Dammit. Another group of soldiers wait for us there. A couple of tribespeople have already engaged with them. Together we charge forwards, leaping over the few steps that lead to the hall’s entrance. Swords clash around us.
Orrian skids onto his knees, sliding between a pair of colony men and slashing at their legs. The strike brings them to the ground and Orrian ends their suffering simultaneously. He slides one knife back against his waist and risks picking up both of their swords. He keeps one and passes the other to Damion who rushes to meet the soldier closest to us.
Orrian and I join him. Randall was right, everything changes in the heat of battle. I must protect the man at my side as he protects me, I will never be able to do that if I’m struggling with myself. I let my training come into practice, I don’t think about the men I cut down or the wounds I inflict. As each new challenger approaches me, it becomes easier and easier to kill the next.
I don’t question how I still stand. The battle rages all around us now, attacks are coming from all directions but somehow they miss or are blocked as they are challenged by another. Orrian had been right, each member of the tribe is easily worth every three from the colony.
New light floods the yard as unbelievably heavy wood splinters against stone. The tribe did it, the bridge has been lowered. Three of them emerge from the gatehouse and begin mercilessly cutting down the archers on the walls.
The first of the footsteps thud against the bridge over the moat, I dare to glance back. What remains of the villages’ swarm abandon their cover from behind the nearby buildings as they fearlessly join the tribespeople. Of course, Thoren leads the charge.
There is no longer any separation between our conflict at the steps of the hall and the battle raging in front of the gatehouse. Any soldier formations have been lost in the chaos, every man can only be concerned with the opponent they face and no one else.
I draw my blade in a wide arc and slash against a soldier’s stomach. I am blocked from tending to him as a different metal clad guard steps over him to advance. I barely manage to raise my blade before our two swords clash in the air, I slice down the metal and force the sword from his grip. As he straightens, I kick him powerfully in the chest and send him sprawling. I leap down on top of him and cut downwards.
Something whistles through the air above my head and I roll to one side, springing to my feet out of fear of being trampled. The killing blow sails harmlessly past my shoulder and smacks against the breastplate of my previous victim. The soldier pulls his weapon free but not quickly enough, Jaq appears from the chaos and runs through him with his spear. I get one momentary glance of Jaq’s blood splattered determination before he disappears among the bloodshed once more, Tharrin has joined his side.
A hand places on my shoulder and I twist as I rise, driving my blade over my head towards the new foe. Orrian dips his shoulder as he swings his head so that my blade passes harmlessly by his tattooed ear. Damion protects our rear as he pulls me along by the arm.
We have a clear line into the grand hall, everyone fighting on the steps is currently engaged. As we run, another two soldiers emerge from the inside. How many of them are there?
Orrian flicks his wrist, a flash of silver flies before his knife buries itself in the first soldier’s neck. I approach the remaining guard, my arms shudder as I block his blow. Our blades are crossed in the air as we both fight for control. Damion dives past my side and tackles the man by the waste. Orrian has already run past us as Damion buries his blade deep in the soldier’s eye.
Together we enter the hall, very few tribespeople have made it this far. The hammering of steel on steel echoes around the high walls. Looking up, I realise that the whole roof is one enormous painted sculpture. Long wooden benches line the sides of the walls beneath intricately painting figures watching the violence unfolding beneath them.
Damion leads us down the centre aisle, a plush, grand chair stands raised high alone at the far end. The throne. The large velvet cushions are a deep blood red and swirling gold twists its way decoratively around the outside. Of course, no king sits in it now. I suddenly have the strangest desire to burn the thing.
We chase Damion past the rows of benches and the lines of kings carved into the wood of the walls, until eventually we stand directly in front of the throne. Damion shifts to the left and flings open a heavy door. More bloodshed stands in front of us.
We have come out onto an open hallway with arches on either side. The sheltered walkway is one of four, creating the edges of a large paved open area in the middle, off to our left. Several duels clash at the near side of the area, more still battle on the path before us. Through the stone arches to my right, the wall rises high above us behind a small green garden.
As I watch, a small group of three sprint across the rampart of the inner wall. Two of them wear little clothing, green designs ink their bare skin. The third member of the pack comes to a stop and readies her bow while the tribespeople continue onwards, knives catching the sunlight before them.
The breeze gently catches the chestnut hair that cascades over her slim shoulders. Eyes born from the
