age man among them.

What am I just killing kids now? the thought ran through his head.

The answer to his complaint came in an almost eight-foot-tall Paleskin who held a sword resembling a giant propeller with a handle on one side. He swung with that thing with both hands, and the nearby tree just fell down.

Mat figured one of the kids he killed must have been his even before the giant screamed something at him and raised that huge piece of rusted metal in his direction as if it was a baseball bat and Mat's head would serve as a ball.

Sighing, Mat realized it was time to see how good those arrows and bows actually worked. He strung one shaft, pointing at Paleskiner's heart, but as the attacker raised his sword up, Mat shot him in the knee, piercing it through.

The beast yelped, and Mat threw himself to his wounded side, going a millimeter below the deadly iron that flew through the air, then landed on his shoulders, riding him like a mad bull., planting the slippery stone knife in the back of his neck, pushing it all the way through, wiggling on it till the monster did not drop the sword and reached to pull Mat off his back, throwing him away as if he was a kitten who jumped on top of his master's head.

Mat hit the ground and flipped over, landing his back against the tree trunk, the impact knocking the air out of him.

He tried to take a deep breath, but his lungs seemed constrained, and he through to set them free, watching as the giant Paleskinner was trying to take the knife out of his neck. Mat let him to it, the blood only gushing faster out once the monster succeeded in digging it out, his life flowing out with it.

Am I killing my allies, Pia? Mat thought with irony. If they could burn down that farm and attack an old man, they could never be my allies. What the fuck happened, Pia?

Is that why I don’t remember? Is it that I do not want to remember?

Not fucken now!!!

He tried to lift the giant's weapon up, but it was so clumsy and heavy that he could hardly get it off the ground, so he just dumped it. But at the giant's belt, there were two shimmering, short swords, more like daggers in his gigantic hands.

Mat took them out. Curved with a silver shine, made for killing, metal stronger than iron, Elvish making. Made them dance in his hands, spinning them around and flipping them over, just as a little kid who finally got his favorite toy.

Taking another deep breath and trying not to think if he broke or bruised one of his ribs, he was feeling ready. So, he run straight through the bushes toward the noise of sword fighting and the screams of dying, not going around anymore, just chopping everything on his way, plants and any Paleksin who decide to hide there.

In seconds he was back on the road, and in one glance summed it all up.

The space closest was covered in bodies, mostly of Paleskins. Further up the road, there was an old man’s wagon.

He could even see the old man, waving his wooden stuff, knocking those that decided not to get out of its way. Only about a few soldiers stood around the wagon, some with their long shields up, defending against dozens of Paleskins, trading blows with them as more Paleskins were advancing to join the onslaught.

Mat ran to join them, cutting them from behind everywhere he went. A head here, a head there. A leg every time he ducked to the ground. An arm when he had no time to move from the sword’s path, checking with one blade against the Paleskin’s striking sword while the other did the cutting.

The stream of blood trailed him everywhere he went.

Soon, Paleskins realized they were being attacked from behind, tried to circle Mat around. But he gave them no chance, fighting the first one that dared to approach him, then moving to attack the one that showed fear and held back.

It was beyond tiresome. Each strike being closer and closer to missing, each Paleskins sword coming deeper and deeper through his clothes and his skin.

His lungs just could not get enough air, and the burning in his arms and legs made him want to drop the swords and just lay down and pretend he was dead.

And just when he thought it was all useless, that he did not have enough strength to move out of the way of the next oncoming swinging sword or check it with his own, a horn sounded, a weird, evil sound, almost unnatural. But to his luck, Paleskins started to flee immediately.

Mat dropped his tired hands down, would have left the tip of the blades run over the ground if only they were that long as he made baby steps toward the wagon.

The old man there did not recognize him, had this attacking stance as he approached him slowly

“Easy, Oldtimer,” Mat told him as he was still fighting for air.

As soon as the old man heard Mat’s voice, he grinned not trying to squint his eyes to see what is beyond all the blood covering Mat's face and clothes.

“Hey, you made it back, Farlander!” he said jovially, his eyes shinning to meet him.

“That I did. Glad to see you still ticking, Mr. Pee,” Mat muttered out while still breathing heavily. “See you fight just fine for a drunken old guy, huh?”

The man let go of a long laugh, joy off beating the enemy and surviving mixed in it. “Beer makes everything better., I always say.”

The cry of a woman from behind the wagon made both Mat and the old man freeze.

“Shit,” the old man cursed. “Princess Zuina is down.”

Mat scurried to the back of the wagon as fast as his legs, legs that did not feel like his legs at all, would take him. There, the red-haired beauty from the dungeon lay with a nasty arrow sticking from her shoulder.

Mat leaned on her, slowly picking her up and turning around. The arrow did not go all the way through.

“I have to take this out,” Mat announced right away. "She is leaking too much. It has to be now."

“I think you are right,” the old man agreed.

“Light up the fire. We’ll need hot blades. Two at least.”

“Yes. And you will need to push that arrow through.”

“You’re right. If I try to take it out the same way it came, it would only make more damage. Give me your blade, and go and light that fire up.”

“I have a torch!” the old man remembered. "It won't be but a minute!" he added as he moved away already, looking for branches and wood to light up.

Mat cut the pretty cloak off the princess’s shoulder, exposing the leather armor underneath, cutting the string that tied it together, freeing it off her, and exposing her milky-white skin, now bloodied by the gushing wound. And it was only going to get worse.

He would push the arrow's head through the back of her shoulder, could feel its tip right there. Then cut it off, light up the wood, make it burn, and then push it through her shoulder back the way it came.

But before he did that, he knew he needed to give her some extra help.

Because he looked at her face, her eyes looking toward the sky, lost somewhere there, he knew what needed to be done. She has lost a lot of blood already, a nasty cut on her calf not helping either.

She was going fast, and he knew it. Maybe a minute. Maybe less.

He laid her softly on the ground and jumped up to take the old man’s clay mug, the ale still in its bottom.

He opened his sleeve up, and made an incision in his arm, letting the blood flow into the mug, squeezing his hand rapidly to make it go faster.

When about half a pint was inside, he leaned the mug against her lips. “Drink, drink it. If you want to live.”

It would have been better to give her the blood later, but he was not sure she was going to awake, so it had to be done now.

“All of it,” he said as she started to twitch, obviously realizing what she was drinking, not approving of it at all. “Just drink it. And I’ll save you.”

Nano-h-cells would flow through her digestive system, get absorbed before they hit the stomach, and start flowing through her blood, healing her wound and killing any infection. If he stops the bleeding, all she needed was time. And she would live. He hoped. How many nano-h-cells did she need? He could not know.

But he knew, watching life slowly leaving her body, how fragile and unfair life can be. Something so beautiful, so delicate, so... inexplicably awesome... could soon be just so dead. And he felt his chest squeezing insides of him, more than any bump against a tree trunk could do.

At that second, he felt if he could not protect this inexplicable piece of life in his arms, then he was no good at all. If he could not help her, keep her alive, then no fighting, nothing was worth it any longer.

Tears were there in his eyes as he thought how all his classes and abilities, all he has done and has become, were all just useless if he failed now.

The old man tapped him on the shoulder with a lighted twig in one of his hands and a red-hot blade in another “It’s time,” he announced.

Mat worked fast and did just as he intended, pushing the arrow through, slicing the tip off, lighting the bloodied edge with the burning twig, but it would not light up till the old man did not jump to the cart and took a bottle of oil out of it, pouring a bit of it out. The flame flared, burning Mat's fingers as well, and he dropped the lighted twig to the ground.

The Princess twisted in an agony of pain and Mat pulled the arrow fast out and she screamed, repeatedly, louder and louder as they pressed both sides of the bleeding wound with hot blades.

Mat then looked over her left calf that was already laying in a small pool of blood.

“I have another hot one,” the old man said and turned around to pick another knife that was being heated in a little campfire he build but a few feet away. "As a wise man once said, you can never have too many of them."

The new blade they pressed against the princess’s calf muscle till again her flash did not start sizzling.

But she did not make a sound, her mind shutting down and taking her to a friendlier place where no pain could be felt.