Blood of the Highlands

Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

　

Tormand faught and cursed with equal ferocity. His usual cool-headed acceptance of the violence was lacking. He knew it was because of Persais, he couldn’t keep her out of his mind, and therefore couldn’t keep a clear head.

It was as the battle waned, the attackers edging into full retreat, that Tor found himself in the greatest danger. Jerking his sword free of a slain man, he turned slightly to find himself facing two large foes. They looked fresh, untouched by the battle raging around them. He knew he was hot and sweaty, weariness close at hand.

“Look about you, dogs. Your pack begins to tuck its tail and run. Best you join them.” Tormand quickly drew his dagger, adding its lethal if limited strength to that of his sword.

“Then we shall have to send you to hell a little quicker than we planed,” one of the men yelled even as he swung at Tormand.

He easily blocked that swing, but Tormand found it less easy to elude the second man at the same time. The skill of the men was average yet, by combining in their attack, it strained his own skills. Balfour, who would customarily be at his back, had been cleverly separated from him.

His major concern was in preventing either man from circling around behind him. He needed to keep both men in sight. That was going to require a great deal more tiring concentration than they would need to exert. Their grim smiles told him they were well aware of each of the disadvantages he suffered.

He held them off easily for awhile, but he was tiring.

The battle had sapped his strength. He needed to even the odds, seeing an opening he wasted no time. While blocking a swing from one man, he turned to see the other man ill prepared to defend himself. Tormand swiftly lunged, his sword cutting deep into the man. As he pulled back, his victim falling to the ground, the second man struck again.

Although he acted quickly enough to stop the strike from being a fatal one, Tormand felt his opponents weapon cut a deep furrow in his sword arm. Staggering back a little, Tor tried to prepare himself for a further assault, but the strength was already leaving his sword arm, seeping out along with the blood from his wound. A cold smile spread across his enemy’s face. Tormand knew his weakness had been seen. Gritting his teeth against the pain he raised his sword to deflect the mans blow. Agony tore through him with the shock of that blow. Stubbling backwards in an awkward retreat, fighting the encroaching blackness of unconciousness. His vision began to blur, darkness clouding the edges of his vision. As if sensing his distress Tor’s assailant attacked with renewed vigor, pushing Tormand’s strength to the limit. Losing his footing Tormand fell to his knees.

The end was seconds away, but Tormand refused to be defeated by a damned MacGuin.

He would not die today.

As the man’s sword came down, Tor rolled onto his back jumping up in time to see the man’s shocked face as he thrust his dagger into his black heart. Watching the life drain from the man’s eyes, he threw his body aside with disgust.

Finally giving into his weakness, cursing softly he sank to his knees.

Looking around he realized the attackers had been routed, the battle was won. Balfour was now at his side, crouching in front of Tormand.

Balfour half-smiled, but the look in his eyes revealed his concern. “Tis bad?”

“Nay. It just bleeds freely enough to sap my strength is all. We have won?”

“So it appears. I can only guess how much the victory has cost us however.”

“Nat too high, but high enough,” Merlion replied as he stepped up to them. “Two dead, one will surly die from his wounds, and four wounded enough to need a great deal of tending to before they can lift a sword again.” looking at Tormand’s wound he added, “Mayhap five?”

“Nay weakening though it is at the moment, ‘tis not serious.”

Merlion nodded looking relieved. “Then we best be on our way Chief, before they return.”

“Aye,” Tormand said getting back on his feet. Bring my horse. Those who cannot ride on their own will ride with whoever is able.”

“Aye Chief.”

Mounting his warhorse, Tor gritted his teeth and signaled the men to begin the ride back to the keep.

Upon arriving Tormand was supprised he was still conscious. His men needed him, the wounded needed attention. After his men were seen to then he would have his arm looked at. Scowling he thought, if he didn’t pass out first.

There was no denying it now. This was war, the MacGuins had taken things too far. 

Tormand was going to kill them all.

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