Findorak scrambled away and began to ascend the hillside, the orc mere seconds behind him. He kicked loose stones down in his enemies face, preventing the orc from catching his leg. As he came out onto a flatter part of the hill he pulled free his knife from his belt. As the orc climbed over the ridge he lunged and Skaibad was almost thrown over the edge. But with some devilish cunning the orc managed to escape both stabbing and the fall. Findorak cursed the creature as he was flung back once again.
“Die, you cursed orc,” he cried, charging Skaibad.
“Not today, easterling scum,” replied the orc, and with a neat sidestep most unlike that of an orc, he sent Findorak reeling.
Skaibad brought his stolen scimitar forward and stabbed out, catching the man in the arm and bringing a cry to his lips. Findorak fell back and Skaibad followed in, but at the last moment the easterling twisted and, stabbing Skaibad deep in the thigh, tripped his nemesis. He staggered back, blood streaming out of his arm.
“How long will this end?” he thought, “ and can I win?”
The orc was larger than he, and while he was faster for now, that would soon run out, leaving the fight down to strength. As Skaibad rose again, the images of medal ceremonies in his home citadel and his posting as Captain of the Army rushed unbidden into his mind. His father’s proud face, his dress uniform, his sister, only six waiting at home.
Skaibad attacked once again.
[ February 26, 2003: Message edited by: the real findorfin ]
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