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Sir Baldwin was tired of killing Saxons. Apparently, they were not tired of dying.

His land slammed into the chest of the man in front of him.

He let the long spear swing out to his right side until the impaled body fell to the ground

beneath his horse's hooves.

His lance impaled another fleeing Saxon.

His grandfather killed Saxons, his father killed Saxons, and besides a few jaunts to the

desert, he now killed Saxons. The skewered body fell to the ground, and Baldwin led his horse

slow to a trot as he watched the rest of the fleeing stragglers disappear into the tree line.

He didn't bother chasing them. Baldwin lifted his

visor and pulled the skirt of his tabbered to his face with a gloved hand and wiped the sweat and

blood onto the purple cloth. He pulled his horse's reins softly, guiding the massive beast

in a semicircle to face the rest of his company. Sir Guy! he yelled.

A man was lying on his back with his hands in front of his face.

He tried to ask for mercy, but the words were drowned in the blood that filled his mouth.

A dismounted knight with the green tabard stood over the man with his sword drawn.

He drove the sword down into the begging man's chest.

The gurgling stopped.

...