Giradin had never seen a headless man, but he'd heard the stories. Every tale ever told about these monsters spoke of fearsome cannibals who delighted in violence.

The three Templars each stood in a circle around the campfire, their longswords drawn. Shlomo stood and joined them, his blade out and ready.

Giradin rose to his feet as well and drew his seax.

"Stay back!" Sir Emeric commanded. "It is our job to protect you, as the saint."

"What sort of saint would I be if I proved myself a coward?" Giradin asked.

"I agree with Giradin," said Shlomo. "He's fought enough--"

"Shh!" Sir Cristoff interrupted. "Here they come!"

Through the trees, Giradin spotted pale flesh. The headless men approached, naked as the day they were born, and when the first one came into view Giradin's breath caught in his throat.

Each of them stood taller even than Sir Emeric, but where their heads and necks should have been sat tufts of wispy hair. Their arms were strong, and in either hand each one held a club carved from a single piece of stone. Most unsettling of all, their faces rested in the middle of their chests, with eyes looking back at Giradin and the others from just below the collar-bone. Every headless man's jagged teeth were exposed in either a twisted smile or a fierce snarl.

"Back!" Sir Emeric aimed the tip of his sword at the nearest headless man as he shouted. "Get back! I'll slay you all if I have to!"

Giradin saw more of the headless men emerging from behind the trees. There appeared to be at least a dozen of them by now.

"Meat!" bellowed one of the headless men.

"Meat!" another repeated.

And soon they all started to chant.

"Meat!"

"Meat!"

"Meat!"

They marched in closer, moving to surround Giradin's group, all the while keeping up their cruel chant.

"Meat!"

"Meat!"

Meat!"

Sir Emeric adjusted his stance, his foot lightly kicking Giradin's out of his way as he did so. Giradin stepped aside so Sir Emeric could take the lead.

The seax trembled in Giradin's hand, but when he looked over at Sir Emeric's fearless visage the dread in his heart melted away. He snapped his eyes back to the headless men before them, who now had them surrounded.

"Don't break formation!" Sir Emeric shouted. "They want to pick us off. We're stronger if we stick together!"

One of the headless men howled at Giradin and snapped his jagged teeth. Another slipped out his long tongue and waved at him. Giradin stood firm, as Sir Emeric commanded.

"Come on, you blaggards..." Sir Emeric muttered. "Make the first move..."

One of the headless men arched his back, aiming his face at the sky, and bellowed, just before charging at Sir Emeric.

The Templar used the flat of his blade to push away the headless man's club, then ran him through at the bridge of the nose. Crimson sprayed over Sir Emeric and Giradin gagged at the rusty stench.

All at once, the other headless men charged in, swinging their stone clubs.

Giradin ducked low and thrust his seax forward. The blade sunk into a headless man's upper thigh. Giradin yanked it out in an arc, severing the monster's sinews and arteries.

A knee struck Giradin in the face and he toppled backwards onto the ground.

A flurry of red mist and shadows made the battle a chaotic mess.

Stone smacked metal.

Blades sliced through flesh.

Men cried out in agony before they fell.

A stone club hit the ground at Giradin's feet, and he grasped it in his fingers.

When Giradin looked up, warm, sticky blood sprayed across his face, forcing his eyes to shut. Blindly, he rose to his feet again and swung the stone club.

The weapon proved heavier than he expected, and it slipped from his fingers just as it arced out. Though he didn't see where it landed, he heard the sound of bones breaking and someone crying out in death throes.

Another flick of a blade splattered viscera onto Giradin's face. His mouth being open at the time, a piece landed on his tongue. He gagged at the sour, bitter flavor and spat out the mushy lumps.

A fleshy body crashed into Giradin, and he felt his face crushed into a soft, warm, hairy stomach. He stabbed wildly with his seax, causing warm fluid to flow over his fingers. The taller body collapsed on him, forcing him onto the ground once more under its weight.

"They're running away!" Sir Emeric called out. "Ha! Yes! Flee back to your holes, you fiends!"

Giradin felt the corpse's weight lift off his body and he jumped to his feet again, trying to wipe away the blood from his eyes with his hands. This proved especially difficult, given that his hands were just as soaked.

When he got his eyes clear, he peered around their camping spot to see seven dead headless men on the ground in a scarlet pond. The Templars' white tabards were splashed red, and their blades dripped.

Sir Emeric, his face just as messy as Giradin's, grabbed the back of the saint's head and made him meet his eyes. "Are you hurt?" he asked.

"I don't think so," said Giradin.

Sir Emeric sighed with relief. "Good... God has been gracious this day, allowing us to triumph over our enemies."

Giradin felt another sticky lump in his mouth and spat it out. "Praise God!"

Behind him, Sir Philip grunted and stumbled down to one knee.

Sir Emeric looked up. "Sir Philip? Are you hurt?"

Sir Philip grunted in the affirmative and nodded his head.

Sir Emeric looked to Giradin and pointed at the injured Templar. "See to the wounded."

"Yes, sir!" said Giradin.