Scriostóir - 25

“Children,” Cerdic spat out as the battle raged. “Mere infants when it comes to dealing out death.”

At that moment it would have appeared that he was correct. Both Godric and Manny, despite fighting two on one against Cerdic, were getting the worst of it as Cerdic wheeled, dodged and came back at them, the great sword pounding against their lesser weapons, his other one slashing through even the smallest opening that his foes left in their defenses.

Godric stumbled back, avoiding a potentially deadly blow by the merest of inches. At the same moment Manny swung his mace, intending to stave in Cerdic’s ribs, a move he’d tried before with minimal success.

Cerdic gave a sharp laugh as he nimbly dodged the mace again, slashing his shorter sword deeply into Manny’s thigh. Manny dropped to the floor, crossing sword and mace to catch the Cerdic’s next swing in the ‘V’ and twisting his weapons hard to deflect the sword from his chest.

Godric took advantage of Cerdic’s momentary inattention to swoop in, his scramsaxe leaving a wide swath of blood streaming down Cerdic’s back. The elder Scriostóir bit back a cry of pain, turning it into a shout of rage as he sent one booted foot into the open wound in Manny’s thigh. Manny gasped, the blood draining from his face.

“One Caomhnóir down, one bastard to go,” Cerdic almost chortled as he lifted the great sword and started it on a downward arc that would cleave Manny from throat to groin.

“Like hell,” Godric shouted, diving forward, delivering a vicious slash to Cerdic’s wrist with his scramsaxe.

With one practiced move, Cerdic switched his sword into his off-hand, spun, and brought it down with fearsome force on Godric’s shoulder. It split through it and continued down, severing spine and ribs.

Godric’s eyes widened in shock, his last word as he fell a growled, “Damn.”

As Cerdic shouted in triumph, Manny staggered to his knees. Fighting off impending darkness, he raised his mace, slamming it into the Scriostóir’s spine. The sound of crushed bone filled the room as Cerdic arched momentarily and then dropped like a stone, his legs now useless bits of flesh and bone. 

Manny swung one more time, the mace entering the back of Cerdic’s skull. Leaving it where it landed, Manny crawled to the side of his fallen comrade. Taking his dagger from its sheath, praying that there was still one small glimmer of life in him, Manny plunged it into Godric’s heart, as he said the ritual words that would free him forever.

Then, angrily, he turned to Cerdic, seeing the last bit of life draining from his eyes. “You murdered one of your own,” he told him. “One who, by rights and the purity deep in his heart, should have been one of ours. For this you will die, but not be freed.” Holding the dagger’s blade over the Scriostóir’s heart, he slowly pressed down. Then, that part of the ritual completed, he pulled it free and sheathed it again without another word spoken.