Reaching for his sword, Peregriff started forward, only to be intercepted by a still uncertain but increasingly confident Simna. Holding his blade out in front of him, the swordsman ventured a strained smile.
“No, my venerable friend! By Gequed, we’ll see this thing done with by those who matter. You and I are insignificant components of any final rendering.”
An awkward pause ensued while Hymneth’s general glared down at the itinerant swordsman. Then he nodded, once, and dropped his hand from the hilt of his weapon. Together, both men turned to look.
Rushing forward, Themaryl had knelt beside the supine figure of her monarch. Concern wracked her countenance, but there were no tears. Fearful, she looked up at the rangy, solemn-visaged herdsman.
“Is—is he dead?”
“No.” Ehomba studied the motionless figure somberly. Bits and pieces of fractured armor were starting to slough away from the body. “Only paralyzed, and that I think just from the shoulders down. Eventually, he should recover all movement.”
She started to smile gratefully, then thought better of it, and instead turned her attention back to the recumbent torso.
Breathing hard, Simna ibn Sind joined his tall friend in gazing down at the motionless form. “Hoy, only paralyzed? Why leave the job half finished?” He aimed the point of his blade.
“No, my friend.” Reaching out, Ehomba forestalled the swordsman’s fatal intent. “That is not what I came for.”
Simna eyed him imploringly. “By Gulvent, bruther, he tried to kill you! He did kill you! Speaking of which …” The swordsman turned to look at the indefatigable hulk that was Hunkapa Aub. Through his fur, the biggest member of their little party was smiling.