"You're all going to die anyway, so why cling so desperately to life?" Stellan's words dripped with mockery.
Tyler answered with steel, drawing his short sword in one fluid motion.
They rode three abreast now - Carl and Stellan flanking Tyler, who rode between them, a shield against Stellan's fury. Not content merely to protect Carl, he pressed Cherry closer to Stellan's mount, forcing the cloaked rider to give ground. Cherry whinnied encouragement to Carl's chestnut mare, and gradually the mare found her courage again, matching her companion's determined stride.
Tyler, son of Ternence, struck first, his blade a silver arc in the darkness. After barely deflecting two strikes, Stellan realized this swordsman fought with far more aggression than Carl. They exchanged a flurry of blows, Tyler testing, probing, searching for weakness. Though he lacked the raw power of the previous rider, his movements flowed like quicksilver. This will not be easy, Tyler thought.
Stellan veered left, Tyler following close behind, both seeking space to reset their deadly dance. Whoever maintains the attack will claim victory, Tyler knew.
They charged as one, tactics aligned in deadly purpose. The moment range allowed, Stellan unleashed two devastating cuts. The first swept down from high left; Tyler ducked beneath its whistling path. The second reversed course in a horizontal sweep that Tyler evaded by clasping his horse's neck and throwing himself backward. Both strikes missed their mark, but claimed two of Tyler's tri-colored plumes as trophy.
Stellan's twin assault left him briefly exposed. Tyler seized his chance, short sword darting for flesh. But Stellan had no intention of dodging - a simple wrist-flick turned the thrust aside. Tyler recovered, leaning forward for another cut. The instant his arm rose, Stellan's guard was set. He reads my movements, Tyler realized, impressed despite himself at such skill in one so young. But even the keenest eyes can miss what they don't expect. As his downward slash began, Tyler's wrist twisted, transforming the cut into a lightning thrust at Stellan's unprotected face. Victory comes through change.
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"Tyler! The cloak!"
His blade stopped dead against dark green fabric that moved like living shadow, once again denying death's touch. Pain lanced through Tyler's wrist as he withdrew, crimson already staining the brown leather of his gauntlet.
"Oh? Still attached, is it?" Stellan's mocking smile never wavered. Tyler assessed the damage with a warrior's clarity. Another exchange like that and the blood loss will finish me. Without hesitation, he switched his sword to his left hand. Stellan backed his mount slightly, as if granting a moment's reprieve.
"Carl!" Tyler called sharply. "Your sword!"
Tyler's cloak swept aside, revealing his longsword's hilt. The silver monkey pommel caught the moonlight, its clever face seeming to wink at Carl. Steel sang free of its sheath, its surface etched with ancient words:
"I watch over you from above, as you look up at me from below." The Wynlers' family creed.
Stellan glanced between Tyler and the sword in Carl's grip, sighing in exasperation.
"Two against one? Have knights no honor anymore?"
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Pain and exhaustion wracked his entire frame.
Dents marred his left shoulder and chest plate; cuts scored his right arm and left leg. His helmet had been torn away entirely, blood painting crimson trails down his face.
Such was the cost of barely surviving Lannord's onslaught.
Simon's vision swam, every movement sending fresh agony through his battered body. He could no longer dodge the cloaked rider's attacks - only block or endure their crushing force.
"Accept your fate," Lannord's patience had worn thin. "You cannot save them. You cannot save yourself. Death comes for you all - why resist?"
Though the words were foreign, their meaning was clear. Simon raised his trembling sword, voice shaking with it. "I fear not death, nor have I forgotten my oath." He tore off his ruined helmet, freeing blood-matted hair, and spat a crimson stream into the night sky.
"I will guard their backs until my last breath."
"So be it," Lannord replied with grim finality. "Then die as befits a knight."