With a final uproar of passionate cheers and vows of victory, every man under the control of Lord Lupus surged forth, devouring the distance between the two armies in seconds until they were only an arrows breadth apart. Lupus’s forces’ crazed war cries were soon drowned out by the tribesmen’s furious chants. Raising their spears, the tribesmen charged forth.
With an earsplitting crash, the two armies met, steel clashing against steel as barbed spears plunged through the plate mail of the knights and swords of both armies sliced and jabbed. Lupus himself had taken the head of the charge, driving his sword through a man’s chest as he plowed through the Shalzi tribesmen, trampling them and lobbing off heads.
Lord Lupus rode towards a man who was pulling his spear free of a Pavalonian warrior, his bloody sword dangling above him. The crazed man cried a fierce curse as he hurled his spear. It struck Lupus like an arrow, jabbing him just below the heart, and sent him tumbling backwards off his mount, as his ancient blade broke free of his grasp. Hitting the ground with a thud, he struggled to his feet staring the man in the eye. The man lunged, grasped the spear and yanked it out. Lupus screamed as the shaft tore his skin, but he soon regained, snatching up his weapon and swinging it wildly around him. It caught the man’s recovered spear, breaking it in two. With another curse, the man threw the broken weapon aside and ripped a sharp scimitar from his belt and swung at him. Lupus dodged it easily, spitting a mouthful of blood into the man’s eyes. Taking his chance, he swirled himself around, the tip of his blade nearly severing the warrior’s head from his body. Blood sprayed into the air, soaking the ground as the soldier fell to the floor.
Looking around, Lord Lupus saw a small group of tribesmen rush towards him, swords and spears raised. He leaped to the side, avoiding a sword jab as it zipped by his head, and catching another man on his sword as he drove its sharp edge through his chest. Pulling his blade free, he saw a flash of steel whiz by him. He parried it skillfully and lashed out again, cutting the man across the stomach as his blade crushed the scales of his armor. Exhaustion crept over him as he savagely cut a man’s head from his body, spilling fresh, warm blood across his face.
Two more Shalzi tribesmen confronted him cautiously, their scimitars rose defensively. He suddenly lashed out with a series of skillful strikes, fighting them both off at once. They parried crazily, waiting for him to break. Instead, Lupus took his chance and dove in with his weapon, stabbing the man on his right through the shin. He ignored his screech of pain as he began to weaken, the blood beginning to crust around his wound. Pulling his blade free, he lashed off his head, splashing blood on his frightened enemy.
The other man, too terrorized to make a move, stood firm, his weapon held at the ready. Suddenly, before Lupus could make a move, he screamed wildly, a surge of courage erupting within him, and lunged at the lord. He blocked the blow recklessly, and then hurried to parry the other blows that we swung at him, knowing that the inexperienced warrior would soon make a vital mistake in his pattern of strikes. Seeing the tribesmen sidestep, a weakening in his pattern, he ducked a wild blow and fiercely drove his blade through the man’s stomach.
As he slid his sword from the tribesmen’s gut, sending him tumbling to the ground, he was pushed from behind, the screams of terror throughout the battlefield echoing in his mind. Stumbling forward, he tripped over a fallen body and once more felt his weapon slip from his hands. He fell into a puddle of water and blood, splashing his face with the foul smelling concoction. He quickly rolled to his back, preparing to heave himself up. He found himself looking into the eyes of a ferocious, bearded tribesman, the feathers of his armor glistening with wet blood. He grimaced and lunged, stabbing his broken spear into Lord Lupus’s left leg. He gasped for breath as another tribesman plunged his weapon into his right shoulder, pinning him the earth. Wincing with pain as blood flowed freely from his fresh wounds, he prepared for more pain. When it came, it was not steel, but flesh. Strong hands yanked his helm from his head, tossing it aside. A giant fist collided with his nose, crushing it. Blow after savage blow rained down upon him until he was no more than a bloody heap. Spears drove into his dead body, swords hacked him apart long after he had fallen, mutilating the body of the noble lord.
***
Belindas urged himself forward, his trained sword arm easily bearing a plain but deadly broadsword. Spotting a group of Shalzi ahead, fighting off two Pavalonian soldiers, he motioned for his company of men to follow him into battle. He jabbed with his entire upper arm’s strength, his sword erupting from a Shalzi soldier’s chest as he stabbed his thick blade into the unwary foe’s back. He wrenched his bloody sword from the dying man and swung around, his blade bouncing off the curved sword of another furious tribesman. The man swiftly slashed at Belindas, his curved blade slicing through the air. It tore through his upper right arm, cutting the tendon from his bones. He fell to his knees with yelp of agony as the tribesman raised his sword high over his head. Quickly, ignoring the pain lancing up his arm, Belindas lunged forward. There was a clash of steel piercing steel as his sword broke through the scales of the man’s armor and plunged into the middle of his chest. Blood washed over the bright steel scales, spilling from the wound as he dropped his weapon. Panting with fatigue, Lupus’s son staggered back, his sword forgotten as the man choked on a mouthful of blood and fell backwards. He had little time to regain his breath as one of his warriors fell, a razor shaft jutting from his heart, leaving a gap in the protective circle around him.
More Shalzi immediately rushed through the opening, chanting in their vile tongue as three of them ran towards Belindas, their weapons poised to strike. As he turned to pick up a weapon, he tripped over his own foot and tumbled to the blood soaked ground. Clutching the spear that lay before him, he rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding being impaled by a sharp blade. He jumped to his feet, driving the spear into the man’s neck and twisting it free before the other attackers could react. Without making a noise, the tribesmen dropped to the blood soaked ground.
The two remaining Shalzi circled him, crouching low, waiting for him to make a mistake in his footing. Belindas snatched up a battered shield from a fallen comrade, strapping it securely to his left arm, never taking his eyes off his foe. Blood still trickled from the slash across his right arm, but he still fought smartly, looking for his chance. Seeing an opening as one tribesman nearly fell over a cadaver, he hurled his spear at the man on the right as he leaped away from the slashing sword of his companion. His spear fell short, sticking into his unprotected thigh. He screamed, dropping his weapon and falling to his left knee. Belindas wasted no time, striking the man three times in the face with his gauntleted fist, blinding him as blood splattered his visor.
As Belindas began to pant with fatigue, he angrily flipped up his blood-splattered visor and smacked a spear out of his way with his shield. He snatched a small dagger from the hand of a dead soldier, straining as he lifted himself from the ground. A spear flew towards him, thrown by his battle worn foe. He covered his head with his wooden shield moments before it struck. Belindas lurched back as it struck his shield, the tip of the shaft poking through the tough wood and boar hide. Running forth, he swung the dagger wildly at the man, jabbing it deep into his eye. Belindas unfastened the broken shield as he looked into the man’s face, seeing dark blood slowly ooze from the fatal wound as he staggered back and fell.
The onslaught still reigned around where Lord Lupus had fallen as the viscous tribesmen desperately fought off the attacks of the barbaric Pavalonian footmen. Soon, warriors from both armies were engaging in aggressive hand-to-hand combat, their weapons broken, lost, or cast aside. Some men were even fighting with shields, bludgeoning their foes with the hard surfaces of the defensive weapons. Both armies were weakened from constant assaults, chaotic battles breaking out everywhere throughout the bloody mess.
The strength of the Pavalonian footmen soon had the tribesmen overwhelmed, and the last of the fierce warriors began to flee towards the mountains. The Pavalonians easily routed them, binding their hands and feet with rope, killing all who resisted. They were soon blindfolded and their limp bodies thrown into heaps while others began to find the wounded throughout the bloody mess.
A lone soldier limped among the chaos of the battlefield, lifting the limp heads of his fellow comrades, looking for any who might still live. Every muscle in his body felt as if it was torn apart, but Belindas was determined to save his men. Tears would have streamed down his grimy face, had he energy enough to cry. A disfigured body lay defeated on the ground before him, several spears protruding from his ancient armor. His face was crushed, his eyes gouged from jagged daggers and blood was spilled all around him. His cloak was so drenched that Belindas could not identify the symbol it bore. As he walked slowly over to the mutilated corpse, a feeling of dread crept over him. He knelt down, stroking the man’s entangled silver hair, stained bronze from dry blood. Spotting a sword plunged into the ground next to him; he urged his body up, his bones creaking with the effort. Tugging the sword from the earth, he examined its finely gilded hilt, inlaid with sleek ivory from the tusks of a whale and trimmed with hammered gold, and admired its perfectly forged steel blade, stained crimson with blood and worn from many years of use. He knew this sword…
With sudden realization, Belindas’s eyes grew wide, his stomach twisting and turning into a bottomless pit. His heart began to throb in his chest, his breath beginning to fall short. His face contorted into a mixture of frustration and grief, misery and anguish washing over him. He sucked in his breath and screamed until his breath failed him. He trudged over to his father’s corpse, dragging his beloved sword behind him. Carefully pulling three spears from his father’s body, Belindas sunk to his knees, burying his head next to his fathers as he cradled him in his arms. Weeping in depression, he fell into a realm of despair.