Fréa was making his regular rounds of the prison. As normal procedure demanded, he'd gone into each of the cellblocks to empty out the slops and set down a fresh bowl of water. He hated doing such menial work. After his promotion was approved, he'd be able to delegate such thankless tasks to other men within his squad.
He’d brought the buckets of slop into the small anteroom just outside the hallway where the cells were located. He intended to carry them outside two by two and dump their contents into a backyard pit specially constructed for that purpose. Fréa bent over to grab onto the handles of two of the pails and hoist them off the ground; his back was squarely turned to the door.
Within a single moment, everything broke loose. Brytta had been standing in the stairwell for some time, hiding in the shadows and waiting for the right moment to strike. Now, he raced inside the room and, with a single motion, hurled his body through the air coming down directly on top of Fréa.
For several minutes, the two men rolled together on the ground struggling and clawing at each other. With one hand, Fréa pummeled at his attacker; with the other, he searched desperately for the stiletto dagger that he always wore strapped about his waist. He finally managed to wrench it out of the sheath and got a good hold on the hilt.
Fréa was the heavier of the two, but Brytta had the advantage of agility and speed. Fréa grabbed savagely onto Brytta's wrist and managed to wrestle his blade loose sending it harmlessly skittering over to the side. But when Fréa moved to plunge his own blade into Brytta's back, the brother instinctively wriggled loose, sprang up, and savagely brought his boot down on top of Fréa's hand. Stung by the blow, Fréa hesitated for a single instant cradling his injured hand. Instinctively Brytta lunged towards the bucket of slops that still sat on the floor nearby. Grabbing onto the handle of the nearest wooden pail, he reared it above Fréa's head and brought it down with a crash immediately rendering him unconscious.
Beating a hasty retreat, Brytta grimly reflected, It serves him well. A man with no honor. To be taken out in such a humiliating way!"
[ July 20, 2003: Message edited by: Dain Ironfoot ]
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