The kneeling outlaw rolled, like an acrobat in a mummer's play, barely escaping Selester's blade, which nonetheless tore his oversized shirt. He stood up with a triumphant cry and brandished his knife even as he drew a sword from his waist with the familiarity of someone long used to weapons. He stood facing Selester with a mocking laugh. "You'd best keep letting others do your stabbing for you, old man." He struck out, aiming for Selester's horse rather than the man himself, a cutting blow to down the beast.
The twang of bowstrings sounded through the wood as hidden archers let fly and two more guards fell from their saddles with arrows in their throats.
The other outlaws were springing into action. One mounted a horse stolen from the dead guards while the third melted into the forest. The other had also drawn a sword- a fine blade that shone in the dim light.
"Your Dead Majesty, best you return to your castle before they kill the rest of your lot," the one wearing the sigil of House Bracken suggested. The mounted sellsword laughed and gestured with his sword to the Kingsguard.
"Meantime, shall we see if you wretches bleed white?"