The rising sun had banished the fog from the streets of Palsgrave. After leaving the governor’s fortress, Pike was able to make his way to the market square, only a short distance from the dockyards. The city had never truly been a great centre of trade, but the number of people that Pike passed, and the numerous sounds and smells, were quickly overwhelming his senses.

Growing increasingly agitated, Pike stalked the market stalls, hoping to find some merchant who would buy Gideon’s ring. Few seemed to want any dealings with the scar-faced swordsman, and none were willing, or even able, to pay Pike’s price in cash. All the while, small gangs of sailors and craftsmen talked amongst themselves, and glowered suspiciously at Pike when they thought he wasn’t looking. None would even trade for the ring, save for one vendor who offered a roll of uncut silk in exchange. Pike had refused, but had been talked into buying a white swan feather, which he stuck in his cap.

Feeling dejected, irritable, and a little stupid for paying five groats for a feather, Pike decided to leave the place and find a room to rent. The clatter of iron-shod hooves on the cobblestones cut through the chatter, and Pike turned to see a trio of horsemen trotting into the square. At their head, Sir Erasmus reined in his own horse as he soon as he spotted the scar-faced bounty hunter. The knight dismounted, and handed the reins of his horse to one of his companions.

Now wearing his finest clothes, a red coat, flowing cloak and tall riding boots, Erasmus had some of his confidence back. With a hand on the hilt of his sword, he strode across the square to where Pike was waiting for him.

“Oh, it’s Sir Muttonchops,” Pike sneered.

“That,” Erasmus said with an icy glare, “is Sir de Mouton, to you.”

“I almost didn’t recognise you without the spittle on your shirt.”

“Indeed. My…” Erasmus seemed to chew on the words as though they were sour, “lack of bearing, this morning, ill fits a knight. I cannot blame you for having displayed such overfamiliarity towards myself.”

Pike scowled. Despite the paladin’s words, his manner was haughty. “Lack of bearing? Odd way of admitting that you’re a sloppy drunk.”

Erasmus bristled, but did not rise to the bait. “Say what you will. But what shames me the most, is that I was the one who led you to Sir Gideon’s presence. My lord was exceedingly generous, despite your barbarous manners. But I cannot be so forgiving.”

“Oh? Did I hurt somebody’s feelings?” It was getting quiet in the square, as the people sensed the growing tension. Pike could feel their eyes on him.

“You have insulted my lord, and all the Palatinate with him. If you wish to remain welcome in this city, you will humble yourself before my lord, and offer an apology.”

Pike chuckled. “And what if I don’t want to?”

Erasmus’ eyes narrowed. “Then I will have to seek satisfaction.”

“How?” Pike spread his arms wide, raising his voice to be heard by the onlooking crowd. “Don’t be shy. Go ahead and say it.”

Erasmus sighed, and resigned himself to his fate. Removing his hat, he tossed it aside. “I challenge you to a duel. You will answer for laying hands on my brothers-in-arms, and for offering insult to my lord!”

Pike threw back his head and howled with laughter. “What a load of shit! I know your game. It’s this you want.” He drew the sword at his side, the bronze edge glinting with a red light. “Why don’t you just admit it? For all your talk, you just want to cut me down and steal this off my corpse.”

Erasmus tried not to look at the blade that was aimed at him. “I know not what you mean.”

“Really? Don’t think I didn’t see how much you’ve been ogling this. You want it bad. It’s yours, isn’t it? Or perhaps, it belonged to your buddy, Hector.”

Erasmus went pale. “How do you know that name?”

“Oh, I heard about what happened. Garth and a handful of bushwhackers slaughtered a pack of you paladins like lambs. You were there, weren’t you? The only survivor. Did you have to beg? Did you cry and grovel for your worthless life? Don’t give me that malarkey about a knight’s honour. You’re all thieves and cowards. Garth just happened to be better at the game than you, or that old fool Hector.”

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“Enough!” roared Erasmus, drawing his own long sword. “As Heaven is my witness, I’ll gouge out your last eye for that. You red handed brigand! You’ll be crawling on all fours like the dog you are!”

Pike grinned. “I’d like to see you try.”

With swords already drawn, Erasmus did not hesitate. He lunged forward. Pike did not have his guard up, and the paladin’s blade should have lanced straight through his heart. Yet Erasmus’ strike was checked by the bronze sword, coming up just in time to turn aside the thrust. Erasmus had not even seen Pike move.

Erasmus stepped back, keeping his distance. His companions had dismounted and now watched anxiously, though none moved to interfere. A deathly silence had fallen on the market square.

Sword raised, Erasmus held his stance and kept his eyes locked with Pike’s. The bounty hunter had no stance, holding the bronze sword low at his side. Even a practiced duellist would never be so arrogant, but Pike only looked down his nose at the paladin.

Erasmus took half a step closer, breathing heavily. His heart was hammering in his chest, but he was no poor swordsman himself. The bronze sword looked to be a heavy weapon, and Erasmus’ own had the advantage in reach. And with only one eye, Pike’s unprotected left side was one great blind spot. Erasmus darted forward with a pretend thrust, to throw Pike off balance, but the Red Cap did not react, and kept his sword at his sword.

“Come on,” said Pike, “fight like you mean it.”

Erasmus feinted with a lunge, twisted his wrist and redirecting the blow to slash at Pike’s neck. But Pike saw through the feint, and blocked the true strike with impossible speed. Erasmus made half a dozen more desperate strikes, hoping to throw Pike off balance. But the bounty hunter’s speed was too great, wielding the heavy broadsword as lightly as a fencer’s foil.

Erasmus staggered back, his sandy hair dripping with sweat. But Pike, smiling like a fox, stalked forward, heedless of the longsword aimed at his face. Erasmus gave ground, trying to keep Pike at the same distance. The crowd parted, and soon Erasmus’ back struck the brick-wall of a nearby warehouse.

With no where left to run, Erasmus struck desperately, only for the blow to be knocked aside. Erasmus, despair boiling over into rage, struck again, and again, forgetting all thoughts of form and defence. But Pike’s sword, little more than a bronze blur, met every strike. With one savage downwards slash, Erasmus brought his sword down, but Pike’s bronze blade bit deep into the paladin’s steel. Erasmus tried to pull his weapon free, but Pike’s free hand shot up, and, grasping the trapped steel, snapped the blade in half.

Erasmus staggered. He made to lash out with the jagged remnants of his weapon, but he was checked but the sword point now hovering before his face. Pike’s cruel grin was gone, replaced by a cold, bitter hatred.

“Take my eye, would you?” Pike snarled. He pulled his arm back, and stabbed Erasmus’ shoulder. The paladin gasped in pain, dropping his broken sword. The paladins who had accompanied Erasmus reached for their weapons, but a glance from the bounty hunter’s icy glare checked them.

“Steal my sword, would you? The sword I won, doing your bloody work. I kill your outlaw. I lose my eye. I get paid with a worthless bauble. And you bastards call me a brigand! Go on, tell me you’re sorry. Beg for mercy, like you did for Garth!”

But Erasmus would do no such thing. With his back against the literal wall, he straightened himself. His breathing was laboured, but his pale green eyes stared defiantly down the length of the blade that hovered in front of his face.

“Brigand…” he hissed through clenched teeth.

Pike gave on flick of his wrists, and Erasmus’ eye burst in a gush of blood, as the terrible sword rake across his face. More blood streamed from the cut that opened from brow to cheek. The knight howled in pain and fell backwards, clutching at the ruined left side of his face. Pike glowered at the wounded man. He turned, and faced the stares of the crowd. All were still, their faces filled with shock, fear, and outrage.

“RASMUS!” the paladin’s companions at last shot forward, to kneel by the fallen knight and staunch his blood. The duel was over, and Pike turned away in disgust. Without another word, the bounty hunter strode past the crowds. None followed him, save for Erasmus’ green eye, glaring at Pike’s back through blood drenched fingers.

Sword still in hand, Pike at last found his way back to the city-gate. As he passed through beneath the great wall and approached the bridge on the further side, a guardsman covered in mud wearily came shuffling up to him.

“Help stranger,” he panted, wiping filth from his eyes. “An invader… forced his way through… sound the alarm.” He glanced up at Pike, and his eyes went wide. Pike, without slowing his stride, grabbed the man by the shoulder, and sent him screaming back into the moat.

With his back to the civilised world, the man with the red cap took to the road, past the farmlands and its timid people. But Pike had no wish to remain near Palsgrave any longer, and passed everyone by. He was returning to the wilds hills, where he could be alone. As always.

On the road, Pike begun to rub irritably at the linen wraps that covered his ruined eye. First it had begun to itch, and then to burn. Pike had to pause, teeth clenched in pain. He tore the bandages away, and blinked in confusion. The eye that had been destroyed at the point of a sword, was blinking. He could see through it. Pike could only continue blinking dumbly at the clouds in the sky, and the hills around him. His wounded eye had recovered, had come back entirely.

What Pike did not see, was that his left eye, that had been grey before being destroyed, was now a pale shade of green.