First and foremost; you must forget yourself.
Roper’s first twisting lunge went through a man’s mouth, killing him instantly and robbing the thrust that he had aimed at Roper of any strength. He dropped to the floor and Roper dragged Cold-Edge free of his lips. The next spearman stepped off his right foot to confuse Roper and aimed a thrust at his stomach. Roper twisted aside, taking a swing at the man’s waist which clattered harmlessly off the bone-plates. He ducked beneath the spear that swung over his head, lunging forward where Cold-Edge was again stopped by the bone-plates. However, the blow was enough to stagger his opponent and drive him backwards where he lost his footing in the mud, dropping to one knee. The spearman reacted fast, smashing his spear into Roper’s helmet. Roper staggered, dazed, and the man was up again, ramming the spear at him whilst evading Roper’s frenzied parry. It hit Roper in the chest, grating against his plate armour but stopping before it breached the steel. Another lunge and Roper tried to twist aside but it caught the chain mail that protected his thighs, piercing his leg by an inch or so. Roper seized the spearman’s wrist and dragged him unwillingly close, bringing Cold-Edge up to his throat. The man pulled back desperately but he was not as strong as Roper and his spear was too long to be used now that he and Roper were chest-to-chest. Cold-Edge cut the man’s throat, spraying Roper’s mouth and neck in his blood and dropping the spearman to the ground at once.
Two enemies dead and Roper’s lungs were already heaving. The air seemed so thick with hail that he could barely breathe, but another spearman was lunging at him over the bodies of his two dead comrades. Roper parried and countered but found himself blocked. They clashed three times, each deflecting the lethal blows aimed at them by the other until Roper slipped suddenly in the mud, crashing to his knees. He sucked in air but it was not enough and his limbs were growing heavy with fatigue. The spear came at him again and he batted it aside. He tried to grab its shaft but it was pulled back too quickly and thrust at him again. This time it caught him in the shoulder and rammed him back against the mud. The hail pelted down on his face as he was forced to look into the grey skies. Roper had felt no pain, merely the impact as it smashed him backwards. His free left hand went instinctively to the shaft of the spear where it joined his shoulder and he seized it. The spearman was trying to drag it free but Roper held it fast in his own flesh, using its bearer’s own force to drag himself back to his feet. He blundered forward, the spearman trying to pull back and get away from Roper, but he would not let go. He slashed Cold-Edge down the shaft of the spear and the man had to snatch his fingers away or lose them. He let go of the spear and Roper pulled it from his shoulder, feeling pain at last as the blade came free. He tossed it aside and the warrior flew at him, a long dagger in his hand. In a single backhand swipe, Roper cut his throat.
There was senseless noise around him and Roper could feel the pressure from the men that they opposed lifting. The Sutherners were pulling back and the exhausted guardsmen were letting them go in one of those odd, mutually agreed breaks in the battle. “Garrett!” Roper roared, casting around for the huge Sutherner, but he could not see him and hands were dragging him backwards and away from the fight. He turned in fury to find Pryce’s implacable face behind him, ignoring Roper’s protestations completely and hauling him away. He pulled against Pryce’s hands and struggled to advance into the no-man’s land between the forces, seeking to call Garrett out. But his limbs were heavy. His lungs were straining and Pryce’s grip was strong.
“Let him go!” said another voice behind Roper and he turned to see that it was Uvoren who had given the order, looking at him hungrily. This sobered Roper at once. He stopped resisting Pryce and turned his back on the Sutherners, stalking back through the ranks of the Sacred Guard. Gray was after him.
“What the hell are you doing?” he demanded of Roper, spraying his ear with blood from a split lip. “Fight if you must, but almighty god, withdraw when we do! Uvoren would like nothing more than for Garrett to cut you down in front of the legions.”
Roper snarled for Gray to get away, and headed back for Zephyr, being held for him by one of the aides. Once he had mounted again, Roper turned to see that the two battle lines were peeling apart. From the point of the Guard outwards, the warriors were disentangling themselves, throwing one last savage attack and
