Sarpen

The only place Sarpen felt comfortable was astride his mare. She was coal black, firm of limb, a beauty to behold.

He wanted to drive the unwanted thoughts of marriage and Jews out of his head. So he kicked Abyss into a gallop

The wind and mist sprayed his face dampening his blond hair.

He longed to spill blood, haphazardly slung over his shoulder was an antiquated Augustin Musket; a remnant from the Austro-Prussian war.

It misfired more often than it fired, and usually missed its target. But it was all he had, maybe one day he can get his hands on an American Colt Revolver.

Up ahead an old woman was yelling an unruly goat, Sarpen felt a thirst.

"Old woman, give me some goat's milk!" Sarpen called out.

"Fuck off!", Was the terse reply, "it's on account of you lot I have no milk!" Old Kleptka was in no mood for talking to anymore assholes.

"Mind your tongue hag or I'll have you whipped!" Sarpen tried his best to sound authoritative.

"Two months I have been telling your boss about the goings on here, nothing happens. Today it's like the Mother Mary parade, one after another, strutting around with your hard dicks in your hands pretending you're men. Bah!"

"What the devil are you talking about crone?"

"The other two louts, passed by here neigh three hours ago. Off into the woods to finally handle the evil doings going on in there"

"Two of my men?"

"The old loud mouth and the young pissant , most likely they are done for. I tried to warn them, they can't hear nothing cause their balls are in their ears."

Sarpen rode off in the direction of the woods at full gallop.

When he arrived there was no sign of anyone, Sarpen tied Abyss to a tree and continued on foot.

Lucky that the pair did not attempt to hide their tracks and were easy to follow.

After fifteen minutes walking in the dense bush, the sound of conflict could be heard ahead. Four attackers against two, and Bogdan appeared to be wounded. The younger man was toe to toe with is sole adversary. While Bogdan was fighting three against one.

Time to even those odds, Sarpen lowered his musket and took aim at one of the men in black.

The shot rang out, startling every one, the bullet missed the target and hit a tree.

Bogdan took a blow to his leg and crumpled, upon seeing him fall, the three men in combat with him charged straight at the new threat.

Sarpen realized he would not get another shot off in time so he drew his ornate sword. Due to his previous injury in the coach, Sarpen's fighting skills were deficient, so he took a defensive stance.

He parried the first attacker, kicked the second in the abdomen, and cut the third's sword arm off at the elbow.

But his success was short lived, soon he was defending against a flurry of strikes.

While ceding ground to the assailants Sarpen stumbled over a root which left his flank open to attack.

But during mid swing at the helpless Sarpen , the attacker's neck erupted in a scarlet shower.

 Cerubian's spear tip carved through the man's aorta; dousing the fallen Sarpen with blood.

The last man in black realized the odds were now against him, and fled.Nobody was in condition to give chase, so they let him go.

The man offered his hand to his lord to right him back on his feet.

"You fight well, what is your name?" Sarpen asked.

"Cerubian my lord"