A Fight for Possession, Body and Soul!

Hannon pulled on his reins, his patience exacerbated. Rain washed his face as he scowled up at the overhead canopy, his eyes briefly retaining an image of the dappled light even though the day was grey. It seemed that there was to be no letup in the weather, but that was not his main concern. He cocked his head as he listened to the woodland noises trying to decipher the many sounds. His face was set in concentration and worry gnawed in his guts. He did not have long to wait and he flinched when a crack from a broken branch confirmed his fears. That was a large animal and a sturdy branch by the sounds of it. He was being followed.

With some difficulty, given the narrowness of the trail, he turned his mount to face the way he had come and waited. Rain continued to seep under his collar, damp now rather than cold. He blinked to clear his vision, knowing that he may need to react swiftly should the need arise. He was confident of his own skills. Youth and dexterity were on his side, but the damp would wear any man down and his joints ached softly.

After a few moments a silhouette appeared from within the tunnel framed by trees. A rider. A lean man astride a brown horse that looked as miserable with the weather as Hannon did. The man urged his mount forward and then stopped no more than ten paces away and at that moment even the birdcall vanished, as though in expectation of the events to follow.

“Why are you following me?” Hannon demanded softly. There was no need to raise his voice. He wanted to sound calm even though his pulse raced. The other man rose in his stirrups as though relieving a cramp. Long, dark hair framed a youthful face. His eyes were pinched against the drizzle, his eyebrows narrowed in concentration. Hannon knew instantly that this man was not to be trusted, whether a premonition or a judgement of character he cared less. He dropped his gaze to the other man’s weapons; a sword and knife scabbarded at his waste. The sword’s pommel looked worn; a bad sign that he may be an experienced sword’s man.

The man smiled thinly. “Give me the kara-stone and I will let you ride on.” His voice was gravel, flat and full of menace.

Hannon’s horse crabbed across the path and he pulled on the reins, bringing it to a halt. “Kara-stone? I don’t know what you are talking about.”

The other man snorted. “I saw it, yesterday, when you were sitting in the tavern, waiting for your meal. You took it out, wrapped in a cloth and looked upon it; a blue-green stone, the colour of the ocean. I would have it. Give it to me and I will let you ride on,” he nodded to the trail behind Hannon, letting the malice in his words hang in the air between them.

“I am content to sell it – if the price is right,” Hannon stated. That was his intention all along, to sell it and make some money and he was hoping for a sizeable sum.

“Why should I buy it when I can take it,” came the reply. Hannon had half expected it. His luck never ran true and with hand the gods gave and the other they took away.

Hannon’s one advantage now was action rather than inaction. Without further consideration he dug his heels in his mount’s flanks and, shouting, urged his horse forward, intending to use his mount’s momentum and sudden attack to unbalance his foe, for that was who he was; an enemy that must be swept aside. Horse and man covered the distance swiftly. The other man’s eyes grew wide and he shouted an oath as his hand flew to his sword. He half drew the weapon before the horses collided, bodies impacting with a heavy thud that rocked Hannon in the saddle, even though he was prepared for it.

Hannon drew his sword as the other man was thrown aside, leaning precariously back, hanging on with his reins and fighting to stay in the saddle. His sword remained undrawn as he fought for balance. Hannon used the flat of his own sword, aimed at the other man’s head, trying to stun him rather than kill. With a look of terror the other man dodged the blow and urged his horse away from the sudden melee.