Gall slid off the Creeper’s body. Around him the Nagun milled, some still clambering at the walls, others distracted by the swirling deluge of horn calls. Looking west, beyond the field of battle, he spied several Bretagnian banners flying in the distance. Relief was in sight, yet a Shatain lurked somewhere ahead of him. He needed to eliminate the threat as soon as possible. Short sword in hand, he charged forward into the mass of tribesmen clambering forward to carry the bulwark. Confused by this suicidal dash into their midst, they fled as he slashed a path west. Breaking through a gap in the lines, he spotted the Shatain. The tall robed figure stood just beyond eyeshot of the bulwark, with its head bowed, and an unsheathed Mordblade. The …show more content…
“As expected, you do not understand,” hissed the figure. “Success here would have only been an added pleasure. For my part, killing you will complete my task.”
“Then you are going to be disappointed,” Gall snarled back. Almost simultaneously they lunged at each other, weapons slamming together; fear rippling out from the impact as if a large stone had fallen into a pond. Driving his knee up, Gall forced the apparition away, but as he did so the Shatain extended his arm, and Gall felt an invisible icy grip clutch at his throat.
With disdain, he brushed it aside with a sweep of his arm. “I am not one of your helpless victims,” he barked. Shooting his arm towards his attacker, the Shatain stiffened, clawing at the invisible riposte. Seizing his advantage, Gall lurched forward, ducked under the Shatain’s blade, and plunged his weapon into its robes.
The Shatain’s high-pitched howl whipped past him, echoing into the valley air. With some measure of satisfaction, Gall watched the figure collapse. Revulsion swiftly set in as the Daemon purred in his mind, “More, more …” His mind swam in images of blood and madness; he had break contact with the Mordblade before he could no longer resist its urges. Hands shaking, he struggled to sheathed the weapon. The Daemon screamed, crying for more bloodshed. The blade slid fully into the scabbard. Relief swept over
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Some buried themselves into guardsmen, others their mounts. Cries of pain competed with horses screaming. Rearing animals tossed their riders.
Preytars tossed Katun’s banners onto the ground, as several hundred of them darted about, expertly firing arrows from horseback into the rapidly shrinking ranks of the King’s men. Brecc’s horse stumbled as several arrows buried themselves into its flanks. With a thud, it collapsed and rolled, tossing Brecc on a pile of Nagun bodies.
The late afternoon sun stabbed at the Guardsmen’s eyes, dust stirred up by the horses choked and left them blinded. But this had little effect on the Preytar’s, who boldly rode forth and discharged their arrows toward the cowering group of guardsmen. A shout arose, “Save the King,” and a guard latched onto the Brecc and began dragging him like a sack of manure toward the