Four Knights of Nyphron attacked the Pickering brothers. One rushed Hadrian, another launched himself at Theron, and the last took Magnus. Hadrian knew Theron would not last long against a skilled seret. He drew both his short sword and the bastard and slew the first Knight of Nyphron the moment he came within range. Then he stepped in the path of the second. The knight realized too late he was walking into a vise of two attackers as both Hadrian and Theron cut him down.
Magnus held up his hammers as menacingly as he could, but the little dwarf was clearly no match for the knight, and he retreated behind his anvil. As the seret got nearer, he threw one hammer at him, which hit the seret in the chest. It rang off his breastplate, causing no real harm, but it staggered him slightly. Realizing that the dwarf was no threat, the seret turned to face Hadrian, who raced at him.
The seret swung down in an arc at Hadrian’s head. Hadrian caught the blade with the short sword in his left hand, holding the knight’s sword arm up as he drove his bastard sword into the man’s unprotected armpit.
Mauvin and Fanen fought together against the four attackers. The elegant rapiers of the Pickerings flew—catching, blocking, slicing, slamming—every attack turned back, every thrust blocked, every swing answered. Yet the two brothers could only defend. They stood their ground against the onslaught of the armored knights, who struggled to find a weakness. Mauvin finally managed to find a moment to jump to the offense and slipped in a thrust. The tip of his blade stabbed into the throat of the seret, dropping him with a rapid jab, but no sooner had he done so than Fanen cried out.
Hadrian watched as a seret sliced Fanen across his sword arm, the blade continuing down to his hand. The younger Pickering’s sword fell from his fingers. Defenseless, Fanen desperately stepped backward, retreating from his two opponents. He tripped on the wreckage and fell. They rushed him, going for the kill.
Hadrian was too many steps away.
Mauvin ignored his own defense to save his brother. He thrust out. In one move, he blocked both attacks on Fanen—but at a cost. Hadrian saw the seret standing before Mauvin thrust. The blade penetrated Mauvin’s side. Instantly the elder Pickering buckled. He fell to his knees with his eyes still on his brother. He could only watch helplessly as the next blow came down. Two swords entered Fanen’s body. Blood coated the blades.
Mauvin screamed, even as his own assailant began his killing blow, a cross slice aimed at Mauvin’s neck. Mauvin, on his knees, ignored the stroke, much to the delight of the seret. What the knight did not see was Mauvin did not need to defend. Mauvin was done defending. He thrust his sword upward, slicing through the attacker’s rib cage. He twisted the blade as he pulled it out, ripping apart the man’s organs.
The two who had killed his brother turned on Mauvin. The elder Pickering raised his sword again but his side was slick with blood, his arm weak, eyes glassy. Tears streamed down his cheeks. He was no longer focusing. His stroke went wide. The closest knight knocked Mauvin’s sword away and the two remaining seret stepped forward and raised their swords, but that was as far as they got. Hadrian had crossed the distance and Mauvin’s would-be killers’ heads came loose, their bodies dropping into the ash.
“Magnus, get Tomas up here fast,” Hadrian shouted. “Tell him to bring the bandages.”
“He’s dead,” Theron said as he bent over Fanen.
“I know he is!” Hadrian snapped. “And Mauvin will be too if we don’t help him.”
He ripped open Mauvin’s tunic and pressed his hand to his side as the blood bubbled up between his fingers. Mauvin lay panting, sweating. His eyes rolled up in his head, revealing their whites.
“Damn you, Mauvin!” Hadrian shouted at him. “Get me a cloth. Theron, get me anything.”
Theron grabbed one of the seret who had killed Fanen and tore off his sleeve.
“Get more!” Hadrian shouted. He wiped Mauvin’s side, finding a small hole spewing bright red blood. At least it was not the dark blood, which usually meant death. He took the cloth and pressed it against the wound.
“Help me sit him up,” Hadrian said as Theron returned with another strip of cloth. Mauvin was a limp rag now. His head slumped to one side.
Tomas came running up, his arms filled with long strips of cloth that Lena had given him. They lifted Mauvin, and Tomas tightly wrapped the bandages around his torso. The blood soaked through the cloth, but the rate of bleeding had slowed.
“Keep his head up,” Hadrian ordered, and Tomas cradled him.
Hadrian looked over at where Fanen lay. He was on his back in the dirt, a dark pool of blood still growing around his body. Hadrian gripped his swords with blood-soaked hands and stood up.
“Where’s Guy?” he shouted through clenched teeth.
“He’s gone,” Magnus answered. “During the fight, he grabbed a horse and ran.”
Hadrian stared back down at Fanen and then at Mauvin. He took a breath and it shuddered in his chest.
Tomas bowed his head and said the Prayer of the Departed:
“Unto Maribor, I beseech thee
Into the hands of god, I send thee
Grant him peace, I beg thee
Give him rest, I ask thee
May the god of men watch over your journey.”
When he was done, he looked up at the stars and in a soft voice said, “It’s dark.”
CHAPTER 13
ARTISTIC VISION