“We are here to meet your leader,” said William, with his hands raised up. “He has someone important to us; we are here to duel and take her home.”

 

The men exchanged looks with each other and burst into laughter.

 

“Yes, it is funny,” said William, “but take me to your leader, it is him I have come to meet, not you.”

 

One of the men stepped forward. “You will lose,” he said to William.

 

“You are just a boy,” said William, who had drawn his deduction from the lad’s voice. “Take me to Thorne, I pray he is not as young as you are.”

 

“And if he is?” asked another, aiming his arrow directly at William’s head.

 

“Let's hope he is truly a genius at the sword then.”

 

The men grunted, ordered William and the rest off their horses and led them past the flower field. They came to a clearing and William could only gape in surprise.

 

There was a small crowd formed there, all standing round a small arena of the sort. A woman was tied to a pole at the top of the arena.

 

“Welcome, welcome,” a man said, stepping out of the crowd. “I am Thorne Fergundy, punisher of the rich and wicked. You will fight me till one of us is dead or at the mercy of the other.”

 

Thorne was not a large man by any means; he hovered close to the six feet mark, had a slight build, dark auburn hair that reminded William of count Adhemar, only Thorne wore his straight.

 

“Are you disappointed?” he said to William, scowling. “You gaze at me as though you expected a bigger man.”

 

“I would have been happier if you were a bigger man,” said William, walking towards Thorne slowly. “At least then there’d be a chance you were too arrogant to admit I might be as good with the sword as you are.”

 

Thorne laughed and signaled for William’s companions to be kept away. “I have a feeling you are different from all the rest that have come here,” said he, snapping his finger at once of the men with painted faces. “Every single man that came promised me hell on earth, fire and brimstone, and I beat everyone of them, to the last.”

 

Two swords were given to Thorne and he picked one without inspection and threw it at William.

 

“Do you think you can beat me?” asked Thorne.

 

William only noticed then that Thorne was barefooted. He chuckled and took off his own shoes as well, digging his toes into the sand.

 

“I will try to beat you, and the rescue her from you,” said William, “Can I trust you to honor your word? You will let her go if I beat you?”

 

“A poor man like me only has his words and honor,” said Thorne, “If you win, you are welcome to leave with her. Although I think she’d rather stay here than go with you.”

 

“That’s her choice to make,” William replied, “Let’s start this already.”

 

The crowd fell to a curious hush as the men began to circle each other. William saw his companions staring at him, especially Roland who had a worried expression on his face.

 

They raised their swords and charged. There was no flourish, no fancy move, no unnecessary spin, or impressive dance to their fight; every blow they threw was to draw blood, every swing of the sword to slash and slice and rip into flesh.

 

Sparks of fire would fly about every time their swords clashed, their exchange was so fast, all the viewers saw was the blurry movement of swords and blows getting countered.

 

Thorne lunged forward, stabbing towards William’s belly, however, William trapped the sword between his arm and body and then stabbed at Thorne’s face, but the latter ducked in time evade the attack.

 

William sensed an opening and swung a slash at Thorne who leapt back at the last possible moment and threw a counter that ripped into William’s tunic. Both men swung their blades and for a moment, their swords locked.

 

Thorne was panting heavily, William was not. Their foreheads glistened with sweat and dirt.

 

“We don’t have to do this,” said William, “We don’t have to fight.”

 

“Nonsense!” Thorne snapped through clenched teeth.

 

William shoved him and landed a heavy blow which Thorne blocked. The weight of the blow, however, sent Thorne to his knees and William swung again and again and again till the sword fell from Thorne’s hands.

 

William out the edge of his sword at Thorne’s neck; the battle was won.

 

“You should kill me,” said Thorne, chuckling. “If you don’t, I will continue taking people’s daughters and holding them hostage.”

 

“Do you ever give them the chance to return to their homes?” asked William.

 

“Yes, but they never take it,” said Thorne, “we are a bunch of rejects, failures all of us.”

 

“And you have none of the expectations the rich impose on each other,” said William, withdrawing his sword.

 

“You should finish me,” said Thorne.

 

“No, that is not up to me,” said William, “but I am taking this woman away from here.”

 

Thorne shrugged. “You’ve won, and I gave you my word. So, go on and take her.”

 

William bobbed.

 

“One more thing, Sir Ulrich,” said Thorne, “You have my respect. You’re a true knight.”

 

If only you knew, thought William. He retreated slowly and went on to loose the girl tied to the pole. “Your father wants you back home.”

 

“I don’t want to return,” said the lady. “Tell him I refused.”

 

William shook his head, no. “Too many people will suffer if I do that,” he said, “You must come with me.”

 

Wat, Roland, and Geoffrey joined William and together, they all made their way out of the valley of Eros. When William handed the girl over to her father, he could see the unhappiness in her eyes.

 

“You may want to listen to your daughter more often,” he said to lord Sky. “Or she’ll go missing again, and this time, there’d be no Thorne to blame.”

 

“What's next now?” asked Wat, as they made their way back to the tavern. “Do you want me to look up a competition in Messers?”

 

“No,” said William, “What’s next now is home. When is the world championship at Borish capital?”

 

“That doesn’t happen till two years,” said Roland.

 

“Let’s inch our way back home,” said William, tiredly. “We will fight till we arrive back in Borish, our homeland.”