A hot, dry wind blew up around Harold, evaporating the sweat off his face before it could drip to the soil he worked so hard. With a grunt, he swung the hoe again into the unforgiving soil. The clanking sound as he hit another rock brought a string of curses to his mouth. How he had come to this point in his life still confused him. It wasn't so long ago that he was hard at work on his father's farm. People removed the large rocks for him, and the horses did most of the plowing. It had been a life of luxury compared to this. Then some distant cousin he didn't even know, had gotten himself killed in a war. His father told him he was to take over this cousin's farm for himself. Now all he wanted was another tankard of ale from the inn, not another rock to move.
His torrent of profanity finished, Harold lifted his hoe again to strike the offending soil, but more cursing interrupted him. These foul words came from the other side of his shanty. Moving with care, Harold peeked around the corner to see what the ruckus was.
"Move aside or you will wear my steel." Harold watched as Lady Abby drew her sword and brandished it at Lady Cherie.
"I will do no such thing! Your sword is no threat to me. Move your nag aside so I can pass. I have business here with the farmer." Cherie drew her dagger while pulling the shield off her back, raising it high. A slight kick to her horse caused it to rear up in Lady Abby's path.
In response, Lady Abby pulled the reins down, and leaned back hard, her roan moved away from Cherie's mount. "I too have business with the farmer. I would continue our talk from the night past."
"Last night! He was to spend the night with me, you harlot!" Cherie maneuvered her horse around with skill, forcing Abby to shift in her saddle to keep her sword between them.
Harold remembered last night very well. It was only his second night in this cursed valley, and he had no desire to spend it in his newly acquired hovel. The first night the rats had all but eaten his boots while he slept. Even though the room in the inn had cost him four full coppers, it had been worth it not to sleep with the rodents.
The ale had run freely that evening, clouding his judgment. At one point, he found himself in the company of two separate, and mutually unaware, women. It had been a test of his stamina to keep the women apart, but a test he thought worthwhile. It ended in tragedy when he used the wrong name in one's bed. The woman ran him out, cloths in hand. Now those very same women were circling their mounts in front of his house hurling curses at each other.
Lady Cherie guided her horse with her knees, while keeping her dagger and shield in her hands, showing her slight advantage at riding. Lady Abby used one hand to hold the reins, keeping her sword pointed at Cherie, its length making up the difference in odds. Harold continued to watch as their horses kicked up dust. Had he known these two were Knights, he might have thought better of his past decisions. Harold watched as Lady Abby struck Cherie's shield, the sound distinctive as the sword rebounded off the metal strapping. Cherie pulled her mount farther back, and quickly circled around facing Abby again.
"Remove yourself from this field or my dagger will drink blood!"
"I will not! I will run my blade through your heart."
The two kicked their horses into a run directly at each other. Harold belatedly realized he had waited too long to interfere. Both women had murder in their eyes as they charged forward. Harold rushed out to try to block their charge, but he was too far away.
"My Ladies, no!" He yelled at the top of his lungs.
They were already committed with the joust. He doubted either rider heard him. Cherie raised her sword high over her head intent on forcing Abby to lift the shield in defense, but Abby didn't move it. Instead, she pulled her arm that held the dagger back, flipped the knife in her hand, and caught it by the edge. Her aim sure, she threw the blade directly at Cherie's chest. The weapon spun towards her target with great speed as Harold watched, eyes wide in shock.
Too late Cherie saw what Abby had planned. Her own attack committed, she had no choice but to follow through, her only hope that Abby might miss. The muscles in her arm bunched tight as the tip of her sword whistled towards its target.
Harold watched in horror as the dagger sunk deep into Cherie's chest, a dark red flowed quickly down her front. The sword she held high came crashing down, cutting a path through Abby's neck and shoulder. Abby screamed as blood ran free onto her horse. Both riders toppled from their mounts amid a plume of dust, neither moving.
Harold ran to the women hoping they lived, but the chests of both failed to stir. He wrung his hands looking at the scene of mayhem he had caused. With great care, he loaded both women back on their mounts. Hanging his head, he began the long walk back to town. He would have no small task ahead of him in explaining what had happened. The worst would be he loses his own life, a fate he cared for not at all. At best, the local Lord might pity him, and let him keep the mounts. He could really use a few strong horses to plow his fields.
A collection of Short Stories Page 6