by Fiona Faris
Donald broke the silence between the two as he shouted, “I hope ye are enjoyin’ yer hoor!”
Andrew grasped a stone beside his boot and hurled it with such velocity that Donald narrowly dodged it.
“Attack!” Andrew shouted with his broadsword raised high in the air.
Andrew unleashed a ferocious battle cry which was echoed by many of the warriors under his command. Nearly all of his soldiers sprinted down the valley towards where Donald’s men were positioned. The exception was Rory who casually meandered down the valley to flank Donald’s position.
Freya was horrified to see the battle at its earliest stage. She feared she was too late and no idea how to warn Andrew about Rory. Not only did she keep a watchful eye on Andrew and Donald, but she kept her gaze on Rory as well.
Freya massaged her colt’s ears in an attempt to calm it down since the battle cries from both sides startled it to the point of nearly taking off down the hill. By doing so, Freya would certainly be spotted and potentially in danger herself.
Luckily, Freya spotted a crevice behind the hill and led her colt toward it to take cover as the battle raged on. The rocky gap was not tall enough for the colt to stand so Freya had to make it lay down to stay hidden.
“If ye ever listen tae one of my commands in yer life, oh please, let it be this one,” she told the colt.
Then, an earsplitting scream echoed upwards. She surveyed the depths of the valley, and it was turning into a bloody mess. She gasped when she spotted Andrew on the battlefield as he was surrounded by two men. One of the eager fighters lunged at him, but Andrew dodged the thrust of his sword with a nimble sidestep. The other soldier attempted to punch him in the jaw, but Andrew blocked it with ease and elbowed him in the nose.
Andrew’s movements were as smooth and lethal as ever, despite recently being severely wounded. If there were any doubts about his fighting ability after his attack, they had certainly been put to rest.
Internally, this battle was the toughest Andrew had ever faced – since he had to fight against his own brothers. The Murrays he fought deemed him a traitor, but Andrew knew deep down that Donald simply had to go as chief one way or another. He gave a valiant effort to head straight for Donald, but he faced numerous adversaries along the way.
One opponent charged him in an overzealous manner, and he recognized the lad as one of the younger Murray clan members. The boy was only fifteen years old and still had a long life to live ahead of him. He was far too young to be in battle let alone in a duel with one of the Murray’s most legendary fighters, and over twice his age.
Andrew could not stomach the boy meeting a brutal demise so early in his life, so he punched him square on the chin to knock him out cold. Andrew took some blood from a gash on his right arm and smeared the blood across the lad’s face to make it appear he had been killed in battle.
Donald was more ruthless in battle per his reputation as one of the most violent known figures in the Highlands. His first victim of the battle was one of the lads from the Erskine clan. He’d stood no chance against Donald. The young lad’s thrust of his sword was much too feeble. The brute blocked the thrusts with ease and countered with a slice of his broadsword which gashed the lad’s stomach. He fell to the ground in agony as he bled out.
Donald utilized the same viciousness to throttle two of the other young villagers. Neither of them could muster any attack against Donald as he was too physically strong for them to overcome. The first lad met his demise with a powerful thrust into the sternum after Donald delivered a devastating punch to his temple. The next lad attempted a sneak attack against the clan Murray chief, but Donald was too experienced to fall for it. He ducked out of the way of the sword, which aimed to decapitate his head. Donald counterattacked with a slice which amputated the lad’s hand from his wrist. The slash punctured an artery and blood spurted everywhere.
Andrew and Donald seemed to be on a collision course even though they had not seen each other in battle. The strategies they applied took on many different forms. Andrew gave his sincerest effort to not kill anyone in this particular battle – since he fought fellow members of his own clan. The only person he wanted to murder was Donald, but it proved to be difficult to reach him without going through many other fighters beforehand.
Donald was the same vicious fighter he had always been. He employed brutality, overwhelming force, and a lust for destruction to take down any warrior who dared challenge him. His craving to mortally wound his adversaries was beyond comprehensible, and many found it sickening.
Freya watched them both as the imminent showdown was inching closer and closer. Not far from Andrew’s position, Freya noticed Rory skulking closer to where Donald stood on the battlefield. She replayed in her mind what she predicted would happen next.
She envisioned Andrew slaying the dreadful Donald but then being slain himself by Rory in a cowardly onslaught. Freya was determined to position herself down below to thrust herself in the midst of the battle. How would she ever be able to get down there in one piece though?
Leaping down was out of the question as she would surely break her neck from the height of the fall. She could possibly shimmy down the face of the mountain, but she could be spotted.
Freya’s task seemed impossible. She would have to choose being between easily spotted or almost certain death.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Freya was prepared to scream to the heavens to warn Andrew of the looming danger. Donald and Rory might both attack Andrew, but at least Andrew would still have a fighting chance if he knew both of them wanted him dead. She got into a position to shout at Andrew from above when a series of abnormal rock formations caught the corner of her eye.
Freya investigated further and discovered the side of the mountain was littered with small rocks she could use as stepping stones to traverse down to the level of the battle without being spotted by anyone.
While Freya scaled down the side of the hill, Donald finished off the last adversary in his path before Andrew lay before him. One of the Murrays who had sided with Andrew proved to be a formidable challenge to Donald. His skills with the sword were impeccable, and Donald could not defeat him with pure strength alone.
The turning point came when Donald pressed the fighter’s arm against his thigh. With his arm locked between his thigh and off hand, Donald tightened his grip against his arm. He unloaded a tremendous amount of pressure onto his arm, and he grunted every time he unleashed his maximal effort.
Donald relished the vibrations of the fighter’s arm snapping in half. The man’s cries filled the valley and Donald raised his broadsword as high as he could. He brought the sword down upon the fighter’s shoulder and severed his broken arm at the shoulder.
Donald finished off the hideous scene as he pierced his opponent’s chest with the tip of his blade and pressed forward until it came out the other side. The Murray fighter was dead within seconds of the broadsword impaling his body.
It was a gruesome sight which Freya witnessed from behind as she had descended all the way down the opposite face of the hill with the assistance of the rocky stepping stones. She found a path whose gigantic, irregular shaped stones hid her from Donald’s view – if he were to suddenly turn around. Freya crouched beneath the stones and felt as if her heart would burst with such energy.
Donald set his eyes on Andrew and licked his lips to finally have the opportunity to get his hands on the warrior he deemed the worst kind of traitor in his mind. He truly believed that Andrew had betrayed his clan and his noble claims were shrouded by true ambitions of lust for power over the clan.
“We meet at last, ye traitor! I am goin’ tae sever a’ yer limbs an’ feed the scraps o’ yer remains tae the vultures,” Donald shouted.
Andrew relished the opportunity to put Donald in his place once and for all. Donald had the blood of hundreds of victims on his hands and Andrew longed for him to pay dearly for his murderous streak. He had no words for Donald as he stared at him with
his broadsword ready to defend himself.
“Ye hae nothin’ tae say? Ye hae gone completely mad, Andrew. I will be sure tae toss yer hoor on top o’ ye once I rape an’ kill her.” Donald laughed.
Andrew charged at Donald and thrust his broadsword with all his might, but Donald blocked his effort with relative ease. Donald flashed his sadistic smile and threw Andrew off of him.
The two became locked in a back and forth exchange where neither could gain the upper hand. They each attempted different maneuvers and attacked from different angles. It would take more than a simple block and thrust to finish off one of these two opponents who had seen it all on the battlefield over the years.
Freya crouched behind the closest stone to where Andrew and Donald fought. She had to be extremely careful not to mistakenly thrust herself into the battle and in the path of one of their swords.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a charging Rory in a dead sprint up the side of the cliff where Andrew and Donald were locked in a fierce battle. She was petrified that Rory’s attack on Andrew was imminent, but she was clueless as to how to inform Andrew without providing the slightest distraction to risk his demise. She waited patiently for the opportune time to signal Andrew, but no such time seemed to present itself.
Andrew and Donald became entangled together and locked their arms in a test of pure strength, will, and determination. At first, Donald seemed to overpower Andrew, whose knees buckled which caused him to fall to one knee. Donald snickered that he was the strongest in the clan and there was nothing that Andrew could do about it.
Andrew found his second wind and evened the score as he returned to both feet before the two released their grips of one another. They both breathed heavily as they displayed the physical effects of such a lengthy, ferocious battle.
Donald lunged at Andrew with two fierce attacks, but Andrew was undeterred. Andrew blocked them both and kicked Donald square in the chest to send him spiraling backward onto the rocks. One of the rocks contained a sharp edge, and Donald’s head made a discernable thud as it bounced off the rock.
Andrew was elated that he’d finally created some separation, albeit not with his sword. Before he had the chance to spring onto the woozy Donald for the kill, he noticed an all too familiar sight behind one of the stones which lay straight ahead.
He was stunned as Freya poked her head up from behind the stone. His face went pale. Donald climbed to his feet only a few feet away from Freya, and a gash from his head oozed blood. He was slightly disorientated, but he was still in prime condition to carry on the battle.
Freya, still hidden from Donald’s sight, sang out, “Andrew, ye must watch oot fer—”
Andrew couldn’t hear her words, then turned to see Rory at the top of the cliff.
“Thank heavens ye are ‘ere, Rory! I could use a helpin’ hand right aboot now,” he said.
“Andrew, nae!” Freya shouted, but Andrew was already sprinting back to the battle.
“Would ye look at this? Anither traitor has decided tae join us. I did no’ expect this from the likes o’ ye, Rory. Search party fer Andrew my arse! Ye conspired with him. Now I will hae both yer heads,” Donald said to Rory.
Andrew cast his sword in Donald’s direction to end his chatter, but he waited too long, and Donald rolled out of the way.
“Ye should hae finished me aff when ye had the chance, ye fool!” Donald shouted. “Whit a surprise this turned oot tae be! Now the two o’ ye are mine!”
Donald lunged at Andrew but remained cognizant of Rory who was within striking distance. Donald connected with a one-two punch on the jaw and stomach, and he dove for his broadsword to kill Andrew. Rory intervened and grasped Donald’s tartan to yank him across the grass away from his sword. Andrew dove on top of Donald to pulverize him with repeated punches to the gash in his head.
Freya leaned back against the stone she previously hid behind and watched the brutality of the two Murrays now in a fistfight as opposed to a duel of the sword. She noticed Andrew’s sword on the ground only a few steps away from his grasp. He held Donald in a headlock in an attempt to choke him to death, but Donald’s strength was too much as he began to break free from Andrew’s grip.
Rory dove in for the kill and attempted to stab Donald in the abdomen while he was on the ground, but the chief rolled along the grass to dodge his broadsword. Donald pounced to his feet and surprised Andrew with a vicious uppercut. He fell back to the ground, stunned by the ferocity of Donald’s punch.
Freya watched in horror as it appeared Andrew had been knocked unconscious by the blow just underneath the chin. Donald pressed his fingers onto the wound on his head in an effort to stop the bleeding, but the blood continued to gush from his skull.
Rory lunged at Donald but missed yet again. He grasped his sword off the ground and sprung to his feet to deflect Rory’s constant blows. Donald’s strength was too much for Rory, and he screamed at Andrew to wake up and come to his aid.
Freya crawled to Andrew’s broadsword and threw it directly behind him within his grasp. She crawled along her belly to avoid detection from Donald or Rory and slapped Andrew across the face to enable him to regain his senses.
“Andrew! Get up! Get up an’ fight!” she demanded while she shook him.
Donald threw Rory across the ground, and he plunged face first into the direction of Freya and Andrew behind the stones. Freya retreated away from sight, fearful she would meet a violent end if either Donald or Rory spotted her.
Rory gazed upon Andrew and shouted, “Ony day now, lad! I am hangin’ on fer dear life!”
Donald had his eyes set to end Rory’s life so he could refocus his efforts on Andrew. Rory thrust his sword at Donald in a feeble attempt which was blocked without effort. Donald clutched Rory’s throat and lifted him into the air as his feet dangled off the ground.
“Nowhere tae run now, traitor!” Donald stated as he prepared to end Rory right there with him in his grasp.
Suddenly, a violent battle cry wailed, and Donald was leveled from behind which flattened him to the ground and sent Rory flying into the rocks beside them. Donald turned; Andrew’s sword was raised high in the air ready to decapitate him. Donald fought to avoid Andrew’s vicious assaults, but they were unlike any he had seen before.
Andrew delivered a flurry of strikes with his broadsword and finally connected on Donald’s thigh. Donald screamed in anguish as the sword pierced several inches into his upper thigh. He lowered to one knee, unable to stand from the sheer pain.
Andrew seized the moment of opportunity to slice the sword against Donald’s chest to cause further torment. Barely conscious, Donald rested on two knees in a desperate attempt to keep his eyes open, but his body began to go numb and pale due to the blood that gushed from his body. His mouth was wide open, and a gurgling noise could be heard coming from deep inside him.
Andrew raised Donald’s chin with his red-tipped broadsword and stared Donald in the eyes as blood trickled out of Donald’s mouth.
“Yer time as chief is nae more!” Andrew shouted as he drove his sword cleanly through his sternum.
One last gasp of air was released from Donald as he fell to his side after being impaled by Andrew’s broadsword.
Andrew released a thunderous sigh. “’tis over! This tyrant’s time as chief has ended.”
Rory was nowhere to be seen, and Andrew assumed his collision with the rocks had left him gravely injured. Andrew leisurely paced to the jagged stones where he assumed Rory to be located, but he had disappeared.
“Andrew! Nooo!” Freya shrieked as she sprinted and dove towards Andrew to push him onto the ground.
He had been inches away from being speared by a broadsword from behind, and Freya had saved him from being cut in two.
When Andrew climbed to his feet and had his broadsword engaged to fight yet again, his jaw dropped.
Facing him in battle was Rory.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Rory attacked Andrew with as much force
as he could gather. Andrew just now noticed Rory’s sword was soaked in crimson, so it was obvious that he had slain someone in the heat of battle. In the midst of Rory’s treachery, Andrew wondered if he had killed someone from his own army.
“Rory, my brither, whit is the matter with ye? Why are ye attackin’ me? Whit hae I done tae deserve this?” Andrew asked in the heat of their battle.
With an intense look in his eyes, Rory stated, “Ye are no’ fit tae be the chief o’ this clan, Andrew. ‘tis appalling’ the way everyone admires ye when ye hae done nothin’ tae deserve it.”
“Whit are ye talkin’ aboot? I am no’ doin’ this tae be chief. It was fer the clan tae escape the clutches o’ Donald. The tyrant is slain! Is that no’ whit we a’ wanted?”
“Donald was a fool; that much is true. Ye are equally as unwise tae be a chief.”
