The Perfect Sun by Brendan Carroll

Author:Brendan Carroll
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Mythology & Folk Tales, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Fantasy, Fairy Tales, Epic, Literature & Fiction
ISBN: 1481979191
Publisher: Brendan Carroll
Published: 2012-08-23T23:00:00+00:00

(((((((((((((<O>)))))))))))))

Luke Matthew leapt into the air and brought the blade of his sword down on the neck of the man who was about to set fire to a stack of bundled wood laid at the foot of a wooden cross. The man’s head separated neatly from its body and rolled across the stony ground. Luke kicked the torch away from the firewood amid a babble of voices, screams and shouts. He slung his black mantel over his shoulder and turned to face his next target. A short man wielding a dirk and a short sword leapt at him from the dark and swung the dirk at his face. He side-stepped the dumpy little man and caught his ragged tartan as he plunged past him. The man ripped away from him and turned around, lunging at him, almost stark naked, with the short sword, screaming in panicked rage.

More shouts and cries continued all around him, adding to the chaos, but this man was no swordsman. He was brutish and possessed of only had one eye. The Knight felt a fleeting twinge of guilt at the thought of killing the ruffian. He could smell the sour breath of the drunkard on him and there was little doubt his only courage had come from a barrel. Luke pushed him away and sent him tumbling across the ground. He came to rest beside the first man’s head, screamed something unintelligible and then charged again.

This time, Luke did not hold back. He sliced the man’s arm almost completely off on the first pass, turned around and took off his head with the second swipe. The head sailed through the air and almost landed on top of the first. A woman screamed and a tremendous cheer went up.

“Another one!” someone called out and he spun to watch for a new attacker.

“Thair evra whair!” Another voice behind him cried and he turned again.

“The divvil take them oll!” He turned again, but the torches were bobbing away down the meadow.

He waited until he was sure there were no more armed men lurking in the mist, and then replaced his sword in the scabbard. He just had a real dislike for burning people alive. It mattered not to him what crime they had been convicted.

“Uncle Luke?” A plaintive voice drifted down to him.

He spun again and squinted up at the figure tied to the cross.

“Luke? Luke Andrew!”

“It’s me, Uncle! Help me down from here.”

The Knight climbed haphazardly up the piles and soon had his disgruntled nephew down. He was a mess, daubed with pitch and smelling of oil and kerosene. He was shirtless and wore no socks or boots. His face was scratched and his hair was a tangled mess as he rubbed his chafed wrists to restore the circulation.

“What are you doing here?” Luke Matthew asked him. “Where is here? How did we get here? Where did you come from?”

“This way!” Luke Andrew ignored his uncle’s questions and began to run back across the open spaces. He yelped and limped and cursed as he stepped on sharp stones buried in the soil.

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