A well executed ambush should always start and end the same way: fast. The volley of violent magic flattening half the unit, the shrill scream of a horse, collapsing onto its knees and dragging the carriage at an angle. The human cries of pain as a knife finds a soft place, and then silence when an arrow disappears through the narrow gap of a helm.

It is a three second nightmare and it doesn't take any longer than that for the leather-armored agent to recalculate his chances.

"Wait!" he barks, hands empty and flung into the air. The Templar laying at Tiffany's feet groans and lets his sword slip from his gauntleted hand. Still posted at the carriage, half-ducked as if fighting the impulse to dive for cover, the agent shouts again, "Drop your weapons."

But it is not to his enemies this order is directed, and a Templar still standing, winding back to return Derrica's last blow in kind, lowers her sword down.