Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 2

into the enemy and prevent them from using their bows. Seth and Kent rode side by side, the knights in their camp spreading out in groups of two or three.
    Kent swung around him with his lance, not letting anyone get close enough to use their swords. The one advantage they had was their superior weaponry and armor, and more than once, a blow that would have been lethal clanged off Kent's armor, threatening little more than bruises.
    Memories of fighting in jousting tournaments came back to Kent, but this was different. Men were wounded in those tournaments, yes, but none like this. Bodies littered the field, and Kent resolutely kept fighting.
    A man to his left slashed at his horse's legs, the swordsman quick on his feet, and Seth pulled a dagger from his belt and threw it at the man, the knife burying itself in his chest. Kent intercepted a pike thrust from a mounted man who tried to stab Seth, pulling the enemy from his saddle and poking the horse in the rear so that it fled, no other man able to mount it.
    No thank-yous needed to be exchanged. This was a battle, a dance of death and protection that they both had done before. Kent would always fight confidently with Seth by his side, the thrill of battle beating through him like a drum.
    The fighting around them subsided all at once like a rainstorm breaking, men who remained beginning to flee. Kent spun his horse in circles, lance poised, but met with no challenges. "They're gone," he said, the thrill of battle beginning to leave him. "We've won."
    "No. We have to keep moving," Seth said, his gaze sharp as some of the enlisted men began to run after the fleeing bandits. "The archers are still out there. That's where there strength lies."
    "They're running," Kent countered.
    "And we must chase them all the way back to their encampment," Seth said. "Now—"
    Something snapped in the distance, Kent turning too slow. He raised his shield, hefting it in front of his friend, but the bolt was too fast.
    Not archers. Crossbows.
    It tore into Seth's shoulder, his eyes glazing over and arm going slack as his lance thudded to the ground. His body followed soon after, toppling from his horse, his body jarring as it hit.
    Kent's heart stopped. Nothing moved for too long, other than the slow trickle of blood from his friend. The man he loved.
    Another snap, the sound of a crossbow firing. Kent threw himself down, off his horse, next to Seth's prone form.
    "Seth, wake up!" He shook the fallen man, praying to God that Seth would open his eyes. "Seth, please!" Blood soaked his hands as he put pressure on the wound. The fight was forgotten, the sounds of battle and screaming men around him muted. Nothing mattered other than saving Seth's life. Every touch brought more blood, and what little he knew of field medicine—pressure on wounds—only seemed to bring it welling faster.
    "Please, God, save him." Even as he spoke the words, guilt flashed through him. What if this was his punishment? A punishment for loving another man—an abomination in the eyes of God.
    "Please, Lord, I'll never look at him again if you save him. I'll never think impurely of him again. Just let him live." He tenderly touched Seth's face, stroked his hair, unshed tears burning at his eyes. "Please."
    "You. Get off him. He's hurt, yes?" Kent snapped his head up to meet the steely gray eyes of Lyle, his priest robes flapping around his ankles like the wings of a crow. "Get back to the fight. The bandits are fleeing. Leave him to me."
    Kent took a shuddering breath, too weak with fear to move. "Can you save him?"
    "If you give me access to the wound, perhaps!" Lyle snapped, his greasy hair falling over his face as he knelt down. "Clean shot. Unconscious due to shock, most likely." He reached into his bag, pulling out a bottle of clear liquid, which he uncorked and poured over Seth's wound. "If you're not going to pursue the fleeing bastards, help me get him back to camp. The wound needs dressing."
    "Yes… yes, I will." Kent's stomach flipped as he touched Seth. This was not the way he had wanted to touch him, with his friend clammy and motionless under his fingers.
    "Hurry up now!" Lyle growled. "To my tent."
    ****
    The battle was won, knights trickling back to camp after routing the enemy. Kent didn't notice, pacing back and forth outside the medical tent, his thoughts chasing themselves in circles.
    Going inside would be foolish. He would only get in the way, endangering Seth and possibly any other injured