On the Black Wind to Baldairn Motte

Part 30.

Terryll lunged and kicked Everild in the head, sending him sprawling off of Lyrie. The Earl shoved his way past them both and fell upon Everild, wrapping his hands around the man-at-arms' throat. Terryll moved forward to aid the Earl, but stopped, realizing Everild would not break free of that grip. Toli Verk was old, but there was strength in his wiry hands, and he was a man who would not let treachery go unpunished while he still had a breath in him. Instead, Terryll went to Lyrie and helped her up. Her dress was torn to shreds; blood oozed from her mouth and nose. She bent over and retched out all the blood she had swallowed while pinned down on her back.

"Are you all right?"

Lyrie slowly stood upright and forced herself to smile between missing teeth. "You're alive," she mumbled, barely conscious. Anger welled up in Terryll as he looked upon her battered face, but when he turned back to the Earl he saw that Everild had already gone limp even as the Earl continued to wring his neck. Terryll took off his cloak, still wet from his swim in the creek, and wrapped it around Lyrie. "Sit down, Lyrie, and tell me where Lord Klaye is. Did the little blackspur run off, or is he still sick?"

"Dead," Lyrie said.

"Dead?"

"I killed him."

Terryll peeked his head into the tent to see that she was telling the truth. When he looked out again, the Earl was standing over Everild's dead body. "Klaye?" the Earl asked.

"Dead," Terryll replied.

The Earl nodded. "Good whore," he said and then plopped down on his rear and was overcome with a coughing fit.

Terryll sat next to Lyrie and held her close to him as he dabbed the blood away from her face with the sleeve of his tunic.

"By Ordryn's cunny, I am a good whore," Lyrie said, spitting out another globule of blood.

"You are indeed, Lyrie."