When the first raider tried to attack the butcher’s son, Múni strode up to the unsuspecting soul and cut the attacker down, then sheathed his knives and returned to a crouch before the man hit the ground. 

“Holy shite,” said the chubby boy, “and my mom said you were a coward.” 

Múni snapped a look at the boy, his hazel eyes blazing with controlled fury. “Your mother says a lot but does little. I see you have chosen a different path.” Before the butcher’s son could respond, Múni moved like a cat over to another kid in trouble then cutting down a man who was sneaking up behind another boy. 

The butcher’s son, looked after him, feeling stupid for bringing up his nosey mother words, But Múni had moved on, picking his targets carefully. 

Múni only fought to protect one of his students or in self-defense, if a raider was stupid enough to venture within his personal space. Between skirmishes, he sheathed his knives deep within his grey robes, resuming the passive posture of a monk.

The adults in Auggie’s group were not fairing so well. Even though the old men fought bravely, they were no match for a younger and seasoned war party. For every raider killed, at least three of the adults lost their lives. In a matter of moments, only the children, Auggie and Muni remained with Muni standing in a crouched position at the front of the group both knives crossed in front as if warding off vampires.

Auggie stole a glance downhill to the river, catching sight of a boat pulling away, with Dárerca being held down by an extremely tall raider. 

“Damn it Múni, we’ve lost them,” he yelled and ran down the lane at full speed, his little band of young warriors right behind. This unexpected retreat caught the remaining six bandits off guard, leaving them standing with only Múni in their path. 

They rushed the tutor, thinking they had the advantage of numbers, which of course they did not. The bravest rushed in to strike from either side, their short swords an extension of their arms.  Múni dropped to a crouch then in a lightning fast slash, cut their their inner thighs, just below their armor. Their life-giving blood pumped out of their femoral arteries so quickly the joined him on their knees and flopped backwards like felled treas. In a pirouette move, Múni spun to his feet, causing the rest of the soldiers to rethink their attack, pulling up short. Múni crouched, shook the blood off his knives and put the knives away so fast it looked like a blur. 

The four raiders circled him, taking stabs at with short swords and taunting him like hyaenas nipping at prey. Each hoping they would be the one to get the lucky strike at the elusive monk, hoping he would make a mistake. But he was patient, looking as relaxed as if he was out for a Sunday stroll, parring their attacks with the tiniest of movements. Frustrated, one of them plunged his sword directly at Múni’s head; he simply stepped aside, and when the man looked down, he discovered that both of his wrists were cut to the bone. The man slumped over and sat on his butt, two circles of blood on either side of his body. Something changed in the faces of the remaining three, maybe it was the calmness of Muni or their sudden lack of numbers, but without a word they turned heal and ran for their lives.

Putting his knives away, Múni approached each of his victims, closing their eyes and blessing them with a touch of his thumb. “Such a waste of good men.” He said to the air, fragrant with the smells of farms smoke and death.  

Múni turned and jogged after Auggie and his band of defenders and caught up, right as they were about to burst into the clearing where Patrick lay dying with the two men standing over him, deciding how they were going to finish him off.

Múni passed Auggie and was on the attackers in three long strides, cutting the first one’s throat so fast that he turned in astonishment, holding his neck trying in vain to stop the blood. Auggie launched himself at the other, knocking him to the ground with such force that the wind was knocked out of the man as he hit the ground. The butcher’s son drove his pike through the man’s chest plate just as Auggie turned back to finish him off. 

Instead Auggie ran up to his friend kneeling next to him to see if Patrick was still alive. “He’s breathing.” Auggie exclaimed, “help me carry him.” 

The butcher’s son was by Auggie’s side in a flash picking up Patrick, who was bleeding badly from three deep cuts along the side of his face. 

Múni crouched again, watching the tree line, as if he was expecting another attack. He was right, because another large group of heavily armed bandits emerged on the road to their right, dragging a group of children. They were mostly girls from the surrounding villages, tied up behind them in a chain gang. 

Auggie tried to back away, but he got no further than a few feet when a second raiding party arrived on their right returning from another village. A group of 10 broke away from the band  and made a bee line for Auggie and his gang.

“Suggestions?” Auggie screamed still trying to hold on to the unconscious body of his best friend. 

“Yes…” said Múni, “drop your weapons, kick them aside, and get down on your knees. In that order” The children looked at Auggie for agreement. He reluctantly nodded his head throwing his own weapons to the ground..

Seeing the anguish on Auggie’s face, Múni said, “when given a choice, always choose life.” Múni dropped to his own knees and placed his hands behind his head submissively. The butcher’s son couldn’t help but notice that Múni had not thrown down his knives, so he tucked away his own butcher’s knife, hoping the raiders would not find it.

The rest of the kids dropped their makeshift weapons and got on their knees, just in time, too, because the first of the raiding parties were upon them.