The outlaw brought his sword up to meet Selester's and his smile was a baring of teeth. He deflected and made his own pass, pressing in closer as he did so.
Behind them, Ser Baron's opponent howled in pain as he took a blow to the side, but he kept close, not disengaging. He aimed a cut at Ser Baron's shoulder, to the joint in the armor quickly followed by another, toward the knight's throat.
Another round of arrows were loosed, these landing in the ground between the combatants and their fellow, as a warning of a boundary.
"Your most desiccated grace, I'll say again: Take your men and go. We have no quarrel with you." The Old Town sellsword spoke from the shadows.
But even as he said it, Ser Baron's opponent spun away, and the knight sagged against his horse's mane, his white armor stained with blood.