their fat slug of a leader back at camp. Te only threat he’d pose to an enemy would be if he rolled over them on his way to the chicken. A heavy wave rippled through the ranks, knocking Fleece to his knees, and then General Tua charged
through the crowd on his horse, heading straight at Gricenchos. Te Fomorians screeched, maybe warning their king, maybe protesting at the unfairness of it all,
but Gricenchos didn’t turn and run. Instead he stepped to one side and brought his sword round with both hands. Te horse’s head flew, and General Tua was thrown from its saddle, the horse flipping over and landing on top of him. Gricenchos didn’t even do him the honour of killing the general himself. He left Tua to the stabbing of the Fomorians, and turned back to the Hibernian soldiers, awaiting his next challenger.
Fleece was sent stumbling out of the crowd. Te Formorian king looked down at him. Beneath the horned headpiece his nose was long and his mouth was wide, filled with sharp black teeth. He was not, even as far as Fomorians went, particularly handsome. Fleece clasped his hands in front of him. ‘Please don’t kill me,’ he whimpered. ‘Coward!’ Iron Guts roared, breaking away from the Hibernian men, swinging his sword for
Gricenchos’s head. Te Fomorian king moved faster than Fleece would have thought possible for someone his size. Steel clashed and Gricenchos sent Iron Guts stumbling away. He brought his great sword down but this time it was Iron Guts who moved, deflecting the blade with his shield and shifting sideways, as nimble as a
