For Lord and Land by Matthew Harffy

Author:Matthew Harffy [Harffy, Matthew]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781801102254
Publisher: Head of Zeus

Chapter 24

Sidrac’s blood was still pumping from the severed arteries in his neck as Cynan pushed him aside.

Hunberht’s eyes widened and a cold smile spread across his face.

“I am going to enjoy killing you,” he sneered, assured of his own ability despite his right arm hanging useless in a sling. He leapt forward to meet Cynan, and his agility, sword-skill and courage were all obvious in his actions and lithe movements. His blade flicked out with snake-like speed and Cynan barely managed to parry the blow. As it was, Hunberht’s sword scored a long cut down his forearm. Blood welled there, but Cynan did not feel the wound immediately. Cynan was tall, strong and battle-skilled and, without thinking, he rotated his wrist, turning his parry into a counter-strike that pierced Hunberht’s left shoulder. The blade buried deep into muscles and sinews and the swordsman’s left arm lost its strength. His sword dropped to the earth and for the briefest of moments, Hunberht’s eyes were filled with the knowledge of his death. All about them, the other men were fighting and Cynan did not pause. He raised his sword and hammered it into Hunberht’s head. The man’s skull was smashed and he collapsed instantly.

It was then that the cut on his arm began to burn and Cynan wondered for a heartbeat how he might have fared against Hunberht if the sneering swordsman had had the use of his right arm. But there was no time to ponder such questions. Halinard was locked in a struggle against a stocky, bandy-legged brute, while Brinin and Ingwald had both dispatched the men who stood before them.

The two of them moved to help the Frank. Together they would make quick work of Halinard’s opponent. Cynan fixed his eyes on the last enemy standing. It was the tall youth, Raedmund, the lad who had taken the dogs away to be tethered in the barn. Stepping over Hunberht’s still form, Cynan swung his sword in a great arc, testing his hold on the grip and the strength of his wounded arm. Blood flicked from the blade, splattering Raedmund’s appalled face. The boy’s eyes were wide and terrified. He held a spear before him, pointing it towards the approaching Waelisc warrior. Cynan clenched his jaw against the throbbing pain in his arm and jumped forward. Raedmund gasped and stumbled backwards, raising the spear to ward off the impending attack.

“Please, no,” he said. “I do not want to die.”

The boy’s words were as wind to a fire within Cynan. His rage soared, its flames fanned to a new intensity.

“What about Alfwold?” he spat, recalling the look of horror on the old bondsman’s face as he had died hanging on the oak. “Do you think he wanted death? What about Leofman? You were going to kill him,” he shouted, as all his anger coalesced on the terrified young man before him. “And what of his wife, and their son?”

Raedmund took another step backward, shaking his head. He tried to speak, perhaps to justify and explain himself, but Cynan did not listen to his words.

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