They were close behind him as he ran, two riders charging side by side, lances dipped, whipping through the tall grass, tracing hungry lines. No time to notch another arrow, the tiger bow flew from his hands as he leapt from the thorns and above the rushing spears, his sword singing hungrily from its sheath. The confusion of the barbarian’s unexpected charge gave him the time he needed to batter the rider screaming from his saddle. The momentum of the charge still unbroken and unstoppable, the second rider beside him snarling through a face yellow with horse fat, cursing his line as his arms desperately pulled to make room to draw his sword.
“Leave it in it’s sheath brother. It will do you no good.”
The rider cried high and voiceless with despair as Hormud’s curved blade twisted up through his chest— the scream died mid note as the rider hit the ground, head rolling separately through the mire.
Hormud swung a hand high in salute to the riders following, “Hail and farewell brothers”, his fist twisted into the pony’s mane as he kicked it into a mad charge for the tall grass.