"Who art thou?" The knight on the lead charger demanded imperiously.
Ethan raised his head to get a better look. The man was heavily built, broad-shouldered, with thick black hair and a pointed beard. He fixed Ethan with an unwavering, cold, blue gaze. "Well?"
"Uh, hi," Ethan managed to croak out. Geez, could this day get any worse?
"Speak up, lad," the knight commanded. "Didst thou see six black riders pass through these woods?"
"Uh, yeah..." Ethan mumbled, finding it hard to focus. His nose throbbed like hell. He didn't have to look to know it was broken and bleeding profusely. He pointed in the direction he last remembered seeing them go. "They went that way, I think."
The knight signaled his men. Four of them broke off from the group and cantered down the path he pointed. The knight returned his attention to Ethan.
"Where art thou bound, lad?"
Ethan squinted his eyes. "Ah, well, you see, I'm kinda lost... I'm looking for a friend. She -"
"No doubt she hast gone ahead to Somerset Castle," a fair-haired young knight behind stated.
The bearded knight nodded thoughtfully. "Indeed. Everyone be there for the tourney in two days hence." He stared down at Ethan. "What be thy name, lad?"
"Ethan. Ethan Sanderman... sir." he replied.
"Well, Ethan of Sanderman, we can take thee to the castle. Someone there can tend to that broken nose of thine. Cedric, put this lad on a horse."
"Aye, Sir Roland." The fair-haired knight promptly dismounted and led a lean grey gelding over to where Ethan still lay curled on the ground.
"Hey, no, it's ok, really," Ethan shook his head when Cedric tried to help him up. "I need to find Aaralyn. She's still -"
But despite his protests, they slung him over the gelding and picked up his bag and the items the outlaws had discarded. "What art these...?" The knight asked curiously.
"Oh, they're mine," Ethan tried to snatch back his bag, but his horse snorted and side-stepped away. "Whoa!" He exclaimed, grabbing the saddle. He swallowed - the ground was a long way down.
"We wilt present these to the duke." Sir Roland stated. He signaled to move off.
"Whoa!" Ethan exclaimed again as his horse began a brisk trot. "Hey, I really appreciate what you're doing, but you know, my friend's still out there somewhere. She's -"
"Enough!" The knight boomed. "The duke wilt decide what must be done with thee." The finality of his tone suggested he would tolerate no further argument.
Ethan raised his head to get a better look. The man was heavily built, broad-shouldered, with thick black hair and a pointed beard. He fixed Ethan with an unwavering, cold, blue gaze. "Well?"
"Uh, hi," Ethan managed to croak out. Geez, could this day get any worse?
"Speak up, lad," the knight commanded. "Didst thou see six black riders pass through these woods?"
"Uh, yeah..." Ethan mumbled, finding it hard to focus. His nose throbbed like hell. He didn't have to look to know it was broken and bleeding profusely. He pointed in the direction he last remembered seeing them go. "They went that way, I think."
The knight signaled his men. Four of them broke off from the group and cantered down the path he pointed. The knight returned his attention to Ethan.
"Where art thou bound, lad?"
Ethan squinted his eyes. "Ah, well, you see, I'm kinda lost... I'm looking for a friend. She -"
"No doubt she hast gone ahead to Somerset Castle," a fair-haired young knight behind stated.
The bearded knight nodded thoughtfully. "Indeed. Everyone be there for the tourney in two days hence." He stared down at Ethan. "What be thy name, lad?"
"Ethan. Ethan Sanderman... sir." he replied.
"Well, Ethan of Sanderman, we can take thee to the castle. Someone there can tend to that broken nose of thine. Cedric, put this lad on a horse."
"Aye, Sir Roland." The fair-haired knight promptly dismounted and led a lean grey gelding over to where Ethan still lay curled on the ground.
"Hey, no, it's ok, really," Ethan shook his head when Cedric tried to help him up. "I need to find Aaralyn. She's still -"
But despite his protests, they slung him over the gelding and picked up his bag and the items the outlaws had discarded. "What art these...?" The knight asked curiously.
"Oh, they're mine," Ethan tried to snatch back his bag, but his horse snorted and side-stepped away. "Whoa!" He exclaimed, grabbing the saddle. He swallowed - the ground was a long way down.
"We wilt present these to the duke." Sir Roland stated. He signaled to move off.
"Whoa!" Ethan exclaimed again as his horse began a brisk trot. "Hey, I really appreciate what you're doing, but you know, my friend's still out there somewhere. She's -"
"Enough!" The knight boomed. "The duke wilt decide what must be done with thee." The finality of his tone suggested he would tolerate no further argument.
