Avarice Desperation Valley Ch. 15

Daemon was perilously close as Bennett's machete finally tasted blood, embedding its sharp edge deeply beneath the desperate man's armpit, the powerful blow chopping into his rib cage and lungs as the soldier raised his dagger to strike, the pointed weapon raking Bennett's bare chest with a superficial wound, as the man fell down in surprise choking on mouthfuls of his own blood. The massive bay horse its raven mane and tail flying, thundered up behind him bearing down at breakneck speed. Bennett frantically attempting to extricate the deeply embedded weapon but failing to do so. Snatching up his one remaining machete, he ducked just in time as the rider descended, rolling away clear of the horses trampling hooves, feeling the rush of a slivered steel missing him by bare inches.

The knight reined his horse to an abrupt standstill, to him this battle was now personal. Lothar his Lord and greatest friend may not even live, at best he may never be whole again, and many others had been slain that Daemon had been proud to call his friends. This was time for payback, and the usually controlled commander felt fury boiling in his veins as he gazed on this savagely, impressive warrior. He had little time to search for motives. With this hatred and need for revenge he spurred his mount forward, using the horses power and weight, attempting to knock the massive brute to the ground. Missing Bennett completely, surprised at the big man's speed and agility as he limberly dodged aside, receiving a stinging blow to his chain mailed thigh for his efforts, his own weapon slicing nothing but thin air. Again he turned his mount to charge, white foam flecking his bay horses coat, sand flying out from under the beast's massive feathered hooves, determined this time to run the man down, wanting nothing more than his sword to taste his enemy's blood.

Renard held his aim, the knight and his solid horse repeatedly blocking his shot time and time again. The wind was blustery also, making his judgment difficult. Renard would have to avail himself of all his archery skills, breathing deeply, his eye never leaving his intended target, arrow notched, waiting for an opening to present itself.

Bennett was tired of this knight's game, as neither man had yet gained the advantage, his observations telling him that he had to eliminate his mount if he was going to win. A risky but necessary endeavor, as the big man was beginning to tire. A quick scan about revealed that he was on his own, his men were all still busily engaged in their own battles dragging down the last of the knights. There were no warriors close by, he could expect no back up from the others.

The horse was on him again in no time, the look around had cost him dearly, the speeding animal already almost on top of him, and he had no room to jump to the side. The horse's shoulder threatening to crush him against the jagged rock face. He had bare seconds to react and his available options were few. Electing to hold his ground and raising his remaining blade in front of him clasped firmly in both hands, as the horse crashed into him and his extended weapon. Bennett seeking frantically to drive it deep.

The collision had such force that the iron blade snapped off in his grasp, embedding deeply in the magnificent war horse's chest, blood sprayed and the stallion screamed. The jarring force of the impact ripping the pommel of the broken weapon clear from Bennett's grip. His hands and arms numb with the shock of the blow, the steed falling hard, shoving Bennett savagely up against the rocky barrier behind, winding him, and grazing large cuts in his back.

Bennett felt the sting of the man's sword also, tearing along his left arm, the off balance soldier again wide of the mark, as he rode his stumbling, mortally wounded beast to the ground. Dropping off its back, and throwing himself in full fury at the now injured giant. Bennett kept his back to the wall as the knight rushed in, raw fury for vengeance lending him speed and added bravado, as he covered the few short paces toward his obviously injured and tiring adversary.

With nothing remaining to defend himself with but his handgun or his dagger, Bennett pulled the pistol, firing it in the nick of time at point blank range. The bullet exploding in the angry man's face, pulverizing his features completely, showering Bennett with bone, blood and brains. As he did so his hand clutching reflexively at his throat, not comprehending initially in the chaos of the struggle, what had even happened.

As the dead almost headless man slumped down before him raking his sharp sword down Bennett's thigh in one last parting shot, the big man amazed as his own blood oozed steadily from the gash in his neck. More ominous still he took in the quivering arrow, its shaft protruding starkly just beyond him in the sand. An arrow meant for him? He wondered darkly, or an accident? Raising his eyes to the cliff tops, yet seeing nothing through the blood and sweat, for the first time seriously doubting the integrity of his prized archer, as he turned to rejoin his now victorious men.