Yelin held firm, pushing his body weight against the tower shield he wielded as the wave of men crashed into it. He kept his head low. He strained his legs to keep the right position, pushing the tower shield out.
The noise was intense, a roar of metal on metal and men screaming and howling like animals.
The outstretched spears from the Ashen shield wall acted like a deadly barricade on which Caldaean troops impaled themselves, hurling themselves into the spearheads and deep onto the shafts, with no way to shift out of the way or slow down their advance.
Both armies had had their vanguard in straight lines, but all order was lost as soon as the two forces collided, with men unable to slow down, flying over Blacktree shields and being attacked upon landing.
Yelin could see no further than a few feet in any direction, with men suffocating him all around. Unrecognisable expressions of rage. Weapons flying about. Blood spraying out from unseen injuries. The air became unbreathable.
And the screams. The screams were deafening.
Yelin pushed against the tower shield again, this time knocking a soldier off his feet on the other side, who he promptly stabbed in the gut as he fell before taking position back behind the shield.
A spear tip came out of nowhere and hit Yelin, though it luckily bounced from his breastplate and off to the side with a screech of metal.
Emery held a smaller shield, using it to defend his upper body as he blocked oncoming strikes. He thwarted one, before stabbing back, then shielded another and counterattacked in a flurry of concise moves.
Yelin felt more attacks against his shield but held strong. Each gap in an opposing strike, he would launch forwards with his sword.
The next stab impaled a man through his eye, leaving a deep, dark, bloodied slit in his face. The sword was difficult to pull from the man’s face, especially as he wailed and flailed about.
The officer to Yelin’s left took a spearhead to the knee, causing him to drop. Another spear stuck him in the neck, slicing his arteries clean open and nearly taking his head off. Blood pumped with his racing heartbeat from the wide gash as the officer desperately clung to life.
Fuck.
Yelin’s flank was left open, but a Blacktree from behind took the position, trampling over the officer’s body as he bled out beneath his feet.
Yelin could not think a clear thought. He relied solely on instinct as sword tips and spearheads sliced and stabbed around him. The immovable shoulders of men pressed against him, making it impossible to squeeze out of the position he was in.
He could smell their desperate breaths and thick aroma of blood in the air.
The Blacktree men held strong, using their shields well to deflect the onslaught and take on Seynards one-by-one with any chance they got.
A Seynard attempted to jump Yelin’s tower shield. He saw fingers on the top edge, gripping firmly. So, he sliced. The fingertips were cleaved off and Yelin turned away to avoid blood spatter in his face.
Every chance he got, Yelin looked to his right to make sure the king was coping. He glimmered in his stunning armour like an impenetrable statue, but it also made him a target.
Yet, King Emery still retained his skills and was able to hold his position well, using his small shield to block each oncoming attack.
Another man charged into Yelin’s tower shield, knocking him back. Yelin lifted the shield slightly, before hammering it down onto the attacker’s feet with a sickening crunch, breaking his toes. He charged back out, knocking the Seynard away.
The noise of the melee grew louder as men fell, shrieking for mercy and an end to the pain.
The paved ground was slick with limbs and freshly spilled blood, steadily growing into a larger carpet of bodies.
King Emery roared as he lanced a young Seynard boy in the chest with an outstretched arm, but another soldier struck back, striking Emery’s forearm with a huge hammer so hard that Yelin swore he heard his forearm break.
Emery barked obscenities as he stepped back, unstrapping the warped gauntlet, and clutching at his clearly broken arm.
Emery and Yelin looked to see the man responsible and were overshadowed by the tall figure of Sen Dorval, grinning menacingly.
“Fall back, my king,” Yelin ordered, but before Emery could react, Sen Dorval shoulder-charged the guard so hard that it knocked him off his feet.
Yelin lost his grip on the tower shield as he flew backwards into his men. Others rushed to fill the gap as Seynards charged into the broken line, but it was no use.
Sen Dorval struck them down with ease, his war hammer shattering one man’s face so hard that his jaw broke, and teeth flew out of his bloodied mouth. He was dead before he sank to the ground, his jaw unhinged and dangling from one side with a waterfall of blood streaming out of the cavity.
“Defend your king!” Yelin barked, dragging Emery out from the mess.
Sen Dorval howled like a maniac, swinging his war hammer as the Blacktrees rushed to cover the injured king’s retreat.
“Make way! Make way!”
Yelin pushed through the thick crowd of soldiers with the slouched Emery under his arm. He heard a worrying noise as Blacktrees began shouting at the flanks of their defensive square.
Seynard men had gone around to attack from the left and right, rushing through the side alleys and slamming against the force from three different fronts.
Just what Yelin had feared would happen.
They were being surrounded.
“Defend the flanks! Do not let them get behind us!” Yelin ordered, but his command was futile as no one voice could cut through the cacophony of battle.
The fighting was spreading from the streets as Seynards and Blacktrees climbed over rubble and through burning houses
