I swallow hard and force myself to start walking again. I hurry to Byron’s side and move around him, dropping to my knees as I take in the person lying on the forest floor.
He is a grizzled looking man about middle aged with long white gold hair bound at the nape of his neck in the same manner that Byron’s hair is pulled back. A jagged scar running along the course of his face speaks of an experience in battle. His face is pale and beads of sweat form on his upper lip. His eyes are closed, but by the way that his face is pinched in pain it leads me to believe that he is not currently experiencing the sweet bliss of unconsciousness.
My eyes flick down his form, taking in the glittering armor he is adorned in. A knight. A templar from the carved insignia on his armor. His breastplate is rent, jagged bits of metal sticking up on either side. Byron has his hands stuffed in the crack of the armor, holding what appears to be a spare shirt in place. He turns to me, a droplet of sweat on the tip of his nose, wobbling as he moves his head.
“Willow, will you apply pressure to the wound?”
I swallow hard, pushing to my knees. My hands are shaking slightly as I slide them across the armor, brushing against Byron’s hand as he pulls his out. My eyes widen as I take in how bloody his hands are. I can’t really see the wound past his armor and the shirt held there, but the material is already warm and sticky, and a liquid seeps through to me.
Byron unclasps the canteen at his side and leans over the knight. “Sir?”
The knight opens his eyes, proving that I was right about him not being unconscious, and Byron presses the canteen to his lips. The man takes a greedy gulp releasing a sigh.
“You’re hurt,” Byron says, speaking in a soft tone that I must admit that I’ve never heard the boisterous blacksmith’s grandson ever use. “But it’s okay, we can help you.”
“No,” the man moans, pressing his eyes shut. “I am beyond…” he wheezes, shaking his head. “You need to save her instead.”
Byron ignores him, turning to me. He leans forward, ducking his head till his face is half buried in my hair. His forehead brushes against the tip of my pointed ear. “There’s too much blood,” he whispers in a low tone. “I’m going to have to cauterize the wound.”
I nod, drawing in a shaky breath. “What do you need me to do?”
His mouth twists as he starts to unstrap the buckle of his belt. “Just get out of my way when I say.”
I wrinkle my nose, but don’t say anything due to the fact that he is currently removing his belt. My mouth drops open. Is now really the time todisrobe? I mean, I get that it is hot, but a man’s life is in the balance. Not to mention the scandal…
Byron whips his belt around and leans over the man. “Bite on this, it’s going to hurt a bit.” He tries to place the leather belt between the man’s lips, but the knight shakes his head, tilting away. “It’s too late for me!” he snarls out. As he does so, I feel a liquid spurt against my wrist and hurriedly move my hands to apply pressure there. “You need to save the girl.”
“Girl?” Byron asks, glancing at me as if I might be the girl in question. He looks like he is half considering slinging me over his shoulder and racing off all because of the vague warning of a knight who is very likely delirious with pain. “What girl?”
“The one I was to protect. Men-mena… she’s the daughter of a high fae lord.” He raises his hand, shakily pointing to a crevice barely visible between two large moss-covered rocks. “They took her through there. Please. You must get her back.”
The knight grasps Byron by the front of his shirt and uses that to partially lift himself off the ground so that his face is only inches from Bryon’s. I lose my grip on where I was trying to staunch the blood. “I swore… I swore…” he gasps.
“We’ll save her,” Byron says, reaching up slowly to grip the man’s shoulders. “I promise.”
“Good,” the man gasps out. “I swore an oath to keep her safe.” His eyes lock on something over Byron’s head. I look over my shoulder half expecting to see a hawkhare perched in the trees, but the branches are devoid of any large predatory rabbits. My eyes flick down to see that Marvin has finally caught up. He is standing a short distance away, wringing his hands and looking pale.
I turn back around, just in time to see Byron gently lower the knight to the ground. He bows his head and I open my mouth to ask him why he isn’t cauterizing the wound, but then he slowly raises his hand up and runs his hand down the man’s face, pressing his eyelids shut.
I feel my eyes widen in horror as I struggle to process what I’m looking at.
“May you find peace in the Maker’s embrace, Sir Knight,” Byron mutters quietly, reciting a last rite over the fallen warrior.
Chapter Five
IalmostwishthatByron would start whistling again so that I can at least pretend that nothing is amiss. But then, I suppose that no amount of pretending can actually change what happened.
There is a dead knight.
I draw in a shaky breath, struggling to keep from panicking as I rub my hands down my pants, forgetting that I have fresh blood all over them and staining one of my favorite tunics. Byron drops back on his heels as he stares blankly at me. However, I wonder if he even sees me.
“Guys… what was that?” Marvin squeaks. “What just happened? I was only a few paces behind you!”
Byron shakes his head. “Ifoundhim like this.”
“But whatever happened to him happened recently,” I say as I lean forward. I’m not entirely sure what I’m doing, my mind is buzzing, and my heart is racing and sweat mingles with the smudged blood on my palms. I lean forward, aimlessly plucking the wildflowers that lie in clusters in the tall grass on the edge of the path. I take the flowers and begin laying them around the knight in an arrangement.
“What are we going to do? Should we bury him?” Marvin squeaks.
