Both knights and the soldier of the Reach were extremely and spectacularly dead, splayed out in various wide puddles still growing. In a clear space on the floor, a hand held a sword at the end of an armored forearm, the mail and bone sheared clean.
Above it all, the silence. He could hear his breath behind his visor.
No Renaldo.
Halchris was crumpled on the floor where Jarrod had left him, on his side in a quiet pool of black with his arm outstretched toward where Renaldo had been. It was a sad and peculiar way to end up, and Jarrod wondered what had been going through his mind in those last seconds; what he might have thought Renaldo could do for him as he bled out, the world dimming, Renaldo probably blind to him, still beating the s**t out of all comers.
Boy, you’re just slam-dunki
