The Escape: A Forest Lord Short Story by Steven A. McKay

Author:Steven A. McKay [McKay, Steven A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-01-02T16:00:00+00:00

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John set his feet defensively, hefting his great quarterstaff as the smallest of the Scotsmen, obviously their leader, walked into the street with a look of pure rage on his face. He led his final two companions, Angus and Balfour – who was blowing hard – in a loose triangular formation with himself at the front.

“You great turd, you’ve taken out half of my men. That’s going to cost me a lot of money since the lordling that hired me wanted eight soldiers, not three!” The wiry little man pointed the tip of his sword towards John. “You might be double my size but I’m going to use this to cut off your balls and eat them.”

John raised an eyebrow at the bizarre threat. “You’d like having my balls in your mouth, wouldn’t you? But it’s not going to happen, you little rat-bastard. Come on, what are you waiting for? I’ve already taken down five of you northern maids, let’s end this now so I can be on my way.”

Angus was enraged, both at the loss of his companions and the confident smile of the huge bearded outlaw. Balfour, on the other hand, older and more experienced, watched their target uneasily, wondering if they’d bitten off more than they could chew. The wolf’s head had killed or otherwise incapacitated five – five! – hard men as if it was nothing.

“On my command,” Duncan growled softly, eyes boring into Little John murderously, “rush him with me, Balfour. Angus, you dodge around behind him and see if you can skewer the big prick while he’s trying to hold us off.”

“That won’t work,” John laughed, overhearing the man’s plan. “I’ll –”

“Now!”

Duncan ran forward swinging his sword inwards to try and take John in the midriff while Balfour followed a moment later, bringing his sword up overhead, ready to bring it down in a brutal killing blow. Angus scurried to the side, keeping as much space between himself and the outlaw as possible to avoid the reach of the long staff that had brutalized so many of his mates already that night.

John gripped his weapon in both hands, swaying to the right to deflect Duncan’s blade. The dark Scot stumbled under the force of the parry while the outlaw, without pausing, twirled the staff in a surprisingly agile move that caught Balfour’s sword on the downstroke, halting its momentum. Little John then leaned in close to the older Scot and brought his knee up, hammering it between the man’s legs with eye-watering force.

Angus managed to get around behind the giant but he didn’t attack just yet, wary of the enormous quarterstaff still held firmly in John’s hands.

“You could eat your mate’s bollocks instead of mine,” the big outlaw grunted at Duncan, nodding down at the fallen, mewling Balfour who lay in the street curled up like a fifty-year-old foetus. “Although I think I probably just burst them.” He swung his staff around, pushing back the last of the Scotsmen, wondering how he could possibly fend off an attack from both front and back.

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