The Thirsty Sword: A Story of the Norse Invasion of Scotland (1262-1263)Leighton, Robert
History
The Thirsty Sword: A Story of the Norse Invasion of Scotland (1262-1263)
Leighton, Robert
Haakon IV Haakonsson, King of Norway, 1204-1263 -- Fiction; Scotland -- History -- 1057-1603 -- Fiction
Again the two combatants closed as before, tapping and scraping their
blades together; and again they flung back their arms. This time Roderic
was quicker in his onslaught, and he aimed from the right. But Kenric,
instead of attempting to strike, promptly guarded his left and
intercepted the blow as before. Ere Roderic could recover for a new
attack, he felt a sharp cut across his bare neck.
He roared in pain and fury, and sprang upon Kenric with redoubled force.
The swords clashed together with mighty strokes. Roderic, amazed at
Kenric's skilful fighting, grew ever more rash in his attempts to smite
him down and conquer him by superior strength; while Kenric, with steady
watchful eye, marked every movement, coolly guarding each fearful blow,
as though he knew as surely as did his assailant where Roderic intended
to strike.
At last, completely baffled, Roderic paused, drew back, and rested the
point of his long sword upon the hard ground.
"To the death!" said Kenric solemnly, also lowering his weapon.
"Ay, to your death be it," returned Roderic, wiping the blood from his
wounded neck with his bare hand. Then again, breathing deeply, he took
his ground.
Clash, clash went their mighty swords once more as they closed together
in their deadly combat. And now Roderic threw back his weapon with a
great swing, and bent his strong body to bring the blade down with a
final swoop upon Kenric's head. He made a furious spring forward. His
sword flashed in a half-circle, whizzing through the air with frightful
speed. It was a blow that might have felled an ox.
But the ponderous weapon met nothing until, slipping from his blood-wet
hand, it fell with a crash upon the hard ground. At the same moment
Roderic uttered a groan. He staggered forward with his empty hands
outspread. He fell with a heavy thud upon his right shoulder, rolled
over, and then lay stretched upon the turf with the point of Kenric's
sword buried deep in his heart.
A deathly silence followed, broken only by the moaning of the sea waves
as they curled upon the beach. Kenric breathed a deep sigh. With
difficulty he drew his terrible weapon from the breast of his dead foe.
The Thirsty Sword had drunk its final draught.
Carrying the weapon away, Kenric stood for many moments upon the extreme
point of the jutting headland overlooking the open sea. Taking the Sword
in his two hands he swung it in a sweeping circle about his head, and
stepping forward flung it far out into the frosty air.
Away it sped like a well-aimed arrow. The moonbeams flashed upon the
bright blade as it turned in its descent, hilt downward, and plunged for
ever deep, deep into the sea.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account