The Burning Bridge- Character Reaction

34

"Alyss, it's your turn to read." The tall Courier took the book from her mentor, deciding to read this chapter as fast as she could.

MORGARATH WAS WHEELING HIS HORSE IN A WIDE CIRCLE TO gain room. Horace knew that he'd swing around soon and charge down on him, using the momentum of his charge as much as the force of his sword to try to strike him from the saddle.

Everyone unconsciously leaned forward, particularly those who hadn't been there. A mixture of fear and awe were stamped upon their faces.

Guiding his horse with his knees, he swung away in the opposite direction, shrugging his buckler around from where it hung on his back and slipping his left arm through the straps. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Morgarath, eighty meters away, spurring his horse forward in a charge. Horace clapped his heels into his own horse's ribs and swung him back to face the black-clad figure.

Horace grimaced as Cassandra's hand clamped onto his arm with a vice-like grip.

The two sets of hoofbeats overlapped, merged, then overlapped once more as the riders thundered toward each other. Knowing his opponent had the advantage of reach, Horace determined to let him strike the first blow, then attempt a counterstrike as they passed. They were nearly on each other now and Morgarath suddenly rose in his stirrups and, from his full height, swung an overhand blow at the boy. Horace, expecting the move, threw up his shield. A couple gasps were heard about the room.

The power behind Morgarath's blow was devastating. The sword had Morgarath's immense height, the strength of his arm and the momentum of his galloping horse behind it. Timing it to perfection, he had channeled all those separate forces and focused them into his sword as it cleaved down. Horace had never in his life felt such destructive force. Those watching winced at the ringing crash of sword on shield and they saw Horace sway under the mighty stroke, almost knocked clean from his saddle on the first pass.

"Horace Altman!" Cassandra cried, letting go of his arm—only for an instant—just to smack him. "I swear, if you ever do something like this again...!" He sighed.

All thought of a counterstrike was gone now. It was all he could do to regain his saddle as his horse skittered away, dancing sideways, as Morgarath's mount, trained for battle, lashed out with its rear hooves.

Horace's left arm, his shield arm, was rendered completely numb by the terrible force of the blow. He shrugged it repeatedly as he rode away, moving the arm in small circles to try to regain some feeling. Finally, he felt a dull ache there that seemed to stretch the entire length of the limb. Now he knew real fear. All his training, he realized, all his practice, was nothing compared to Morgarath's years and years of experience.

Rodney snorted angrily, both at Morgarath and his former student. Horace wisely chose to ignore it.

He wheeled to face Morgarath and rode in again. On the first pass, they had met shield to shield. This time, he saw his opponent was angling to pass on his right side—his sword arm side—and he realized that the next shattering blow would not land on his shield. He would have to parry with his own sword. His mouth was dry as he galloped forward, trying desperately to remember what Gilan had taught him.

Gilan grimaced. "Morgarath wasn't exactly what I had in mind." Horace shrugged.

But Gilan had never prepared him to face such overpowering strength. He knew he couldn't take the risk of gripping his sword lightly and tightening at the moment of impact. His knuckles whitened on the hilt of his sword and, suddenly, Morgarath was upon him and the massive broadsword swung in a glittering arc at his head. Horace threw up his own sword to parry, just in time.