Page 5 of Highlander’s Burning Touch

“But say nae, an’ we still take yer jewels, an’ yer coin, an’ yer miserable life as well, so then, which is it to be?”

* * *

“Think about this nice an’ careful,” sneered the brigand, “Because it might be the last decision ye make.”

Immediately, Niven’s eyes were on the slack-jawed man in front of him. For the time being, he was in control, but Niven could see lapses in his concentration.

Although he was pointing a knife at his throat, he wasn’t paying much attention to what he was doing. Instead of watching closely, he was looking around, guffawing with his friend.

Niven’s heart sped up, but inside, he remained cool. Neither of them were the brightest sparks. He had met their type before.

“So, come on, then, lad, speak up, has the cat got yer tongue?” the taller lad sneered, but crucially, he didn’t look.

Without waiting for another moment, Niven swung around, surprising the lanky brigand with his fist.

Before the man could even get to his feet, he had turned to deal with his friend – not the sharpest tool to start with. It was a gamble that paid off.

It seemed like neither of them had expected his resistance, and with one clean hit, Niven had dispatched the pair of them, sniveling and dribbling into the grass.

And before they had the chance to get up, Niven kicked back at them, just for good measure, before making for his own horse at the edge of the woods.

“An’ the answer’s nae,” he added, with a corpulent thump to the nearest robber. The weak and twisted brigand bent double, moaning in pain.

Without giving him a chance to get up, Niven sped away, but he didn’t get far before he tripped over something else, hidden deep in the undergrowth.

Whump! With no warning, Niven was flat on his face. Struggling through the weeds, he clutched his sides in sudden agony.

He looked to find his léine soaking with blood. Beneath him was a sword, glinting out from the thick rushes growing underfoot. And attached to it was a hand.

He had been stabbed.

Beneath him, the lank-haired brigand smiled twistedly. Somehow, he had succeeded in crawling across the glen side, unseen, and puncturing him with a blade.

Immediately, Niven dropped it, and it tumbled into the mud beside him. Before the bandit could swipe it back, Niven fastened his fingers around it and took it for his own.

Immediately, he pointed it at the man’s face, who swerved it, and momentarily, this was enough to deter them.

Dragging himself up, Niven tried to ignore the stinging at his sides and get himself together. With the sound of water running down from the loch nearby, he examined the wound. On closer inspection, it seemed to be nothing more than just a glancing blow.

Feeling sure it would be alright, Niven got swiftly to his feet. There was no time to lose, with the two brigands slowly regaining themselves and moving forwards at speed.

“Here he is,” said the lanky man, his oily blond hair sticking close to his angular face, “he willnae get far now he’s had a tickle off auld Will…!”

They were already pulling themselves out of their pit and in hot pursuit. A quick glance told him they were worse for wear from their fall, so before they could get any nearer, Niven rounded on them once more.

Bringing his bow up to his eye, Niven took aim. The unsavory pair were advancing, ever closer, cut hazily against the steel-colored skies. And then, something odd.

For just a moment, it all blurred as if he was looking through a steamy window. Shapes jarred and danced in his eyes.

Just for a second, all was lost, then he came to. And before they had a chance to advance any closer, he pulled the bow, and a hail of bolts flew across the open glade.

Instantly one caught the dark-haired lad squarely in the forehead, and he folded like an uprooted weed. Before he could suffer the same fate, his companion turned and fled, leaving Niven finally alone in the center of the clearing.

Dazedly, Niven made for his horse when suddenly the world swayed around him. This time, he could not blink his way free, and he groped, helplessly trying to find his feet.

But there was no way out of this miasma. The world swirled, crashing at his head and casting him deep into a pit with no end.

It all faded, except for the voice.