Free Casca 9: The Sentinel by Barry Sadler

to the three, swinging his sword easily, point held low to the earth. He answered Herac's unspoken misgivings. `What I am really doesn't matter because you're not going to leave here alive. So let's get it on and over with. I'm tired."
    Herac knew that he was a dead man. Even if the scar-faced warrior in front of him didn't kill him, it was unlikely that he would be able to get out alive with only two men. The rest of his band was being turned into charred stinking cinders in the burning coals of the longhouse.
    Not waiting for any further dialogue, he struck, his two men alongside him. Casca was slower than he thought he'd be. The long years of idleness had stiffened muscles that refused to respond properly to the brain's signals to move. He knew what to do; he just wasn't fast enough. Herac opened up a slice in his gut, along the left side, cutting through the thin plates of the rusted scale armor. Casca closed with him, holding him to his chest. The two henchmen tried to cut Casca down from the sides but were dragged down by enraged villagers. The women were especially vengeful and received full payment for the use of their bodies and the deaths of their men and children.
    Casca didn't complain about their assistance. He had all he could do to hold on to Herac. He was too weak to use his normal strength against the half Greek, but he did recall one of the things he had learned long ago about close-in fighting. Twisting his hip, he half turned to Herac's left. Letting go of his sword, he put his right arm under Herac's armpit and, with the twist, flipped him over his hip to land flat on his back, with the wind knocked out of him. Casca decided that it was time to end the show and gave Herac a full-bodied kick in the balls with his right foot. This kept his opponent immobile long enough for him to retrieve his sword and, without any further ado, cut the raider chief's throat to the applause and cheers of his village audience.
    Casca was a bit disappointed in his performance, but the villagers thought he'd been sent from the gods to protect them and destroy their enemies. If he had said the word, they probably would have burned down their own village.
    Casca yelled for them to quiet down and to put out the fires. He was tired from his labors and told Molvai to take a couple of men and go after Ireina. It was time she came home.

CHAPTER FIVE
    Ireina returned with Molvai, not the least bit concerned or surprised. Why should she be? Hadn't everything turned out as she had always known it would? Her sleeping warrior had come down from the mountain and freed her people. There had never been any doubt of it in her mind. Why should she be surprised at what was only natural?
    Casca was tired. Molvai turned over his own hut to him and Ireina, moving his family out to stay with one of his uncles. Casca didn't waste any time dropping off to sleep. The night had been long, and he was still weak. The fights had taken much from his slim reserves of strength, and he needed time to rebuild them. Ireina accepted the deference shown them both as no more than their due. She was the woman of the warrior, the one who had awakened him from his long sleep. She was his, and he was hers; of that there could be no doubt in anyone's mind.
    While he slept, the villagers cleaned up the mess once the ashes had cooled enough for them to go in and haul out the charred bodies of the raiders. These they removed to the edge of the forest for the wolves and bears to feed on, provided that they had a taste for meat that was slightly overcooked.
    There was a festive mood in the village for the next few days as they enjoyed the novelty of being their own masters again. Of Casca they saw little. He stayed to himself, resting and eating. He had no desire to be gawked at or pointed to. All he wanted was to be left alone for a time, until he readjusted to being among the living.
    Ireina helped in that respect. He was glad that he had waited a few days, gathering