[center][h1] [color=008000]Mikhail Fuast[/color] [/h1] [/center]


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Mikhail knew full well that there had been a good deal of luck involved in his strike actually hitting his mark. Normally he would have counted all of his one lucky stars, but he had to move. The axe fighter backing up gave the lancer time to roll over and rest on one knee. [color=008000][i]He’s off balance. Good, let’s keep it that way.[/i][/color]

His breath was ragged, his lungs on fire, but the cavalier knew what he had to do. [color=008000]”I grew up with an older brother that was much bigger and more experienced than me,”[/color] his voice was hoarse and labored. The royal guard’s bewildered look and defensive stance told Mikhail that he had his full attention. [color=008000]“Whenever we got into a scuffle, I never won by fighting fairly. No, I had to be unexpected and lucky.”[/color] His grip on the spear was tenuous at best. He could only hope that the adrenaline coursing through the axe fighter would be enough to muffle the sounds of the horse that was approaching from behind the man. At least until it was too late, at which point Mikhail would be able to strike at him again if he were to turn around to face Rollo, who was well on his way to run him into the ground, quite literally.