The last few men holding off the stairs collapsed, one by one, until it was just a single man bravely hanging on, covering a space meant for three men. He ran back and forth with a franticness, fending off men of the Second Boundary. Tavar's men attempted to ignore him, but he would come lunging at them as soon as they did.
He wasn't an overwhelmingly powerful man. What lent him his strength, it seemed to Oliver, was the loyalty he had. He was a Blackthorn soldier – and even he was flustered by the mighty weight that he had to shift by himself. All of that normally stern Blackthorn ferocity was thrown out of the window, replaced by something considerably more desperate, and considerably more urgent.
