Malice (The Faithful and the Fallen, #1)

by John Gwynne

‘All scared of an old man,’ the warrior at the centre of the glade panted. ‘Best all run back to your mothers.’ One of the new lads stepped forward, a hard-faced, cold-eyed youth. He wore a coat of mail beneath his red cloak, looked like he knew what he was doing with a blade. The Ardan warrior nodded to him. They set at each other in a blinding flurry, the larger man moving shockingly fast. When they parted, his opponent had a gash in his thigh. The big man attacked again, his blade sweeping high, then low. He pushed inside his adversary’s guard, head-butted him right on the bridge of the nose. Red-cloak stumbled back, then his head was spinning through the air. The big man smiled at the corpse, rested a hand on his leg and gulped in deep breaths. He was cut in a dozen places, a broken arrow sticking from a thigh, his sword notched, but he seemed undaunted. He straightened, held his arms out wide and turned slowly. ‘Who’s next?’ he said again, spitting blood on the trampled grass.