Asgoleth the Warrior - By Bill Kirkwood Page 0,1

his business.

He was about to walk away when a girl’s frightened cry rang out, swiftly followed by the sound of a heavy slap and the scuffle of feet. The barbarian’s course was set, men went armed in the Haven and knew what to expect but a girl could not defend herself against armed robbers. Furious at the scum who would attack a helpless woman he drew his great sword and sprang silently forward into the mouth of the alley.

He slipped forward into the alley moving with a stealth and grace impossible for a city bred man and pale moonbeams glittered frostily along the lethal edge of his sword. Like a tawny haired ghost he glided through the darkness and soon he came upon the scene of the fight.

Two men, clad in the uniforms of the palace guard, lay dead on the ground, ghastly wounds leaking their lifeblood into the filth in which they lay. Asgoleth’s keen eyes detected a gleaming line of black blood droplets leading away from the site and he began to follow the grisly trail. At least the slain men had managed to inflict some damage on their foes before they went down which might just make his job a little easier when he caught up to them.

He ran on through the dark alley until at last he made out the dim figures of two robed men ahead of him. One of the men was limping and cursing savagely as he and his companion struggled with the writhing, kicking bundle they bore between them. In each of their free hands they bore long curving scimitars, the blades of which dripped with black gore.

The girl they carried cried out once more and one of the men snarled,

‘Be silent girl or you will feel my sword hilt against your skull!’

His companion gasped,

‘In Balzarr’s name, no! Lord Demos wants the girl alive. You know what he will do to us if we should kill her.’

‘I won’t kill her,’ the first man snarled. ‘Just quieten her down a bit. If she keeps this noise up she will alert the whole city.’

The girl cried out in despair as he raised his sword hand but before he could strike a harsh voice, speaking Torran with a barbarous accent, growled,

‘Stay your hand you cowardly dog. Leave the wench alone and let us see how brave you are against an armed man.’

The robed men spun around to face this new enemy and their faces were contorted into grimaces of hate. They stood thus for only a moment then the uninjured man said,

‘There is little time Alarr, you must deal swiftly with this fool. I will take the girl on ahead and meet you at the boat.’

‘Fear not Morius, I shall be close behind you, now go.’

Morius scooped up the girl and faded away into the night. Alarr pulled back his hood to reveal a shaven head and a thin, cruel face. His eyes glittered malevolently as he advanced, grinning towards the barbarian.

‘You would have done well to attend to your own business you barbar animal. Now you shall die as must all who dare oppose my master’s will.’

Asgoleth’s only answer was to leap suddenly forward into the attack with blurring speed. Their blades met with a resounding clang that drew sparks of red fire from the ringing steel. The blades drew apart and met again and again in a glittering dance of death in which each sought to find a break in the others guard but the combatants were well matched in skill and despite the other mans wound, Asgoleth soon realised that he faced a dangerous opponent.

Twice Alarr the priest almost struck home with that wickedly curved blade and only Asgoleth’s lightning swift reflexes saved him from death. Alarr too bled from several small wounds inflicted by the barbarian’s steel but the loss of blood did not seem to slow him down and he fought on with undiminished fury while all the time Morius and the girl were getting further and further away.

Asgoleth doubled the fury of his strokes giving his wounded enemy no time to draw back or rest and gradually his superior strength and agility began to wear the other down. Alarr was fighting with grim desperation now and the awareness of death was in his eyes. The young barbarian noted the tremor in the others sword arm that spoke of growing fatigue and he pressed home his attack, lunging forward with his blade. As he did so, his foot slipped ion