The Black and White Knight part 1
Page 8
Here is a Preview from the next book in the series:
“The Black and White Knight - Part 2”
“Let The Sleeper Awaken...”
Niknarr made his way to the stable, he was running out of time. The alarm had been sounded but it was going well. He would have the horse out of his stall and be gone in minutes. He must be gone, if found out his life wouldn't be worth anything.
“Guardsman, you cannot take that horse, it is Sir Bart's steed.”
(Niknarr could not believe his luck; money, a fine horse and now he would have revenge on Luke for killing his friend Neeley.)
Niknarr took a quick side step and brought his closed gloved fist hard against the boy's head. Ashe saw the blow coming and tried to turn from it but couldn't quite get out of the way as the fist slammed into him. Ashe bounced off a support beam and he fell in a heap to the dirt floor. Without a second thought the traitor picked up the boy and threw him full force to the back of a hay-filled stall. The crack of the body against the hardwood planks echoed in the quiet.
As he turned a screeching scream of a growl came from behind him and he felt searing pain at his shoulder. Only his new acquired leather wear kept him from being gored. Dazed, he turned to see the other twin standing with a short curved sword grasped in both hands.
“You killed my brother.” Broox said as he swung the sword again. Niknarr parried the blow with his good arm and kicked out, sending the boy sprawling to the floor.
“And now I will kill you as well foolish little boy and don't you fret none, soon your mother will get hers.” The injured and dazed page lay still as the traitor approached and raised his boot to bring it down on his neck.
His twin brother dead, his mother threatened and his entire world turned upside down he looked into the killers eyes and the man froze.
Niknarr looked down to see black eyes staring up at him, piercing him through and through.
The entire inside of Broox' mind went red and as Niknarr paused Broox was hot quick and brought the sword straight up through clothing behind leather and the blade hit flesh and bone just above and inside of the man's knee.
Niknarr cursed as pain shot up his leg and he swung it away kicking the boy in the ribs.
Broox rolled with it, the momentum bringing him to his knees and then his feet. He faced the cold-hearted brute and everything in his mind was in slow motion. He saw the whirling grace of his father on the practice field, his sword carving neat arcs through the air.
Niknarr pulled a dagger from its sheath and hissed through gritted teeth. “You're mine now boy,” as he lunged forward.
Broox became what he saw in his mind. As the man lunged the boy side-stepped and brought his sword up under the killing blow. Niknarr's arm muscles were all severed.
Trying to keep his balance the traitor hobbled like a giant brown bird flapping his wings.
Still within his own mind, Broox whirled and with each of four blows growled his revenge.
“You!” - a slash to the upper thigh.
“Killed!” - a slash to the lower leg, (Niknarr fell to his knees).
“My!” - a thrust through the mans side.
“Brother!” - a hacking blow to the hip.
Niknarr fell over on to his back, a whisper of a breath escaping, “Noooo”. He looked up through pain filled eyes to see the blade hovering over him.
As the crescendo of the fight flowed through him, Broox stood over Niknarr and raised the scimitar to plunge it through the killer's chest. Battered and bruised with tears streaming down his cheeks, what strength and hatred Broox had left, drained away.
“I, I can't...”, Broox said as OShaYen slipped from his hands and fell to the floor. He turned his head toward the hay filled stall, “Ashe, my brother, my friend, my life...”
Broox' eyes rolled up and he collapsed into unconsciousness across the body at his feet.
These words escaped his lips, “Not Ashe, no, not Ashe. Ma, I'm so sorry...”
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Sir Bartholomew James was a huge pillar of a man and he felt old. The look of youth stayed with him because of his close cropped blond hair and weathered face that always had a ruddy look about it. He had been a knight for twenty-odd years. He had no lands of his own but he felt he led a good life as protector of the weak and helpless; especially children. It was always the children his heart went out to.
He had been married once with two fine sons. And even after a decade had gone by since all three had been taken by the plague he oft times pined for them. In his youth few men could ever match his speed and strength. Now, plagued by past injuries, and the passage of time he was slower and more cautious.
The younger knights had jumped up and raced to the rescue of Lady Enarrah and Princess Annabella. They were gone in a flurry of hoof beats and thunderous recriminations. Big Bart, as his friends called him, moved with deliberate careful purpose, gathering his many armaments about him as he walked to the stables to get his horse and follow after.
He strode across a silent bailey and was taken up short by a sound he could not identify. It was a high pitched keening growl, something like an attacking wildcat might make. It stopped... He stopped... and stood stock still and waited. The sound came again. It was coming from the stable. Drawing his broadsword he moved with care into the dark recesses of the low-roofed place and came upon an eerie scene.
A guard lay with a dagger gripped in his hand and the life draining from him. A small body lay over this much larger one. Blood was everywhere.
A groan came from the boy and the big Viking bent down and picked him up into his arms with great care. It was one of Luke's pages. Which one he could not tell.
The lad mumbled and murmured without sense, then seemed to awaken. He began flailing in Sir Bartholomew's arms, kicking his legs and pounding on the big man's chest with his small fists.
“Easy laddie, easy now” Big Bart said.
Then a sound came from the boy, a strained reply, harsh and weak. “My brother, he killed my brother.”
“What? What's that you're saying lad? Your brother? There is no one here except you and I and this dead man.”
A strangled whisper came from Broox. “The hay, behind the hay...,” and then he passed out.
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“Allll-Faaa-ther-Odinnnn!!”
The guttural entreaty of violent outrage went up through the inner bailey and into the heart of the castle.
Heatherlyn ran to the doorway and was faced with the sight of carnage from her worst nightmares as she saw a huge knight with both her precious sons' bloody and unmoving bodies laying over his arms.
She never heard the piercing scream that came from her, nor the terrible sound it made with yet another war cry from the huge Viking...
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About The Saga
The Elleghane Saga by Honey Myers consists of twenty proposed volumes covering a time span of 1050 years from 1134 to 2184 AD.
Following books will take you across the Continent, The New World and modern day America; and finally, in Book Twenty, to the far side of the galaxy.
The ultimate historical romance series, “The Elleghane Saga” is a skillful cross-genre blend with elements of folklore, fantasy, mystery, action-adventure, religion and mythology. Our books are heart felt. We strive to entertain, enrich and capture your heart with love, romance, goodness and hope.
We cordially invite you to join The Family Elleghane and continue the journey through time and places with the brave men and incredible women of The Elleghane Saga.
The Next Books of The Elleghane Saga:
“The Black and White Knight - Part 2”
“Freedom for Lady Annabella”
“Caledonian Ocean and The Princess of Tara”
“Lady Elizabeth of Kraigsleigh”
“Sir Philburt and the Borders' Maiden”
“Lord Carleton Returns”
and
“Faerie Princess of Cornwall”.
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Connect with Honey Myers
https://facebook.com/HoneyMyersBooks
Historical Persona
Saint Audra
Patron Saint of Scotland
Brother of Simon Peter, Disciple of Jesus Christ of Galilee
David I The Saint
King of Scotland.
Leader of the Davidian Revolution.
Matilda (Maud) of St Liz
Queen of Scotland.
Countess in Huntingdon.
Baldwin II
King of Jerusalem.
and
The Black Douglas