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. ALTHOUGH TAGOR WAS A FINE SWORDSMAN
FOR FIFTEEN, HE WAS NO MATCH FOR THE BRIGANDS'
STRENGTH, OR THEIR NUMBERS.
MARAKION LET OUT A ROAR. "BASTARDS! LEAVE HIM
ALONE! FIGHT ME!"
TAGOR TWISTED SIDEWAYS, SCREAMED. A SWORD
SLASHED THROUGH HIS LEG. HE STUMBLED TO THE EDGE
OF THE TABLE AND LOST HIS FOOTING, CRASHED TO THE
FLOOR BELOW.
MARAKION BASHED THROUGH THE SWORDSMAN'S
GUARD, SENT THE MAN'S HAND SPINNING FROM HIS WRIST
IN A TRAIL OF BLOOD.
MARAKION RAN FORWARD. THERE WERE THREE LEFT.
TWO CHARGED HIM AND KEPT HIM FROM HIS BROTHER.
THE THIRD . . . THE THIRD WAS CLUBBING . . . CLUBBING A
BODY ON THE FLOOR.
"TAGOR!"
*****
Marakion started, beat the vision down into the recesses
of his memory. Breathing hard, he closed his eyes. Think of
NOW, only of NOW. Forget Tagor. Forget all of it.
He sat still for long moments, trying to forget, holding
his breath with gritted teeth, but the pent up air hissed out
slowly in a shudder. Marakion crumpled and sobbed. "Tagor ..."
*****
MARAKION BEAT HIS WAY THROUGH THOSE THREE
MARAUDERS, KILLED THEM ALL. HE KNELT AT TAGOR'S SIDE.
"THEY CAME . . . FROM THE NORTH. . . . THEY TOOK
MARISSA. THEY CALLED THEMSELVES THE KNIGHTSBANE,
MARAKION. . . . THE KNIGHTS - KNIGHTSBANE. WHY,
MARAKION? . . . WHY?"
IT WAS HIS LAST WORD, THEN HE DIED.
*****
Marakion's cheeks were wet with tears. He turned and
gazed down at another brave youth
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