Talons had gripped Giradin's heart and pulled down with such a force he thought the guilt would pull him into the pit of Hell itself.

Blood spurted from the spot where Giradin's crossbow bolt had skewered the slender youth's throat. The tall man made a choking noise, spraying blood over his lower lip, and slumped onto the ground. His unblinking eyes accused Giradin.

Had the hounds not barked at that moment, Giradin might not have recalled the rushing mob, coming to slaughter him and the other doctors. Or that he was supposed to be taking shelter.

Giradin bolted over the youth's fallen corpse, fumbling to reload his crossbow.

Two townsmen on either side turned and charged him, their axes brandished high. Directly behind him, Giradin heard deep, heart-stopping barks, followed by the sound of four rushing paws.

Giradin dropped the bolt he'd been trying to load and stumbled forward, toward the outhouse.

Had plague doctor masks not, rather notoriously, obscured the wearer's peripheral vision, Giradin might have spotted Father Hewlett heading for the same shelter.

As it was, Giradin didn't see where Father Hewlett was headed until after slamming the outhouse door shut behind him and throwing the latch.

Only then did he peer through the small, moon-shaped window and see Father Hewlett's mask, etched with crosses, crash into the outhouse door. Father Hewlett grunted, then whipped around to face the charging mob.

"STAY IN THERE, GIR!" the priest shouted.

Another loud snap.

A dog yelped in pain, then fell silent.

Giradin heard something heavy and wooden crack on the ground, followed by the sound of a blade leaving its sheath. Through the gaps in the door, Giradin saw the flash of Father Hewlett's longsword.

Then a stream of red shot into the sky, accompanied by a choked cry.

Giradin fumbled again for a crossbow bolt, but it slipped from his fingers. Terror and rage ablaze inside him, he violently threw his crossbow on the ground and drew his seax. The slight curve of the blade always made it easier to wield.

Another tortured scream and more crimson flew from the tip of Father Hewlett's sword.

A hound's snarl.

Father Hewlett screamed, and his silhouette fell from view.

Another ferocious bark, and the sound of more pawsteps.

Giradin rose to his toes to peer through the hole. Father Hewlett flailed and shrieked between two dogs. Both hounds had his arms locked in their teeth, and they shook their bodies back and forth.

Was that tearing sound Father Hewlett's suit, or...?

Giradin got his answer when streams of scarlet poured forth from under the seams at Father Hewlett's armpits. The cries of pure agony from the priest chilled Giradin's blood.

The flash of a blade, and the swordsman thrust his shortsword down onto Father Hewlett's mask. The lens split and the tip buried itself in Father Hewlett's eye socket.

"Deus vult!" the swordsman shrieked.

Giradin kicked the outhouse door open and charged the swordsman, his seax pulling him along.

The swordsman's eyes snapped up, and he raised his blade to parry Giradin's seax.

A dog yelped to Giradin's right, and he jerked his beak to see why.

A mace flew past Giradin's nose and cracked the swordsman in the chest. The swordsman fell flat on his back.

The plague doctor who'd crushed the swordsman's ribs punched Giradin in the chest. "Shelter! NOW!" Fulk shouted. "Take hostages!"

Of course! The men were away from their homes at the moment.

Giradin turned to the nearest house and fled. The wooden windows had been closed, so Giradin twisted his body around to throw his shoulder into it.

His shoulder collided with the wooden window, followed by his head, and the window broke inward as he fell backwards on the ground.

"GOT ONE!" came a roar from above, followed by a wooden club to Giradin's chest.

All air left the cobbler's apprentice's lungs in an instant, and Giradin thrashed his seax around. He heard a sound like a knife through raw pork, followed by a townsman's cry of pain.

Giradin forced himself to his feet again, his weapon dripping with dark, sticky blood. The red mess flicked all over as the seax tried to flee Giradin's fingers.

The open window lay before him, and the women and children inside cowered away. Giradin staggered forward and flung himself in through the open window.

His knees smashed on the dirt floor of this little hovel, but he fought the pain and rose to his feet again. Around him, all in fright, stood a family who'd just seen an intruder force his way into their home. The mother was a woman with frizzy, red hair and cheeks colored with dirt. She held onto the shoulders of two little girls, both of whom had the same scraggly orange manes. One stood only a foot taller than the other, and both gazed up at the plague doctor, petrified with fear.

Giradin turned his mask to look upon an elderly man with bandages over his face crouched low, by a straw bed. No mortal force could have persuaded Giradin to take a woman or a girl as a hostage.

So, he seized the old man by his white, whispy hair and forced him to his feet. Once the bandaged elder was up, Giradin wrapped an arm around his throat and raised the still-bloody tip of his seax to the old man's face. Not for many years would Giradin allow himself to realized, that very blood may have belonged to the old man's son. Once that demon had entered Giradin's thoughts, no holy man or saint in all the world could cast it out.

"Get back!" Giradin shouted. "If anyone comes near me, I'll kill him!" he bellowed. Truthfully, there was so much screaming, barking, and violence throughout the town that Giradin didn't think anyone could hear him. But saying the words was still strangely comforting. "Even a dog! Everyone, stay back! Or you'll have another wake for a loved one!"

Like Fulk had taught him. When in a crisis, find whatever these people were afraid of and use it.

Whether they could hear him or not was irrelevant. The two girls backed against the wall and fell to their knees, clasping their hands together and sobbing. Their mother had also dropped to her knees, but her eyes searched the inside of the hut.

She's looking for a weapon... She'll attack the second I let my guard down!

Dark red splashed through the open window, and Giradin's body betrayed him. His instinct had taken over, and he jerked his head to peer out the window.

In the next instant, Giradin heard a loud thump and felt air moving toward his chest. He lashed out with his right arm before he could even turn his head to see his assailant.

The seax had pierced the mother's gut, and she doubled over to clasp her wound. She choked and gasped.

Thank God... it wasn't one of the girls!

As if on cue, the two daughters dashed toward Giradin, and he prepared his blade for the attack.

But they stopped and fell at their mother's side. The girls each grasped their mother's hands in their own.

There are some stories Giradin has always glossed over when he retold them. Once such story is what those girls said to their mother in that moment. Whenever asked about it, Giradin always claimed he didn't remember what they said, only that they were upset, or that he couldn't hear them over all the noise.

But late one night, when he was full of drink, I heard him talking to himself. He was muttering these words over and over again.

"No, mommy! Please don't die! Mama! You can't leave! Please, God, don't take mommy away! That was my little girl, you bastard!"

And he would repeat the phrases over and over. He'd start out sounding desperate and angry, but each time he repeated the words he grew a little more monotone.

But when I asked Giradin about it the next day, he claimed not to know what I was talking about.

What Giradin said he remembered next was hearing the door crack open. His heart leaped in his chest, and he rounded on the front of the house with his weapon.

But it was a plague doctor in the doorway, a scimitar in his hand. "Come on!" Mu called as he beckoned Giradin. "Reinforcements have arrived! We have the town!"

Giradin says he let the old man he'd taken hostage go, but the tears in his eyes whenever he recounted the story made me skeptical.

When Giradin left the hostages' home and his eyes had adjusted to the glaring beams of sunlight in the dusty air, he saw plague doctors stood outside every house, loaded crossbows at the ready.

The only ones without crossbows held a mace, a shortsword, and a broadsword.

Father Hewlett had taught Giradin to be mindful of his companions' equipment. If for no other reason that he might be able to know which ones still lived.

Mu was already accounted for.

The doctor with the mace was Fulk.

Giradin thought he remembered Shlomo having a shortsword.

The white cross painted on his black coat told Giradin the last one was Sir Bertran. He leaned upon his longsword and breathed heavily. Only then did Giradin notice the rip in the side of Sir Bertran's coat. Thankfully, there was no sign of blood on the tear.

When Mu walked past Giradin to rejoin the group, Giradin noticed that the moor was now walking with a limp. There were little burn-holes at the hem of his waxed-leather coat and in the trousers underneath.

Shlomo approached Giradin and patted him on the chest. "Any day we stay above ground is a blessing. I'm glad to see you made it, shegetz! Baruch Hashem!"

"Praise the Lord!" came a wheeze from Sir Bertran. "And then ask for his guidance for our superiors, who have to decide what to do with these people now."