The Golden Shield of IBF by Jerry Ahern, Sharon Ahern Page A

flying. Its flat struck hard against Erg’Ran’s right thigh and he winced with pain. The giant Sword of Koth who’d wielded the axe threw his body weight against the mare. The horse fell, Erg’Ran spilling from his saddle, nearly pinned.
    Unhorsed, his axe flown from his fist, Erg’Ran drew back, reaching in desperation for his sword.
    The giant Sword of Koth had the greatsword carried by Fo’Len only an instant earlier. How he had gotten it was no mystery. Another Sword of Koth stood over the fallen Fo’Len, axe dripping blood, readying for a second, killing strike.
    The greatsword swung and stopped, a span only from Erg’Ran’s throat. “Yield, old man!”
    There was the whooshing sound of steel against air, then the crack of bone. The head of the Sword of Koth who had been about to finish Fo’Len separated from its body, flew into the darkness. “I don’t think he’s wanting to do what you suggest, you evil black-masked bastard!” In the same breath as his words, Gar’Ath’s sword swung into the light, interposed itself between the greatsword and Erg’Ran’s throat, arced upward along the greatsword’s blade flat and forced the greatsword up and away. “Why don’t you try me, hmm? Maybe you’ll have better luck than your headless friend did.”
    “I am Moc’Dar, Captain Leader of the Third Company Sword of Koth, Elite Guard to the Mistress General of the Horde. You should know the name of the man who kills you!”
    “That’s an awful lot you’re asking a simple country lad like myself to remember, Captain. But, if it’s proper manners to know the name of the man who kills you, then I’d better tell you my name, and rather quickly, too!” As Gar’Ath spoke, he lunged, Moc’Dar’s stolen greatsword making to parry the thrust, but Gar’Ath’s sword was not where Moc’Dar had thought it would be.
    Gar’Ath, gleaming bastard sword flying in his fingers, was the embodiment of grace and strength, the perfect coordination of every aspect of body and nature, death incarnate, magnificent to behold. And, Gar’Ath knew it and laughed about it. He was that way.
    Gar’Ath had sidestepped, forcing Moc’Dar to move off balance in the attempt to recover. Gar’Ath s sword was still in motion, never stopping, with elegant fluidity executing a drawcut across Moc’Dar’s right forearm and wrist. The greatsword spilled from Moc’Dar’s hands as blood spilled from Moc’Dar’s arm. Gar’Ath wheeled, his blade arcing hungrily for Moc’Dar’s throat.
    But there were suddenly two more Sword of Koth springing from the darkness.
    “Beware!” Erg’Ran shouted, the time for being an enrapt spectator ended.
    Moc’Dar fell back into shadow as Gar’Ath changed the vector of his blade, for an instant only parrying one enemy’s axe. Gar’Ath dropped to one knee, disengaged from the first of the two Sword of Koth; on the back swing, Gar’Ath’s sword opened the second man from crotch to chest. Gar’Ath threw himself to the side, the already dead man’s axe cleaving downward into the ground. Gar’Ath thrust the heavy pommel of his sword forward, into the abdomen of his remaining foeman. As Gar’Ath rose to his full height, his fist then hammered upward into the Sword of Koth’s face. Gar’Ath backstepped, both hands gripping the sword’s hilt as Gar’Ath arced the blade downward from and through his foeman’s shoulder, slicing deeply through chest and belly.
    There was not a pause in the blade’s motion, steel arcing through night air, searching for engagement. There was none.
    Erg’Ran, axe in hand again, shouted, “Bin’Ah—we must find him if he lives!”
    “Oh, he lives all right, but there’s a bump on Bin’Ah’s hard skull big enough to remind us all of this night’s misadventure for a quite a goodly time to come.”
    “Usually,” Erg’Ran began, collecting his wits and calming his breathing, “the smallest Sword of Koth scouting party is comprised of ten line warriors, a