‘And you will do this alone?’ enquired the fat man, with a wide grin. The others were smiling too.
‘Why should I need help against gutless scum?’ countered Conn, his voice stronger, his anger overwhelming his fear.
‘You are an arrogant pup,’ said the tall man, scornfully. ‘Kill him, Tudri,’ he told the fat man.
Screaming a battle cry Tudri rushed forward. A surge of fighting fury swept through Conn. Tudri’s iron sword flashed at Conn’s chest. Stepping in to the charge the young Rigante parried the lunge, then sent the Seidh blade scything up and across.
Tudri stumbled on for several paces, blood bubbling from his severed jugular and drenching his shirt. Then he pitched forward to the grass, his body twitching.
The other two advanced more warily now. Conn waited motionless, watching them. The tall man was graceful, and Conn guessed he would be fast. The other man was more nervous, licking his lips and blinking rapidly. The two men spread out. Then the tall man leapt forward. Conn parried the thrust and tried a riposte which missed. At that moment the second man rushed in. Conn barely had time to swivel and block the lunge. The Seidh blade licked out, slashing open the man’s shoulder. He cried out and dropped his sword. Conn spun on his heel and hammered his right foot into the man’s belly, hurling him from his feet.
The tall man threw a knife. It hit Conn, hilt first, high in the face, under his right eye. The blow hurt, but had the throw not been a clumsy one the fight would have been over there and then, six inches of iron buried in Conn’s eye socket. The tall man attacked again. He was, as Conn had guessed, fast, and twice Conn had to leap back from disembowelling thrusts. The second man had regained his sword and was waiting for an opening. Conn lunged at the tall man, but he side-stepped and smashed his fist into Conn’s unprotected face. Conn staggered but did not fall. The tall man slashed his sword at Conn’s throat. Conn parried – then stabbed up and across with the Seidh blade. The blow had been aimed at the neck, but it entered the tall man’s face just below the cheekbone and punched through the mouth and out the other cheek. The sudden pain made the tall man jerk backwards. Conn lost hold of the knife, but rammed his short sword through his opponent’s belly, driving it deep.
As he did so the last man rushed in. Conn dragged back on the sword, but it was trapped in the tall man’s body. Releasing the hilt he parried a lunge with his left forearm. The iron blade sliced through his shirt, nicking the skin of his forearm. Conn sent a right cross into the man’s chin, spinning him round. Leaping high, Conn kicked the man in the temple. He fell awkwardly. The tall man was on his knees, his hands gripping the hilt of the blade through his belly. Conn grabbed the Seidh knife, ripping it clear of the man’s face. The last fighter was back on his feet, but he saw the knife in Conn’s hands and panicked, swivelling to run for his pony. Conn gave chase, leaping on the man’s back and bearing him to the ground. Conn grabbed his hair, hauling back his head.
‘Here is another gift for your blood god,’ hissed Conn, slicing the knife across his exposed throat.
Rising from the corpse he walked back to where the tall man knelt. Blood had drenched his leggings and his face was ashen.
‘Where is the fourth man?’ asked Conn.
‘I hope . . . you … rot and . . . die,’ whispered the man.
‘It is you who is doing the dying,’ said Conn. ‘But it can be more painful yet.’ Reaching out he took hold of the sword hilt, twisting it. The man screamed.
‘Where is the fourth?’ asked Conn, again. The man toppled to his right. A rattling breath came from his mouth. Then there was silence. Pushing the corpse onto its back Conn retrieved his sword and cleaned it on the man’s black cloak.