Someone lunged at him, knocking him over with their weight. He crashed to the ground, but before falling managed with a desperate push to turn the fall into a leap, which saved him from being seized. And saved his life. As he dodged and rolled over, he noticed the flash of a blade out of the corner of his eye. He jerked his head back and the knife that was aimed for his throat only snagged his ear, lacerating it deeply. Ignoring the sharp pain, he rolled over some roots sticking out of the ground and forcefully kicked the attacker, who was getting onto his hands and knees. The attacker swore and swung widely, trying to stab Reynevan in the leg. Reynevan spun around and kicked him again, this time knocking him over, and leaped up from the ground. He could feel the blood streaming down his collar.

The attacker also sprang up. And immediately attacked, slashing diagonally with rapid cuts of the knife. In spite of the darkness, Reynevan now knew who he was facing. The odour of sweat, fever and illness betrayed him.

The sick man wasn’t so sick at all. And knew how to use a knife. He was skilled. But so was Reynevan.

He tricked his opponent with a feint, forced him to lean back. Reynevan knocked the man’s wrist with his forearm, struck his elbow with his right fist, tripped him and overbalanced him with a tug to his sleeve, and for good measure struck him in the nose with the heel of his hand. The sick man howled and began to fall. As he fell, he managed to stab Reynevan in the crotch, splitting open his trousers. Only a miracle and quick reflexes prevented Reynevan from having his genitalia and femoral artery slashed. But in dodging he also tripped and lost his footing. The sick man threw himself on Reynevan like a wildcat, aiming a blow from above. Reynevan caught the assailant’s wrist in both his hands. He held on with all his might, drawing in his head as the attacker struck him chaotically with his left fist.

It ended as quickly as it had started. A crowd had gathered. Several pairs of hands grabbed the sick man and pulled him off Reynevan. As they did so, he rasped, hissed and spat like a cat. He only dropped the knife when one of the Moravians brutally brought a heel down on his hand.

Urban Horn stood by with his arms folded. He observed it all in silence.

“He attacked me! Him!” yelled Reynevan, pointing at the sick man. “I went to piss and he jumped me with a knife!”

Held by the Sovinec burgmen, the sick man tried to say something, but only managed to goggle, wheeze and cough uncontrollably. Reynevan didn’t waste the opportunity.

“He attacked me! For no reason! He tried to kill me! Look what a mess he’s made of me!”