A Time for Swords by Matthew Harffy

Author:Matthew Harffy [Harffy, Matthew]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781838932886
Publisher: Head of Zeus
Published: 2020-12-09T16:00:00+00:00

Thirty

Thinking back, that was the moment when I truly came to believe that I was on the path that God had chosen for me. He could have allowed me to die there. I was outnumbered and my companions were too far away to reach me, even if they had heard my screams. And when the newcomer threw himself into the fight, taking on the leader, my stocky enemy could still have remained focused on his task. I would have been dead in moments. But instead of hacking into me with his great seax, or leaping onto me and forcing my face under the water, he turned to see what was happening behind him. He made that fateful error that is many a warrior’s last mistake: he underestimated his enemy.

The instant when his eyes flicked away from mine, I launched myself forward, the shattered end of the ash sword clutched tightly in my fist. My throat-wrenching scream mingled with that of the other fighting men as I plunged the sharp, splintered tip of the broken practice sword into my adversary’s neck. We fell together into the mud, beside the stamping hooves of the horses. My hand was warm, and looking down, I saw that dark blood was pumping over my fingers, soaking the bandage there and colouring the water-filled hoof prints red. The man tried to push me off, but I drove the branch deeper into his throat. I did not look away from him, despite the sounds of fighting close by. He made to strike me with the seax, but I raised my weight up and pinned his arm beneath my left knee.

His eyes were dimming now, looking beyond me to whatever it is that men witness when their life leaves their mortal shell. He trembled, let out a rattling sigh and was still.

Panting, I pushed myself to my feet, wrenching the seax from the dead man’s hand. Its handle was fashioned from an antler. It was warm to the touch, though not as warm as the man’s blood.

The howling had ceased where the other two men were fighting and I watched warily to see who had vanquished and who it was that had come rushing to my aid. There was no doubt in my mind then or now, that without that timely intervention, I would have died there beside that stream.

Slowly, gasping for breath as if he had run a long way, one man rose. I recognised the motionless form that remained on the earth first. The pallid corpse had a curtain of blood over its face and the left eye was a ragged, ripped mess. The man who stood over the dead swordsman held a blood-drenched sword in his hand. His dark hair and his beard were an unruly tangle, but his teeth flashed bright in a grin.

“I told you my enemies feared me,” Cormac said.

“My enemies too, it seems,” I said. His grin widened, but I could not smile. I was only now allowing myself to believe that I would not be dead in a few heartbeats.

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