It was ugly afternoon by the time Sir Corc returned to the copse. Rosheen was glad to see Muckle and Flyn with him, the goblin looking as if he were about to vomit at any moment. The knight hurried into the trees, concern overpowering the weariness on his face.

This will not be easy.

Rosheen fluttered down from her perch on the branch of the tree where she had tethered Backbone. The charm she had woven to make the animal follow her was still strong, and he only blinked sleepily as the others approached.

Sir Corc came up to her, his entire being asking the question before he gave it voice.

“Pocket?”

Rosheen willed herself to look at him, then slowly shook her head.

Defeat settled on the coburn’s shoulders, dragging them down as loss spread across his countenance.

“I left him,” the knight’s voice was a whisper. He turned and raised his head, looking at Bantam Flyn. “You. You left him.”

Rosheen watched as guilt and pride wrestled across the young coburn’s face, knowing which would win.

“Had the boy come with us he would still be safe,” Flyn threw at the knight. “If you had not been too afraid of four goblins, we would be well on our way! Together!”

Sir Corc took a step forward. “You have called me liar.” He stepped again. “You have called me craven.” Another step. “And I have suffered it. You have impugned my honor at every turn. You, who could not stoop to safeguard the life of one little boy!”

Sir Corc darted forward, grabbing for the squire. Bantam Flyn sidestepped quickly, his staff moving faster than Rosheen could follow. She shut her eyes tight at the sound of the impact and opened them with sorrow. But Sir Corc still stood, the staff caught deftly in his fist. The knight jerked the staff from the squire’s grip and split it over his leg, casting the splintered pieces aside as he advanced. Flyn danced agilely backward, hand going to the haft of the greatsword poking over his shoulder. Sir Corc kept coming, his own hand going nowhere near the blade at his side. Flyn pulled up, the blade shining as it rose from its scabbard about two feet before stopping. Confused panic fell across the squire’s face, his fully extended arm unable to draw the long blade completely free from across his back. Sir Corc took a final step, then slammed his fist into the squire’s gut, bending him double before felling him with an elbow to the back of the head.