Chapter ten

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Chapter ten

The horses were flagging, their flanks heaving, sweat streaming down their chests and legs. Marcus angled his horse under branches, over fallen logs and along an ancient track. Movement flickered in the undergrowth around him and behind him and he kicked his heels into the horses side desperately. Then suddenly they were trapped facing a waterfall and cliff and Marcus wheeled his horses round and leaped to the ground.
"Arrows, quickly" he called breathlessly pulling his bow and quiver from the saddle and slapping the horses rear, shooing it away. The two men followed suit and as the dust settled all three faced the direction they had come.
"How many?" Asked Henry, his voice desperate.
"Six, maybe seven, i think?" answered Brom indecisively.
"Nine. Two groups, one following our track the second group coming from our right," refuted Marcus calmly. He was plunging the tip of his arrows into ground in a neat line in front of him and he used one of them to emphasise his observation. He felt oddly calm now that his only course of action was to fight.
"When they come they are going to close us down quickly. We'll have time for two, maybe three volleys so aim true. Then its swords and maces."
He could hear his foes progress, branches snapping, bestial screeches and barks.
"Gods speed lads," he finished.
Then the first foe came crashing through the undergrowth, skidded to a stop and stood staring at the men. It was once a middle aged man, shoulders thick with muscle, maybe once a farmer but any resemblance of a person was gone. Instead this blood crusted entity stared at them with evil intent. It growled, sniffed the air and then four more figures were at its side, teeth snapping at each other like wolves fighting over a deer carcass.

Marcus fired his first arrow. It was rushed and barely aimed but his target was less than half a furlong away and he was used to distances three times that. The arrow flew horizontally across the clearing, and struck its prey in less than half a dozen heart beats. The bodkin point punched through the skull of the farmer with such force that the fletchings brushed against the brow and the body toppled backwards. Instantly the remaining four pounced forward and rushed towards the men. Two arrows punched into the chest of one of them, spilling him to the floor but he was up again. Marcus had his strung his second arrow and looked up, shocked to see the enemy had covered so much distance. He fired again and this arrow struck the thigh of a young female, her features twisted in anger. The bone snapped with an audible crack and she dropped to her knees then started to drag herself forwards. Another volley and this time an arrow punched through the females face and she slumped forward and was still.
"The head. Aim for the head", roared Marcus but it was too late, the remaining three where upon them. Marcus swung the thick bow stave and smashed it into the face of his opponent, pulverising the nose, ducked under the outstretched claws that promised to tear his flesh and stabbed the stave in between the legs of another tripping it and it fell at the feet Brom who drove his sword into the neck. He brought the bow back up and hammered it into the temple of the first. The deer horn knock crushed through the thin bone and plunged deep into the brain. The body dropped tearing the bow from Marcus's hands, he reached over his shoulder and pulled his mace free, just in time.

A third figure pounced at him. An old grey haired female, eyes blazing, blood and spittle foaming from her mouth. Marcus fell backwards with the beast on top of him. As the teeth snapped at his face he managed to bring the handle of the mace up and between the jaws. The teeth bit deep into the wood, Marcus rolled to one side then the other, trying to throw her to the side, but the strength of his foe was prodigious. Her fingers clawed the chain mail and Marcus could hear the small metal hoops snapping and all he could do was hold his mace and hope. And then hope was gone as he heard the others crashing through the trees.

Gareth watched the uneven fight from above. He had slept fitfully throughout the night and woke before the dawn. His girls had barely moved or spoken all morning instead they just stared off into the distance their faces blank or rocked back and forth. He had tried to concentrate, make a plan on what he should do next but his mind always returned to Dana, his poor beautiful Dana and to the thick pool of blood that he had left her body laying in. Her lifeless eyes staring back at him and he had shed more tears. And the morning had past along unnoticed until now. He had heard the sounds of the horses and the shouts of the men and he had hoped they were to save his family but then he heard the familiar screeching and fear racked his body. He was crouched down watching and if he stayed quiet then maybe the beasts would not see him but Eva began crying and once the soldiers were killed then surely they would be next so he looked around desperately for something, anything to help. And all there was in the cave were rocks.

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