The only openings coming were ones desgined to bring him in closer. Not to say that he didn't waver, his muscles didn't tremble. For the did. He just had a plan as far as the fight went.
Myrwin kept up his assault but he was too canny a warrior to get tunnel-vision on one foe. In the melee, that was an excellent way to wind up killed off. But the other combatants seemed to be leaving them be and the field was rapidly shrinking to just the two of them left. He had to end this soon, he knew that much. He was too old, too tired, and his foe was younger. Fresher.
This was turning into something worth the chinks that were offered. He was starting to have fun. How many men could say they stood toe-to-toe with a fighter like this. It would be quite the knot on the belt.
Knowing what he had been walking into, he had saved most of his brute force for this point. The blows were coming in harder and faster.
Myrwin was, unbelievably, not getting through. This kid was one of the best natural fighters he'd ever _seen_. He kept up his assault, even though his lungs burned and he was having to blink away sweat so that he could see. It was time to end this. He feinted one way, jabbed another, but the real business technique was a spinning thrust for where chestpiece met belt. Slip the blade in there and it was all over.
It was all over, simply not the way that the Dornish prince could have anticipated. The heavy war hammer came down, flat end, towards the man's crown, intent on busting right through. If he took the spear, he took the spear, but his task would be finished.
Myrwin was driven to his knees from the sheer force of the blow and if he hadn't been moving when the blow landed he'd most certainly be dead now. He couldn't see, his head hurt terribly, and he suddenly felt terribly tired. But he lifted his spear, acting on sheer unthinking instinct, and stabbed forth with his blade.
His wound was a belly wound. Deep enough that he was bleeding, shallow enough that when he vanished in the ensuing chaos, he didn't take the spear with him...
All men die.
Myrwin let his spear fall, then gracelessly fell forward, face first into the bloody mud.