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lightning flashed for a
moment where there had been no storm. When the
diamond brilliance passed, a group of maidens, nine
in all, stood there, each seated upon a pale steed.
These maids were young and beautiful, with dazzling
white arms and flowing golden hair. They each wore
winged helms of silver and gold, and corselets of
blood red, night black or shining silver. Glittering
spears and shields they bore, and the very air around
them shimmered as if misted with hoar frost or
mountain's dew. A cloying, pale mist swirled and
churned about the hooves of their mounts, to roll
onward down, to obscure even the hill they stood
upon. They were silent and still and watching, as if
intent upon the conflict 'tho it be distant.
The sky was strewn with banks of thick, morose clouds
that threatened to stifle the breath of a newborn
day. The wind was chill and brisk, and 'tho it had a
bite, it moved not the billowy tufts that blanketed
the heavens. Yet tightly as night held on, still it
could not impede much the birth of the dawn, with its
resolute grip upon the eastern horizon.
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Longshanks released an arrow, dispatching yet another
crossbowman. He glanced back at the wall, startled to
see a battle impending there. O'Cuire was moving to
engage three armoured foemen, but the girl was
nowhere to be seen.
Fighting down the wave of panic that clenched his
gut, he waited a moment, and watched his friend enter
into battle.
Timeras made no move to draw his sword, even though
his adversaries' weapons were bared. The tallest of
the guards carried a
Fauchard, a two-foot,
single-edged blade mounted on a six foot pole. This
one seemed most eager to close. The Black Knight, he
noted, hung back, and allowed the other two the
initiative. "Perhaps," he thought again,
"not so worthy after all."
The rampart was barely wide enough for two men to
walk astride, let alone fight upon. The poleman moved
ahead, the other fell back a step to give him room.
The Irishman stood lightly on the balls of his feet,
arms wide and empty, a broad grin
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