She gasped. “Do you know where she is?”
He guided her quickly down the street. It had previously been empty of fighting men, but the brawl had spread like a disease. To his right, a brute threw punches at a smaller man. To his left, two males clenched each other tightly and struggled. Directly before him, a merchant was kicking another on the ground.
Julian didn’t want her to get hurt. He tried to keep to the sides of the road, near the buildings of mud and wattle to avoid further confrontation. One man was shoved against the building just before them. The man growled and launched himself back into the fray, thankfully paying Julian and Sarah no heed.
Julian pulled Sarah along and stopped before a wooden door to rap hard. “Open.”
The door swung inward, and Julian pulled Sarah into the room. He waited only long enough to see the two women embrace each other before telling the villager woman. “Bar the door. I’ll be back.”
He skirted men enfolded in deadly holds and ran toward the main street. As he moved closer to the center of the brawl, the shouting and hollering became louder. He paused at the intersection, looking this way and that. He didn’t even know what the leather maker looked like. He surmised the leather maker would be carrying an armful of leather goods.
In the center of the street, groups of men fought. One male with long brown hair grabbed another and flung him around. In one area, a group surrounded a farmer who was on the ground. They were laughing as they shoved him and kicked him. Instinctively, Julian jerked forward to help him but halted. His hands curled into fists as he remembered his mission. He had to find the leather maker. It was the least he could do for the kind woman who had given them refuge. He made his way down the street, keeping to the buildings to avoid the fighting.
Julian had been in his share of fights. He wasn’t afraid to become involved when the need arose, but this time he had someone to take care of, someone to keep safe. Her large, frightened blue eyes rose in his mind. At least he had found her friend, Sarah.
“Julian!”
He whirled to see Osmont and two other knights stalking toward him. The old bitterness spread inside of him, tightening his chest. Osmont had always been his father’s favorite. His father’s voice echoed in his mind, “You will never be as good as Osmont.” Julian clenched his teeth.
“How could you possibly have defeated me in the tournament?” Osmont demanded as he approached.
Julian couldn’t help baiting him, the adrenaline from the fight coursing through him. “It was simple. I am good; you are not.”
Osmont sputtered with fury. His fists tightened. “Arrogant…” Osmont launched himself at Julian, swinging his arm.
Julian ducked, avoiding the blow. He would have loved to throw some punches at Osmont. It was something he had dreamt of but now was not the time. “Save this battle for the field of honor.”
Osmont swung again.
Julian backed away but bumped into one of Osmont’s friends who had come up beside him. The man shoved him toward Osmont with a laugh.
Osmont punched Julian hard in the stomach. Pain exploded through Julian, and he doubled over but managed to move to the side, knowing Osmont would continue his assault.
When Osmont threw another punch, Julian blocked the movement with his left arm and instinctively drove his right fist into Osmont’s face, landing against his smug chin with a thunk.
Osmont’s friend, a knight with greasy black hair, grabbed Julian’s arm, but Julian spun away from him, breaking the contact. Osmont’s other friend moved to Julian’s left side, surrounding him.
Julian knew better than to let himself be cornered, but they outnumbered him. He would fight until he couldn’t. His gaze focused darkly on Osmont. He would put all his effort into defeating his rival.
“You find all sorts of garbage on the streets,” a bellowing voice interrupted.
Julian swung his gaze toward the sound, all the while keeping Osmont and his friends in his peripheral vision.
The fighters in the brawl parted as a retinue of armor-clad men marched through them, led by an elderly man with gray hair hanging to his shoulders.
It took Julian only a moment to recognize him. His teeth clenched. He lowered his fists slightly but much preferred a fistfight to facing this man.
Osmont straightened suddenly, his fisted hands dropping to his sides. “Lord Luther, how good to see you.”
Julian’s hands shook as he reluctantly dropped them, but he couldn’t get them to relax from trembling fists.
“Let him pass, Sir Osmont,” Luther advised. “Don’t risk the chance of harming yourself. Jousts are more important.”
Osmont hesitated, looking back at Julian. His lip curled beneath his drooping mustache.
“You are right,” Osmont admitted. “As always. A wise man.” He pointed to Julian. “I shall meet you on the field of honor.”
“I look forward to it,” Julian growled.
