Will was the first to react. “You son of a bitch!” he yelled, charging Alex. “I’ll use your head for a soccer ball!” But before he’d gone ten feet, Alex raised a bow, firing an arrow at a exposed point in Will’s greaves. The arrow severed the tendon below his kneecap, and Will went down in a heap. He looked up at Alex. There was no sign of pain. Only pure, unadulterated hatred.

“That will be enough of that Sir Eric,” Albrecht said. “Or should I call you Will?” He looked at the rest of us. “Grab your companion, and follow us inside.”

He pointed at Jaime. “The priestess goes nowhere near the knight.”

Will shook his head. He snapped the arrow mid-shaft, pushing the remaining part through his leg. Ripping a strip off his tunic, he bound the wound, then stood up. The only aid he accepted was my staff to help him walk.

Then we followed Albrecht. Alex came behind us, an arrow nocked and ready. “The first one to try anything,” he said, “gets one right through the eye.”

I’d never hated anyone so much in my life.