"How the fuck do you know this hedge knight's name?" Edric asked, his dark eyes flicking suspiciously between the two of them, as though wondering if the whole affair were an elaborate jest designed to make a fool of him.
He looked down at the dent in the helmet, then at the thick linen wrapping Vilon's side. Vilon, meanwhile, was busily chugging down the steaming draught thrusted into his hands by the medic, who offered all three men a sour, unblinking glare.
"In an hour or two, you'll feel the edge taken off the pain," the medic muttered, wiping his hands on a grey rag and washing himself of the matter. "When it starts burning hot again, inform any of my boys. We'll brew you another cup."
With the bitter tea draining down his throat, Vilon's eyes met Edric's. He saw the sharp light of understanding finally click behind the man's eyes.
"So this is the hedge knight we owe our thanks to?"
