Hallam ducked beneath the blow, pushed his left foot forward,
grunting with the effort and hacked sideways with his sword. Something hard hit
his shield and if he hadn’t put his foot forward he would have overbalanced. The
fight raged around him. Men and krell dying in their hundreds.
Hallam
screamed a war cry and pushed against the line of enemy, seeking to dislodge a foe
and open up their shield wall. Krell pressed hard against his shield, hoping to
achieve the same aim. “Hold the line,” he commanded, sensing a slight movement
to his left. A line that went backwards was already defeated. A spear glanced
off one of his greaves and he stamped down hard trying to snap the shaft. Warm blood
flecked his face, causing him to blink. The copper stench in his nostrils
nearly made him gag. “Push,” he yelled, trying to get his line forward.
The author pushed back
the keyboard and leaned back. Time for a cuppa. He went to the kitchen and
turned on the kettle, reaching in to the cupboard for a teabag. Humming softly,
he filled the cup and stirred clockwise before settling on a couple of
chocolate biscuits as a treat. Sitting in front of the monitor once more, he
dunked a biscuit. He shivered and glanced at the thermostat.
“What the hell,” he
muttered dialing up the warmth. His slippers were new and fur lined, a rare
treat and kept his feet beautifully warm. Stig, an orange and brown cat mewed
playfully to one side and the author tapped his leg, allowing the cat to jump
up and settle on his lap, purring softly. Outside the sky threatened snow, but
the author barely glanced that way.
Finishing his tea and
smacking his lips the author settled down to create. His eyes focused on the monitor
as he muttered, “Now, Hallam, what fresh hell can I create.”
Hallam groaned, recognising the fearful cry from the darkened sky
above, “Grakyn,” he screamed, hoping that the archers to the rear could see in
the half-light. The battle was going horribly wrong. He prayed to all the gods
for a change in fortune.
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