Hector heard a snuffling noise behind him, and wheeled around. He blinked, then stared.
It had four legs, and was evidently a beast of burden. At least, it carried a saddle on its back. Piled atop the saddle was a conglomeration of what looked to Hector—at first glance—like a pile of junk. He went over to the animal and examined it carefully. The “junk” turned out to be a long spear, various pieces of armor, a helmet, sword, shield, battle-ax and dagger.
The situation I have chosen is one in which many warriors have won glory. Hector puzzled over the assortment of weapons. They came straight out of Kerak’s Dark Ages. No doubt Odal had been practicing with them for months, even years. He may not need five helpers.
Warily, Hector put on the armor. The breastplate seemed too big, and he was somehow unable to tighten the greaves on his shins properly. The helmet fit over his head like an ancient oil can, flattening his ears and nose and forcing him to squint to see through the narrow eye-slit.
Finally, he buckled on the sword and found attachments on the saddle for the other weapons. The shield was almost too heavy to lift, and he barely struggled into the saddle with all the weight he was carrying.
And then he just sat. He began to feel a little ridiculous. Suppose it rains? he wondered. But of course it wouldn’t.
After an interminable wait, Odal appeared, on a powerful trotting charger. His armor was black as space, and so was his animal. Naturally, Hector thought.
Odal saluted gravely with his great spear from across the meadow. Hector returned the salute, nearly dropping his spear in the process.
Then, Odal lowered his spear and aimed it—so it seemed to Hector—directly at the Watchman’s ribs. He pricked his mount into a canter. Hector did the same, and his steed jogged into a bumping, jolting gallop. The two warriors hurtled toward each other from opposite ends of the meadow.
And suddenly there were six black figures roaring down on Hector!