Verican, being a hardened and thoroughly trained warrior and soldier, had little difficulty in smiting his enemy. His long sword easily cut down the Maseriff, removing limbs and running them through with a skilled and practiced ease. In slicing down upon one of his foes, he was stabbed from behind by another. The wound, having been dealt to his right shoulder, caused him a great pain. That sufficed only to anger him more.
The Captain-General continued to fight the enemy one after one until finally he pain in his shoulder because unbearable, and the loss of blood began to slow him. Seeing that his part of the battle was finished, he stumbled back towards the village. Propping himself up against the closest house, he arranged a way in which he could tend to his wounds, hoping that soon a villager would come to his aide.
- - - -
As for the guard, Werner, he fought like a man possessed. Furious and determined, he cut down foe upon foe, hoping to avenge the wrong done to Durward, to Lady Akorsa, as well as the Captain-General. The man was thoroughly enraged, and not only out of lust for battle. The Proctors had lied to him, as well as to all of his comrades-in-arms, with their tales of kidnapping and murder. He, along with every last one of his fellow soldiers had trusted them, but the Proctors had deceived the lot of them. It was now that the guard fully began to comprehend what Akorsa had said earlier, about how not all people who hold positions of power fully deserve respect.
He felt mistreated and angry, and so he lashed out at any and all of the Maseriff within his sight. With adrenaline running through his veins, Werner weaved between his enemies, and they one by one met their ruin at his blade. Soon the guard had downed seven, eight, nine, then, in the midst of the fighting and the burning, something caught his eye. Up ahead of him, Werner saw Shondor, feebly attempting to flee away from the fighting and bloodshed. Running forward, Werner approached the head Proctor, an angry gleam in his eyes.
�Thank goodness, man! Get me away from here!� exclaimed he older man.
�I shall get you out of here, well enough, my lord,� growled Werner as he grabbed the Proctor by the front of his robe, dragging him down to the grass.
�What are you doing?� cried Shondor, trying to fight off Werner, but to no avail. �Cease this immediately! What do you think you are doing?�
�Making sure you never wrong another, ever again!� And then Werner drove the tip of his sword into the man�s throat. The Proctor squirmed and gargled, not being able to breathe, and choking on his own blood, until finally he died. The guard was so preoccupied with watching Shondor die, that he never noticed when one of the Maseriff came from behind. Not until it was too late, and he already had the edge of a scimitar buried in his back.
