Far Horizons: Tales of Sci-Fi, Fantasy and Horror. Issue #15 June 2015 | Page 68

“You may as well give up now and go home,” a gruff
voice said behind Padraig, who turned in surprise.
A stocky warrior, wearing a bard’s white over a cuirass and greaves, over Black Boar plaid, stood with a
sneer on his face.
“Leave him alone Donnal!” A blonde haired girl, not
much older than Padraig, stood with hands on her
hips staring daggers at the stocky warrior, who put his
hands up in surrender.
“I was just telling him that he has already lost. There
will only be one winner here, Cerridwen.” The gravelly voiced warrior said.
“The best bard will win!” Cerridwen said.
“Exactly.” Donnal replied, before giving Padraig one

last contemptuous glance before making his way into
the hall.
“Tsk,” Cerridwen said to his back, then, looking at
Padraig, “you’d best hurry up and register; Elise is
finalising the order.”
Padraig climbed wearily to his feet, and after wiping
them dry and putting his boots back on, he sighed long
and hard and followed the female bard into the hall.
***
Andarta counted the warriors, dressed in Green Salman colours, as they walked past her hiding place. If
you’d asked she wouldn’t be able to tell you what instinct told her to hide but she was glad she had. These
were warriors dressed for battle and who walked with
naked steel. The problem with naked steel, Andarta
found, was that it thirsted for blood. The war-band
pass ed and had made no attempt to hide. Although

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