Fiction: "A Killing Blow" by C. F. Green

A Killing Blow

Fiction by C. F. Green

My hands clasp tightly around the still sheathed blade at my hip...the leather wrap which covers the hilt now worn and tattered from many battles. The steel beneath is cold to the touch as it sneaks out from beneath the leather. My family’s sword spans back many generations, forged from the fires of my forefathers, hammered with care on the anvils of their private blacksmiths and carefully crafted with quality. Still as sharp as the day it was forged, this legendary weapon has led my family and my self through many epic battles. Today it shall do the same.

As I analyze my foe to pin-point the key strategic weak points, I focus in on a piece of armour under his left arm, along his breast, which appears weakened, dented, and fragile. A key spot to target as I am sure my sword will pierce his armour creating a fatal blow. I inspect his stance, calculate the weight of his heavy armour, and anticipate his moves in my mind. When you engage in one on one combat it is wise to have a plan.

The ground under our feet is fairly level, but my opponent has a slight up-hill advantage, coupled with his height his reach will far outstretch my own. I will need to get in close quickly, shorten the gap, and make my move to finish him. My armour is more agile, my movement far less restricted, but this also leaves me unguarded and vulnerable as any strike I receive will likely be fatal.

The moment approaches. His leg moves forward as the steel of his blade sneaks slightly from the sheath. I stand still and focused...calculating my next move. Should I run in and meet him in the middle, or should I wait here and let him tire himself out slightly while covering the distance. Should I let out a taunt? A vicious rage filled scream to fill him with self doubt? These strategies can make or break you, but are vital to the victory you want to achieve.

As his foot leaves the ground his sword emerges from his waist, and he rushes in violently screaming as he begins to advance on my position. I take a deep breath, and the cold December air engulfs my lungs and refreshes my mind. My eyes close as I take a second of quiet meditation. I hear his heavy boots clash and crunch upon the frozen ground. My eyes open, my body tenses, and my sword valiantly erupts from its sheath...the beautiful steel shines in the morning light.

I prepare my stance, I lock in on my target...his great sword above his head ready for a crushing downward strike. I calculate my timing perfectly, dodging downwards to the left thrusting my sword upwards under his arm. The blade slices through as if his armour was butter, deep through his chest...and exits his throat.

A killing blow.