Edward stood up quickly and hoisted himself up the little wall. He turned and without second thought picked Elizabeth up by the waist and set her down behind him. By now the knight was nearly to them and Edward drew his sword, taking a few steps backward with his left hand stretched out behind him. The knight climbed the last rock and stood before Edward, his sword drawn as well.

"Show yourself!" Edward demanded. The knight lifted his visor, and no sooner had he done so that Edward rushed on him, knocking him off balance. "WHY DID YOU KILL THEM?!" He roared, and looked very much like he might run the knight through with his sword. The knight was apparently merciless; he made to thrust his own sword into Edward's side; but Edward was quick, and deflected it with his own weapon. They fought each other; both with his own advantages and disadvantages. The knight was armoured; but Edward the better fighter. The knight had more protection; but Edward more adrenaline. One thing, though, was the main reason Edward did not see the same fate as his family; not his skill nor his adrenaline, but the favour of the LORD his God and Saviour and Protector.

"Why have you come here?" Edward asked angrily as they fought. The knight spoke for the first time. His voice was low and heartless; you could feel his cruelty and hatred in it. "I came to complete my task," he replied, slashing Edward's arm. He was slowly gaining on the other.

Elizabeth watched horrified as Edward received wound after wound, which grew more and more serious; from scratches to cuts to gashes. Finally the knight hit him in the chest with the butt of his sword, and Edward fell on his back. The knight pinned Edward's right hand to the ground with the tip of his sword, and his left with his foot. "Any last words, West?" the knight asked tauntingly. Edward said nothing; the other removed his sword from Edward's hand to slit his throat. Edward, however, would not give up so easily. As soon as his hand was freed, though it was badly wounded, he grasped his own sword and thrust it into the knight's side. The chain mail prevented it from being a very serious wound, but while the knight was distracted Edward leapt to his feet. His opponent was still at an advantage, and Edward was slowly forced towards the rough rock wall. He moved so that he stood in front of Elizabeth, determined to keep the knight from harming her. But as the swords flew, Edward found himself having to move even further and further back, closer and closer to Elizabeth, until one step more and he would touch her. He had been fighting with his left hand, and he pushed his right hand slightly backwards; grasping Elizabeth's for a moment before putting all his effort into the fight and beginning to move forward. Edward slowly began to dominate.

Elizabeth looked down at her hand. It was covered in blood. Edward's blood. Horrid; horrendous; horrific; blood. Elizabeth stared at it, terrified and appalled, until she heard a shout and looked up. The Knight lay on the ground, his sword lay out of reach, and his helmet had been knocked off. Edward stood over him, the point of his sword at the other's throat. "You've tried before, and I'd thought you'd learnt your lesson. Now I mean to make it you die learning it."

Elizabeth suddenly screamed, "Edward!" She breathed heavily. "Don't kill him, Edward," she commanded, but Edward grew irritated with her. "He killed my family! He killed my loved ones, and yet, you would have me spare him?"

"Edward, what if he's got a son who will be forever torn if you kill him, like you?"

Edward merely grew more upset at this. "My father was not a horrid, wretched, bloodthirsty murderer, Elizabeth!" He yelled.

Elizabeth replied calmly, "All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God. None is righteous, no not one. Perhaps your father was not like this man, Edward, but if you kill him, you will become like him. Killing him makes you no less than a murderer yourself."

Edward glanced at the Knight and slowly removed his sword from his neck. The Knight relaxed. Edward picked up his opponent's sword and hissed, "Go. Go before I turn back into an avenging madman."

The Knight sniffed in disapproval, but defeated, headed down the mountain. No sooner was he gone than Edward had collapsed; his adrenaline completely drained.

"Edward!" Elizabeth gasped, and rushed to his side. "Edward, can you—"

"Shouldn't 'a let him go," he was muttering to himself.

"Ed, listen to me!"

"Knows where we are."

"Edward, please!"

"He'll be back, with friends."

"EDWARD WEST!"

Edward finally looked up. "Hmm?"

Elizabeth sighed. "Can you stand up?" She asked. Edward tried; he could stand, but he couldn't support himself very well. Elizabeth helped him to the hidden entrance of the cave, and he managed to get himself inside. Elizabeth followed, and found him on the ground again. Dinner had been eaten; there wasn't much to eat, and the dwellers of the cave had dispersed. Elizabeth glanced around desperately and finally shouted, "Oi! Help!" Everyone who was in the room turned to her and several people rushed over. Edward kept insisting that he was "Just dashing, mate; haul me to the sickroom; I'll fix myself up all fine and dandy, what?" A few men carried him into one of the sickrooms, where he collapsed on the floor in exhaustion, losing consciousness immediately.

Elizabeth took the basin of water and the rag someone had brought her in the confusion and gently cleaned Edward's face of the dirt, blood, sweat, and tears that indistinguishably mingled on his features. She then carefully removed what tatters remained of his shirt and paused for a moment, gazing at his wounds. Images of the mocking red stripes and hauntingly dark bruises swam in her head with the blade that caused them and the agonizing yells they produced. She shut her eyes and furrowed her brow. When she opened them again, they darted down to Edward's hand, which she cautiously opened. Nearly the whole of it was stained reddish brown with blood; the palm and each finger bearing a deeper and darker stripe. Elizabeth clenched her teeth, feeling the pain. She couldn't do this.

A soft voice broke the still water of her thoughts and dragged her back to the surface of reality. Ariana was smiling down at her gently. "I can take care of that, if you'd like," She repeated. "You've not eaten all day; you must be famished."

"Thank you," Elizabeth said quietly, Somehow managing a genuine smile of her own before leaving. Instead, however, of finding nourishment, she turned her direction toward the Right Wing, and shuffled quietly past dozens of men and boys who smiled or waved or glanced at her curiously, stopping finally at Rev Rowe's reserved area. She took a deep breath and addressed him softly, "Reverend?"

The kind man looked up from his book and gently inquired, "What is it, my child?"

"I wanted to ask you something." She was motioned to sit; and obeyed. "What happened to Edward's parents, exactly?" She asked timidly but intently. "I know they were—killed, but, why?"

"Ah." Rev Rowe said. "Are you sure, my child, that you would like to hear this story? Tis not very pleasant one."

Elizabeth inhaled and exhaled. "Yes, sir," she replied in determination, "I should like to know the truth."

"Very well," the other replied. "It begins with a boy named Barnabas Winchester. Barnabas grew up being taught the Scripture, but when Barnabas was about ten years old, both his parents died, and after that he was a very bitter child. If God was loving, he said, if God existed, why would He let his parents die? His mind was clouded with pain and resentment, and what he could not grasp he would not have explained to him, either. Barnabas hated God, and thus hated those who loved God.

"Now, when Winchester had grown, he worked for the King. The King's highest advisor, in fact. However, there was another man, Edward's father. This man also worked for the King, and he was a very diligent worker. Winchester began to fear for his position, as he watched West receive more and more praise and grow to be as equally admired by the king as himself. He learned that West was also a Christian, and that was the Straw that Broke the Camel's Back.

"One night; Edward's twelfth birthday, the four Wests sat together in their house."

"Four?" Interjected Elizabeth.

"Ah, yes." The man continued, "West, his wife, Edward, and Edward's sister. Yes, he had a sister. Same name as yours. She and Edward were very, very close, and they loved each other dearly.

"So there they all sat, a content and peaceful family. But suddenly the door burst open and an armoured knight entered—Winchester. West drew his sword and stepped in front of his family. He fought Winchester bravely, but the other was at an extreme advantage. Their swords clashed, and then, quite abruptly, Winchester ran West through with his sword, and that individual slumped to his knees, slain.

"Winchester did not stop there, however. Edward's mother screamed, and Elizabeth began to cry. Winchester slew the woman before Edward could say 'murder'. Then he stepped over her corpse. Edward pushed Elizabeth behind him. He would not have his Lizzy killed. He glanced at where his father lay. His sword lay on the ground, about a yard from Edward. It was the only chance. Edward dove for the sword, but he was seconds too late. His dear sister was dead. Edward yelled deafeningly loudly and rushed on Winchester, wounding him badly. Winchester countered, but the wound was nearly fatal, and he eventually retreated.

"Edward dropped the sword with a clatter. He stared at the three bodies. His father lay, a heroic expression on his still face, a bright red patch on his chest. His mother's eyes and mouth gaped open in horror her garment soaked red as well. But Elizabeth—oh, dearest of dears, Lizzy!—a gaping hole in her throat stared Edward in the face. He wanted both to run and kiss her and to run, screaming, from her, so he moved not at all. Finally he slumped to the floor and hugged his knees. He would have stayed there forever.

"As I mentioned before, it was Edward's birthday, and Alana and I were stopping by to give him a gift. When no one answered at our knock, we entered and found Edward sitting there, staring at his slain family.

"Worst thing is, poor Edward was convinced that Elizabeth's death was his fault. If he had only been a moment sooner, if he had reached the sword quicker..."

"Well of course it wasn't his fault!" Elizabeth exclaimed. Rev Rowe nodded, and said, "We tried to talk sense into him, tried dreadful hard to convince him he was at no fault, but—he's never admitted anything but his complete guilt. And that, my child, is the story of Edward West."