Gemmell, David – Morningstar

‘How would you do that?’ he asked, the words spoken softly. ‘With your bow? You think an arrow could stop me reaching you and breaking your arms and legs?’Good point,’ Mace agreed, laying aside the bow and drawing his longsword.

‘No good either,’ said the man. ‘One cut, one thrust, is all you get. And I have been cut before.’Turn the spit,’ said Mace, ‘the meat is charring.’The giant glanced back, saw that it was true and moved to the roasting sheep, turning the iron handle with one hand.

‘Now,’ said Mace, ‘it would appear that we are in somewhat of a quandary. We are hungry, you are loth to share your food. We do not want to kill you, nor to be killed. Therefore, let us wrestle for it.’The man stared at him without expression for several heart­beats, then he shook his head in disbelief. ‘You would wrestle meT ‘Best of three falls,’ offered Mace. ‘What do you say? If you win we’ll be on our way. If I win we share the meat.’Agreed,’ said the man. Turning to me, he pointed to the spit. ‘You think you can keep her turning?’Til do my best,’ I told him. He moved away from the spit to stand before Mace, looming over him and dwarfing him.

‘First let us talk about the rules,’ said Mace, stepping in close. Suddenly he hooked his foot behind the giant’s leg and hammered his elbow into the man’s face. As he stumbled back, Mace leapt feet-first at him, his boots thundering against the huge chest. His opponent toppled like a tree, hitting the ground with a bone-jarring thud. ‘Rule number one – there are no rules!’The giant was unperturbed. Raising himself to his elbows he gave a low, rumbling laugh. ‘Had you asked for a one-fall advantage I would have given it to you,’ he said, climbing to his feet. Mace ran forward and once again leapt at him feet-first. This

time the man swayed and caught the flying figure, holding him in his arms with no more effort than if he held a child. With a sway of the hips and a grunt of effort, he hurled Mace high into the air.

I winced at the thought of the landing that would follow – but Jarek Mace was a man of surprises. His body twisted in the air in a full somersault and he landed perfectly on his feet.

‘Very good,’ said his opponent, clapping his hands. ‘Now let us be serious.’They circled one another for several moments; then Mace darted in, dropped to his knee and hurled his full weight against the giant’s legs. The man did not move. Reaching down he grabbed Mace by the jerkin, hauling him to his feet – and beyond.

‘A nice try, but you are competing at the wrong weight.’ With infinite lack of speed the giant lifted his arms and slammed Mace to the ground. Then the stranger stood and walked back towards the fire trench. Mace rolled to his knees, drew his dagger and was about to rush in and stab his opponent in the back when the man, without looking back, spoke again.

‘I like you, little fellow,’ he said. ‘Let us call it a draw – and eat.’I never knew whether Piercollo heard the whisper of iron hissing from the sheath; he never spoke of it. But I saw the light of anger fade from Mace’s eyes.

‘It is safe now, I think,’ called the stranger, and a group of women and children came out from their hiding-places in the trees. There were three elderly women, four younger wives and eight children ranging in age from around four to twelve. Mace stood open-mouthed as they appeared, and I looked towards Wulf; there was no reaction from the hunchback and I guessed he had known of their presence all along.

‘Let us eat!’ said our host. There were no plates, but the children had pulled sections of bark from surrounding trees and scrubbed them clean, and the succulent mutton was placed upon them.

It was a feast as fine as any I have tasted – the meat rich and full of flavour, the broth divine, the wild onion soup without peer. At last replete, I sat back against a tree and took out my harp.

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