Lost Years: The Quest For Avalon - Plot & Excerpts
He was about half a mile behind. His hand throbbed and he could feel the missing finger. His fury throbbed with it in painful time and dark harmony. His plan was to charge, in an open place, knowing he could outmaneuver their relatively clumsy mounts and close circles until he placed an arrow in unarmored Parsival; staying too distant to attack. He was remembering, years ago, before his people had been trapped on the march, the terrible day of disaster, pinned against a swift river with rock walls all around. No room to ride, only to die as masses of European knights ground into the great host and chewed the army to pieces and drove the baggage train, the women and children, into the icy rapids. He relived the terror and pain. Remembered hurling himself, on foot, against a huge, mounted knight, bent on his own death as he killed. He’d been hit in the face (as he stabbed the horse between the armor joints), splitting his nose and knocking him unconscious until nightfall, lying alone among the heaped dead, listening to the sighing, sobbing, groaning dying, mind flowing in and out of darkness in the steady water roar.
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