Another had fallen to Gwaynn’s blade before the man who had earlier lost an arm suddenly, piercingly, began to scream and thrash about. The men swimming turned and saw the ongoing battle and rushed from the water completely naked. Bock’s hesitation finally ended and he rushed around the fight heading toward the men emerging from the water, figuring that even with only four throwing knives he could hold off three naked men. He was dimly aware that Krys had downed another while Gwaynn was locked up, battling an Executioner with a bit more skill, at least the man wasn’t quite so quick to die at any rate. Another soldier was retreating from the lethal pair of fighters and spotted Bock, apparently weaponless moving around the main fight. He instantly changed course to intercept. Bock was aware of him and quickly withdrew a knife and threw, though he knew the distance was probably too great, he just hoped it would put off the advancing soldier.
As soon as the knife left his hand he knew it was low and a bit to the left, but the panicked soldier actually dodged into its path and it caught him just below the right hip. He went down, rolled on his back, crying out, eyes only for his wound as Bock moved past him.
The men from the lake, naked as they were, appeared to be no threat at first, but one raced to a boulder near the waters edge and produced a bow. Bock began to run forward, knowing that if an arrow was notched it could spell trouble for his two companions, but more so for himself, for he was the closest and the one moving in the archer’s direction.
Bock prided himself on his ability to throw knives. It was a talent he constantly honed in and around the mill, throwing at various targets from many distances. But practice against targets that neither moved nor attacked back was utterly different from making a throw when your life truly counted on it. He threw at the man fumbling with the bow, because notching an arrow under duress was also not the easiest thing to do. The knife flew low once again, but this time comically so, and lodged itself into the sand barely half way to the intended target. The miss gave the naked man with the bow courage, and he finally managed to set his arrow. Bock threw again, which started high, but as the man stood, preparing his weapon, the knife caught him in the left eye. He fell backwards without a sound. The other pair of naked men stopped in their tracks and looked down at their dead friend; both were horrified at the sight of the blood and gore oozing down the side of his sandy face.
Bock walked toward them. “Hold!" he commanded and the two remaining men stood completely still, all their attention remained on their dead friend. Bock knew he would have to bluff, having only one knife now at his disposal, so he moved confidently forward and bent to retrieve his embarrassingly short first throw when he reached the knife. He immediately felt better for the two, and without pausing he continued on.
“On your knees,” he barked. The two glanced at him then looked over his shoulder, but something there must have deflated them, because they dropped down in the sand together. Bock continued ahead and ripped the bow from the dead man’s grip then picked up a bundle of arrows.
“Move and you die,” he told the pair and turned back to see if he could help his young friends. Gwaynn was still locked up with his able opponent, while everyone else was down, including Krys. At first Bock could not locate the young Weapons Master among the dead and dying. He ran half the distance, then stopped, notched an arrow and guided it along the path of the enemy Executioner. He watched for less than a minute before realizing that Gwaynn was in no real danger, at least considering the fact that he was facing a skilled opponent with two razor sharp swords.
“Navarra?” Gwaynn asked, hardly out of breath. “Where is he?”
The Executioner remained silent, gasping from his exertions, trying desperately to hold off the next blows that rained his direction and only now realizing that he was being toyed with.
Gwaynn stepped back several steps. The man in front of him used the respite to lean over, hands on his knees, to catch his breath. Gwaynn looked quickly around and spotted Lonogan at his back, bow at the ready.
“See to Krys,” he said, nodding to his right.
“I’m fine,” Krys answered back. “Just a bit indisposed.” Nevertheless, Bock moved over to him, passing several dying men as he did so. Krys had taken a kali through the back of his right thigh from a downed man he’d ignored while engaged with another. The blow surprised the young man from Noble who’d cried out but he refused to go down himself. Luckily the man he was fighting moved forward to take advantage of the injury. Had the man remained patient, the injury and lack of mobility could have been Krys’ undoing, but the fool rushed to attack and Krys was able to kill him with relative ease. Krys did not mourn him and with great effort limped back to the man on the ground, and despite his pleading, Krys ended his life with a quick slash from his kali. He then stumbled and dropped to the sand.
“It’s bad,” Krys said softly to Bock as he knelt beside him, “but I believe it missed the artery.”
Bock studied the wound a moment then nodded. There was bleeding, but he also believed it too close to the inner part of the thigh to threaten the femoral artery, which when severed, always meant death.
“Lie still,” Bock answered and turned his attention back to Gwaynn who was still standing a distance from his panting opponent.
“Your name Sir?” Gwaynn asked, starting to circle once more. The man did not answer at first and just circled with the youth.
“Lindsay,” he finally managed. “Sergeant Lindsay.”
“I commend your skill Sergeant,” Gwaynn added, then launched the fiercest attack Bock had ever witnessed. He was shocked to see first one kali, then another fly from the Sergeant’s hands. Gwaynn retreated again, and for a moment just twirled his kali in a menacing way while the Sergeant stared at his empty hands…stunned.
“Where is Tar Navarra?” Gwaynn asked again, this time moving forward and resting his blade on the neck of the man who was now utterly defeated.
The Sergeant shook his head. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “He is behind us, should have caught up by now.”
Gwaynn was silent for a moment considering. “Where were you heading?”
The Sergeant shrugged. “Looking for Afton Sath, but we’ve been doing that for over a year.”
“Will Navarra head for the Plateau?”
Sergeant Lindsay nodded, at least until his head flew from his shoulders, mid nod.
Gwaynn did not bother to watch the man die instead he turned and immediately spotted a naked runner, fleeing back to the north along the shoreline.
“Watch him!” he yelled, pointing to the man still kneeling by the lake. Bock waved, watching Gwaynn run to his horse as if he had not been involved in anything strenuous recently. Bock then set about slaying all those suffering from mortal wounds. In between killings he watched the race unfold. The running man was looking back every so often, moving farther and farther away, but once Gwaynn was on horseback he caught up easily. The naked man died quickly, and by the time Gwaynn rode back to kneel by his friend, Bock had finished his grisly duty.
“I’m sorry,” Gwaynn said to Krys, clearly panicked. “I should not have toyed with the Sergeant.”
Krys shook him off. “He needed to be questioned. It was my own fault for idly passing someone not yet dead.”
Gwaynn looked down at the wound and grew pale. The kali was still imbedded in his thigh.