The man fell into the mud and Derica scattered like a frightened chicken. She was terrified her attacker was going to rise up and come after her again, so she grabbed the first heavy rock she could find and raced back over to the man wallowing in the muck. She smacked him on the head and stopped his squirming.
With her assailant subdued, she took a look around her; a glance to Garren saw him in serious combat with a man nearly as tall as he was, yet infinitely more slender. Emyl seemed to have the more immediate problem, grunting and groaning as he battled for his life. Derica couldn’t stand by idly; she lifted the rock and made her way over towards Emyl. Careful not to get in the way or take the chance that the enemy would turn on her, she hung back, clutching the rock, until Emyl’s opponent turned his back on her. With a cry, she hurled the rock and hit the man on the nape of the neck. It was enough of a blow to cause him to fall down, whereupon Emyl finished him.
The sight of the blood made Derica nauseous. In spite of her warring family, she’d never seen a man killed before. Emyl went to her, trying to take her someplace safe, away from the fighting, but she would not leave Garren. She and Emyl watched with trepidation as Garren launched a powerful enough blow to dislodge his opponent’s sword completely. When the man triedto retrieve his weapon, Garren shoved the tip of his razor-sharp blade at the man’s neck.
“The game is ended,” he growled. “Leave the sword and I shall be merciful. Attempt to reclaim it and my mercy is at an end.”
The man slowly lifted his hands to show his submission. Garren gazed into deep brown eyes and a handsome face. The man was young, but he had handled the sword well. He took his eyes off of Garren long enough to look at his dead companion in the mud.
“Did you have to kill him?” he whispered.
Garren responded. “What did you expect? You were trying to kill us. It was necessary to defend ourselves.”
The man dropped his hands and made his way over to his companion. His movements were slow with defeat. Emyl and Derica moved to stand with Garren as the three of them observed the man in the rags. He fell to one knee, putting his hand on the wet corpse.
“He was just a lad,” the man muttered. “A child.”
“A child who was trying to kill me,” Emyl didn’t feel guilty in the least. “If you were that worried over his health, you should not have allowed him to attack us.”
“We were protecting ourselves,” the man in rags suddenly boomed. The dark eyes flashed. “’Tis you who invade our home.”
Derica looked at her husband with big eyes. Garren’s expression was neutral, though he could feel her stare. “You live here? On whose authority?”
The man in rags stared at him for a moment. “On my own. No one has lived here in decades; there was no reason why we should not.”
The man that Derica had smashed over the head suddenly groaned and sat up. He shook his head as if waking up froma deep, ugly sleep. Garren heard the noise and glanced over at him.
“Tell him to be still,” he commanded quietly. “Any provocative movement and he shall meet the same fate as your companion.”
The man in the rags eyed his disoriented comrade, but he could see that provocative action would be the last thing to occur. He looked at Garren, more closely than before.
“You are a knight,” he stated.
Garren cocked an eyebrow. “And as such, you will answer my questions or face the consequences. Tell me your name.”
The man in rags sighed deeply, with resignation. His hand came to rest protectively on the head of his dead friend.
“David,” he whispered.
“Who is the dead man?”
“My brother, Guy.”
Garren heard his wife gasp softly, but he didn’t look at her. “And the man over there?”
“My uncle.”
“Does he have a name?”
“Offa.”
“Offa,” Emyl repeated, looking closely at the man covered in mud. “Offa van Vert?”
The round, dirty man grunted. “The same.”
Emyl’s mouth popped open. Then he threw up his hands. “I should run you through, you idiot. Why in God’s name would you attack me?”
Offa blinked his eyes, trying to rid himself of his double vision. “Emyl?”
