Read Online Warriors of Camlann by N. M. Browne - Free Book Online Page B

to him, stranger and more frightening than even his beserker rages – he had been largely unaware of them. Now, he was suddenly aware of too much.
    Dan closed his eyes again to test a growing suspicion. His mind was assaulted by unfamiliar sensations. His left leg ached with an old wound. He stretched muscles that were ox-strong but aching with the stiffness that afflicted them each winter. The hand that held the sword was huge and gnarled by the harshness of an outdoor life. He tested the weight of the blade, a little light but it would serve. The mail shirt and the two layers of clothing he wore underneath it was heavy but comforting. The familiar weight of his helmet made him feel invincible. He felt confident and yet there was fear too. He was glad of it. Living with fear made him what he was. There was no way that a pup, scarcely on the road to manhood, could beat him – Medraut, Count of the Saxon Shore – in a fair fight, and it would be a fair fight, he had promised Arturus.
    Dan opened his eyes, and almost lost his balance with the sudden abrupt change of perspective. His own heart pumped faster, he felt the steely strength of his ownyouthful limbs, his own lightness and his own explosive energy, barely contained. He was afraid now. He may no longer be a berserker but he had a whole new strain of madness to contend with: he could feel his enemy’s thoughts.
    â€˜Gawain? Dan? Are you all right?’ Bedewyr’s face was wrinkled with concern.
    â€˜I am well, Bedewyr. Wish me luck!’
    â€˜May Cunedos and Mithras grant you victory this day!’
    Dan strode to the centre of the circle of men to face Medraut. He had to get a grip of his hectic fear. He could not fight in this unfocused state. He sought his place of stillness and to his profound relief found it – still and calm and unpolluted by his opponent’s thoughts.
    Medraut was a big man, no taller than Dan himself, but broad and very intimidating. Medraut’s helmet protected his face and skull and even offered some protection to the back of his neck. The mail shirt protected his torso and the leather of his under-tunic protected his upper arm and groin. At first glance Dan stood very little chance at all. He knew from experience that Raven helmets fitted snugly; there was no chance of removing this one without also removing the head that wore it. He did not want to take that option. He also doubted that the poorly fabricated sword was up to such a task –it took a sharp and heavy blade to behead a man. Medraut was circling him warily, his body lowered into a fighting stance.
    Dan prayed that he would not see himself again through this enemy’s eyes – he could not deal with such a dizzying dual perspective. He dropped his right shoulder and adopted the familiar fighting stance, which offered the enemy the least access to his vital organs and the greatest access to his sword. Medraut stabbed forward with his sword and Dan parried it, lightly stepping backwards. He wanted to tire the older man till his joints ached. He was reluctant to attack. He was afraid of feeling the man’s pain. He let Medraut make all the moves, defending himself easily. Dan’s reflexes were lightning quick and in any case he could not quite blot out all awareness of his enemy’s thoughts. He was always aware of Medraut’s next move a heartbeat before it happened.
    The audience were bored. The soldiers started to bang their spears against the ground and shout. Dan longed for the madness, which had always let his unconscious take over. He was not used to thinking in a fight. He had never fought defensively in his life before. He had to make a move. Medraut’s face was red with anger and effort. Dan needed to finish it. He could not be the Bear Sark but he could still be Gawain. He had to forget himself and let his battle-honed instincts take over. Heurged himself to let go, to stop thinking. Suddenly, he found the knack