Far Horizons: Tales of Sci-Fi, Fantasy and Horror. Issue #18 September 2015 | Page 61

steps, directly towards the spearman. His bare face is beardless, and he curses in a high-pitched way. As I race towards him he panics, I see his eyes widen as he brings up the spear and throws it at me. It is a simple matter to bat it aside. As I get closer he is pulling a dagger, but it is far too late, my club takes him on the upswing, caving in his jaw, as teeth and a spurt of blood explode from his mouth. Both the swordsmen shout as the slight, short figure spins to the floor and I use my momentum to turn in an arc, towards the closer of the remaining two. He plants his feet wide and hefts his sword. The bottom of his face is covered, like mine, but great gouts of steam show me he is breathing hard. Perhaps they thought me to be an easy target. I can’t guess the relationship between them, brothers perhaps, father and sons? This one is bulkier than the spearman, not as tall as I, but almost. He is expecting me to engage him with the club, so that when I get close and crouch and spin, with my leg straight out, it takes him completely by surprise and his legs out from under him. My club jabs him hard in the stomach before he can regain his senses, making the breath explode from him. I go from crouch to jump and when I land so does my club, with a loud crack, on his head. I breathe heavily but am not injured; two of them are down. I don’t think this one will ever get up, although the spearman could rejoin the fight I suppose. I glance over to him now. He is curled up on the ice, holding his head. The other swordsman shouts again. Quite definitely a name, a female one at that. So man, wife, and son? The man comes towards me, cautious. I can almost see the hate rising off him in waves. He’s a different proposition to the other two. This man has been 61