Garinor understood that the others could use the help of one more fighter, but he decided that he also needed the extra protection. “Thank you, Midnight, please come with us.”
The messenger frowned at this but said nothing. “May we hurry, please, friends? The battle will be on in earnest now.” The others from the outpost dashed off into the woods heading northwest toward the battle site, while Garinor, Dodger, and Midnight journeyed due north with the horse in tow.
Once they were in motion, Midnight fell silent again, glancing about warily for signs of pursuit. Dodger was doing the same and it all made Garinor feel uncomfortable. “Maybe we should go faster?”
Dodger gasped as his eyes swept toward the west. “Our friends are engaged in battle already!” The three of them turned and saw that the others from the outpost were fighting off a small contingent from the prince’s army that had been skulking through the woods, ready to ambush the battle site from the eastern flank. The Daggerfists fought well, but they were outnumbered nearly five to one.
“Let’s help them!” Garinor said urgently, but Dodger ground his teeth and denied the call to arms.
“We can’t. Our mission is more important.”
“How is that possible?” Garinor asked incredulously.
“You know exactly why,” Dodger hissed, regrettably turning from his beleaguered companions. “We’re aware of the prophecy and we also know who you are, or the Lioness would not have insisted that I take you onward. No more arguments. We go.”
“Then,” chimed Midnight, “he really is the heir.”
Dodger started to respond, but Midnight pulled a dagger and lunged for him. Dodger deftly fell to the ground and flipped the man over his shoulder, but Midnight pounced back onto his feet, swinging the dagger again. Dodger skillfully moved about, avoiding the furious dagger swipes, and Midnight changed his tactics. He reached for Garinor and pressed the knife to his throat.
“Back off, now,” Midnight hissed, “or I’ll kill him.”
Dodger’s prancing stopped instantly and he eyed Midnight with cold hatred. “How dare you.”
A few members of the prince’s army witnessed the short brawl and started jogging their way. If Garinor didn’t act quickly, Dodger would be killed and so would he.
He writhed around a little in Midnight’s grasp, not so much to escape as to free his foot. He brought up his leg and then crunched it down onto Midnight’s foot, which caused the man to double over in pain. The move, however, was detrimental for Garinor. For, as Midnight bent forward he lost control of his dagger hand and he inadvertently plunged it into Garinor’s neck.
Dodger acted instantly. He pulled Garinor aside and crushed his fist into Midnight’s temple, knocking him unconscious. The wound in Garinor’s throat was irreparable and he knew it, but he threw the dying boy across the horse, mounted up behind him and sprinted off to the north, desperately escaping the rest of the prince’s men.
Garinor lay limply over the saddle, feeling a fiery pain in his throat, unable to draw breath, knowing that his act of bravely had led to his decided defeat.