AN - I am going on a week long holiday later today, to the hopefully not rainy lake district, as I do not know what my internet access will be like, here is a chapter for you. I have also entered this book into the Watty's. I did not win last time, but you never know... Az x
The fighting was intense. These were no mere men, they had to have spent many a day training. Their main problem at this point, was that so had Artair. Even Alfred who was having a little problem with their better technique could still handle them, due mainly to his size and sheer power. The Englishmen defiantly had superior training to Alfred, but they were no match for Artair. Though he let them tire a little first, where would be the fun in just ending it all in a matter of seconds? He had to at least give them the impression they had put up a good fight, before he dispatched them to their maker.
If in fact, they would ever make it, that far up. With a smirk crawling its way over his face, he blocked a rough blow, the vibrations travelling up his arm even as he countered the attack with a flurry of blows himself. The energy pumping through him was something he never got used to, but at times longed to feel, for it made him feel alive in a way he never experienced anywhere else. The thrill of not know if the next blow would land, if the next blow would mean that he had made a mistake which would end up in his death.
The only feeling that he strived for as much, was a totally opposite emotion. A calm that he received when around Rohesia, she seemed to make it so that he did not need anything else, and there was no twitchy need to find a fight, or cause mayhem and madness somewhere, just for the hell of it. But at this moment he saw nothing but the male and the sword before him, felt nothing but the beating for his heart and heard nothing but the pounding of each pump within his ears.
The cut searing across his arm brought a new height to his euphoria. There really was something about a fight that got his blood pumping in all the right ways. The slow sear of the open wound on his arm spurred him to pound his sword down all the harder on his opponent. There were three or four still left, hanging back awaiting their comrade's demise or success before deciding their role in this debacle. Ignoring them for now, as they were most definielty not the immediate threat, he turned to help Alfred with the male he tussled with at the moment. Frowning, as he took in the motions, waiting for an opening, he had a gut feeling something was not right. How did they know where to ambush them? Why were the English rats standing back whilst their comrade needed help and two of the their brethren had already been slain...but most importantly, Alfred had had two chances in the last few minutes to defeat his opponent, yet each time he had not fulfilled the promise the fight had led to.
This did not sit right in his gut, the rush in his system was blinding him to something that he needed to think on, yet there was no time to think at this moment. Having already disembarked his stead, he reached down to his boot and took out a dirk. With an accuracy gained only from the hours spent training, he threw the dirk at his moving target, praying he had calculated the angles and movement correctly, if not, then he was down a weapon and would have an angry Englishman aiming for him. Not that Artair was overly worried about the latter as it meant that he could swat him down like the vermin he is.
End over end, time seemed to have no meaning as the dirk spun, Artair found it hard to catch his breath, knowing this could be an action which ended this fight for them. Or it could cause mayhem. He had no idea as to the thoughts of the males still standing as spectators.
With a sickening, wet thunk, the dirk reverberated as it sank solidly, and undeniably in the eye socket of the bloody Englishman. It took a moment, before his body slowly fell into a rather ungraceful heap on the ground. The look of menace forever etched upon his face. There was no time for shock, no time for fear or pain, only what he was thinking and feeling at the moment of impact.
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Highland Bear (Book 4)Historical Fiction
The Druids were a hunted people long ago...they made a pact to scatter their children throughout time to keep them safe from the massacre to come. These children became lost, both in time and in the memories of people. At first they were looked for...