O'Cuire was laughing.
      Longshanks knew it had started out as a smirk on the Rogue's face, as he had heard the ultimatum; knew it had grown quickly into a cocky chuckle as the enemy swordsman had brandished his weapon all a-bluster; knew that it then had become a full, hearty, deep-bellied laughter upon realizing, and then mocking the absurdity of the situation. Then Duril too felt himself smiling.
      The swordsman was at first confused, then even more enraged at what he could only deem an insult. He charged forward, aiming a blow at the Irishman's head. Timeras parried easily the attack, brushing it aside with the flat of his own blade, then, quicker than the guard could react, smashed the steel hilt of his sword into his face.
      The soldier staggered back, snorting blood through a crushed nose, hacking on teeth knocked in by the heavy hand-guard.
      Longshanks set himself for the inevitable attack by the Black Knight, yet still it did not come. He did not have much time to puzzle it,

 
 
for pain ripped through his thigh, and he suddenly lost the ability to stand on it. He looked down in agony and saw the crossbow bolt that had punctured his leg. It had just missed the bone, and now both ends thrust out through bloody rents in his flesh. He gritted his teeth and spat, turning his gaze to from whence the deadly dart had come, to see a cursing Sieghard of Schürstab, busily trying to reload an arbalest.
      The air practically hummed with bolts after that, and the ranger and the Rogue perforce kept their heads down and braced themselves against the battlement wall.
      Then, much to their surprise, a muffled voice called out. "Halt!"

* * *

     ...The Black Knight held up a gauntleted hand.
      Duril looked up in astonishment, and O'Cuire threw a questioning glance over a shoulder. The knight reached up and removed the dark helm. Then the scintillation again

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