Far Horizons: Tales of Sci-Fi, Fantasy and Horror. Issue #16 July 2015 | страница 53

“I win, they leave. Wolfy wins, you leave.
Alone.” Slone answered picking an ear. Whilst Ceowulf thought it over,the big man examined the end of
his finger.
“So be it,” Ceowulf said. Slone nodded once,
shouldered his spear once more and trotted back to the
centre ground. Ceowulf called his squire over.
“Go fetch a bard, lad,” he ordered.
The squire sprinted off.
***

***
A couple of crows rose squawking as Andarta burst through the bushes. She cursed but didn’t
slow. She strained her ears and heard it again. She
was being pursued. She started taking account of her
surroundings, looking for good ground to make a
stand, although she wasn’t done running just yet. She
wondered how many of them there were. She’d seen a
couple of scouts, with large shaggy wolfhounds. She’d
never had to fight dogs before, although her old tutor,
who was well on his way round the wheel, had taught
her some techniques.

Cerridwen had played a swirling tune that
had had them all clapping and stamping their feet.
Padraig’s stomach was in knots and he’d visited the
latrines a couple of times. The bard from the north,
Donnal, was up next.

She hoped that almost fifteen years later her
muscles would remember what she’d barely practised
since.

Padraig had been stealing glances at Elise
throughout, trying to gauge her interest, as all the
hopefuls had their turns. Epic verse contended with
singing which competed with musical instruments.
Padraig had watched nervously as bard after bard performed for the Laureate. He’d be up next. He thought
that his talent was greater than some, not as good as
others. He hoped that if he didn’t win, then Cerridwen
would. He fervently desired that Donna