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arms.
    Chancery himself had been lying on the ground and luckily not initially seen. Now two knights had almost broken through the detail protecting him and as De Odes arrived at the scene, having reclaimed his sword from where it sat next to him on the log, he dismembered one of the attackers even though his arm streamed blood from the arrow. The hopeless knight lay on the ground writhing, missing the bottom half of his leg from an almighty blow.
    St Clar had his work cut out. Perceel was in full flight and he was good. Luckily St Clar managed to jab Perceel directly in the face with the log he had which was a good foot or so longer than Perceel’s sword. His nose broken, streaming blood and eyes watering Perceel had no option than to step back and wipe himself, just enough time for St Clar to bark one more order and grab his sword.
    “Flee my friend, take the detail and go now.”
    The detail around Chancery was just five knights but with just one direct attacker now that individual turned and took flight, only to be cut down immediately by another knight coming to the aide of the detail.
    “We must go…now!” yelled De Odes and turned and whisked a frightened baron and a few knights of the detail into the forest. They knew where there was a boat and they would head for that.
    Now for the first time able to take stock of the situation St Clar could not believe his eyes. Some of the women had run away; most of his knights and their aides were dead. The attackers were now failing and down to just four men. These men were fighting hard but were to eventually overcome by the fifteen or so knights that were standing.
    Perceel had recovered. He was a huge strong man of over six foot with forearms like tree trunks, and St Clar knew he had an adversary thatwas fuelled by the hatred within the dark ones, one who had waited all this time to show his true colours and now that he was losing, one who would stop at nothing to achieve his goal. There was only one way to kill such a man.
    St Clar ran at Perceel with everything he had. Perceel was not expecting that. He had figured that St Clar had softened with age and at ten years younger, five inches taller and much stronger, that St Clar would try and fight him from a distance. Getting this close meant Perceel could not swipe his sword, and before he knew it St Clar was on him. St Clar literally held the struggling Perceel in what would always be a futile hold but before the inevitable shake St Clar reached the neck of his foe and bit ferociously, freeing his hands he reached up and shoved them deep into the eyes of Perceel and took his sight. In a scream of anguish Perceel let go, stumbled and dropped to his knees his throat and eyes gone in one grotesque motion. His screams filled the void and his dark red blood found a natural channel into the hard ground.
    St Clar took his sword and drove it deep into the man’s sternum and it became quiet. On his own knees now he turned to see the carnage of the fight. Perceel was dead, and the last of the traitors was being dealt with by one of the surviving knights. The scene was a battlefield. St Clar went to stand but could not. Something was wrong. He looked down and saw for the first time a pool of blood beneath his own torso. As he had reached up for the eyes of his foe, the razor sharp edge of Perceel’s sword had lifted up with Perceel’s self-protection under the arm of St Clar. He had not felt it, yet a deep gash was gushing blood.
    His knights surrounded him and carried him to one of the makeshift shelters. He felt himself getting lighter. A tunnel was forming. He lost track of time… he saw faces and ghost like concerns. He struggled to make out words. He did not know if it had been a few minutes, an hour or longer. A woman bathed his brow and his wound. Just as his energy was draining he saw a familiar face… De Odes.
    “We have him, the baron, my lord… they are gone but we are massively depleted. I was in a boat when I