Gav Thorpe - The Crown of the Conqueror

"I do not think we are losing," he told his companion with a shrug. "I saw Orlassai striking down the Askhan dogs without pause."

The clear notes of Askhan horns rang out over the din of battle, signalling some change or manoeuvre. Nemasolai had no idea what they meant, but as far as he could see, nothing changed. Shouting warnings, a cluster of red-skinned fighters fell back from a charging Askhan phalanx, some of them tumbling as they retreated down the slope. Manamosalai bellowed at his own warriors to press forward into the flank of the advancing spearmen, urging them on with shakes of his feather-hung staff.

"I think we have killed as many as we have lost," Manamosalai said, returning his attention to Nemasolai, his words almost lost in the whooping war cries of his followers as they leapt to the attack. "That must be a good thing."

"Watch out!" bellowed Nemasolai as he saw figures appearing at the camp wall not far from where he was. Manamosalai guided his reptilian mount away from the wall as a new hail of stones rained down on the Mekhani. The two of them rode a little bit further down the slope, out of range and were joined by a third chieftain, Annomasai.

"We have some of the bastards pinned up against the wall," the new arrival declared with a grin. "Push your warriors forward and we shall finish them off!"

"Which way?" asked Nemasolai, craning his neck to see what was happening. Annomasai pointed up and to the right, but nothing particular could be seen past the throng of bodies.

Manamosalai kicked his xenosaurus into motion and called out the names of the senior warriors under his command. He waved them in the direction Annomasai had indicated and several dozen Mekhani peeled to the right and headed back towards the camp, shields raised against the shower of missiles that greeted them. Nemasolai looked to see if any of his men were able to help, but they were all fighting hard, trying to encircle two Askhan companies, jabbing with their spears and hollering.

Nemasolai wiped the sweat from his face with the cloth of his poncho. It was hot work, even for warriors raised in the desert. The wind had died to nothing and the air was heavy with a gathering spring storm. As he turned his mount towards Annomasai, he happened to glance back to coldwards. He caught sight of metal and with a sensation that felt like a kick in the gut, he saw a column of Askhan soldiers curving around the hill on which the Mekhani had made their camp.

"Look! Look!" he shrieked, stabbing his wand at the enemy reinforcements. The other shamans gave startled shouts as they saw what Nemasolai had seen.

"What do we do?" said Manamosalai. "Do we press the attack? Do we turn?"

Annomasai seemed frozen in place, staring in horror as company after company of Askhans marched into view.

"I shall seek the wisdom of Orlassai," said Nemasolai. "Keep fighting! Break the Askhans!"

With that he wrenched on the rein of his mount and kicked his heels into its flank, forcing it into an ungainly run. Steering to the left, Nemasolai saw that others had witnessed the arrival of the fresh legion. Some were calling to their warriors to pull back; others were doing the same as he, running and riding in the direction of their king.

With a casual thrust, Erlaan-Orlassai finished off Storm, driving the point of his blade into her throat. He stepped over her corpse and faced Ullsaard.

"Are you ready to fight this time?" asked the Mekhani king. "No parley? No clever words?"

Ullsaard answered with his spear, tossing it overhand at his opponent's throat. Erlaan-Orlassai brought up his shield, catching the spear with the edge, causing it to bounce harmlessly from the side of his helm. The twisted beast of a man laughed.

"You will have to do better than that? Look at what I have done to your legionnaires. Think you can fare better alone?"

Ullsaard pulled free his sword and broke into a run. He dodged to his right as Erlaan-Orlassai swung his sword, blocking the blow with his shield, rolling with the force of the impact. The Askhan king's momentum carried him back to his feet and he skidded in the mud, chopping his blade towards the exposed knee of his foe. Bronze bit dully at bizarre flesh, leaving the faintest of marks.

Erlaan-Orlassai kicked out, forcing Ullsaard back.

"You might need a sharper sword," said the king-messiah, grinning widely. He lunged, driving his blade at Ullsaard's chest, the blow ringing against the king's hastily raised shield, knocking him back two steps.

"You might need more friends," said Ullsaard, nodding to Harrakil who stood behind the monstrous warrior with several dozen legionnaires. The First Captain gave a shout and led the charge as Ullsaard ducked beneath another swipe of ErlaanOrlassai's sword and brought his open weapon up and under the giant's wrist, the blade slashing through the bindings of a huge vambrace.

"Coward!" roared Erlaan-Orlassai as a handful of legionnaires barrelled into him, throwing themselves at the back of his legs. He staggered but did not fall, slashing behind with his sword to open the face of one of the men tackling him.

"Idiot!" Ullsaard snarled in reply. "I warned you never to accept a fair fight. Too late to learn now!"

With a grunt of effort, the king of Greater Askhor hammered the edge of his shield into his foe's right knee but still ErlaanOrlassai did not buckle. The Mekhani's leader chopped down with his blade, moving with incredible speed for his size, the point missing Ullsaard's throat by less than the width of a finger. Startled, Ullsaard leapt back, shield raised against a return blow that smashed him from his feet. His breath exploded from his chest as he crashed onto the body of a dead legionnaire.

Erlaan-Orlassai turned sharply, driving his shield into the face of Harrakil, buckling the First Captain's helmet and shattering bone. Harrakil flopped to the ground, knocked out. His men swarmed around Erlaan-Orlassai, raking and stabbing with their spears. With another swipe of his blade, the enemy general cut through spear hafts and arms, sending both flying through the air in a shower of blood. Erlaan-Orlassai turned his back on the shrieking legionnaires and stepped toward Ullsaard, face twisted in a hateful snarl.

"Fight me like a man!" the warped warrior demanded, gesturing with his shield for Ullsaard to stand. "Let us see who is better now!"

Ignoring a sharp pain at the base of his spine, Ullsaard pushed to his feet. Sweat dripped from his beard and soaked the bindings on his wrists and hands. He relaxed his grip on his sword and took a breath, narrowed eyes never leaving the monstrous thing that confronted him. A few legionnaires made another attempt to fell the warrior, using their spear butts as clubs, breaking them over Erlaan-Orlassai's back and legs to little effect.

"You're an abomination," said Ullsaard, sword circling slowly in his hand. "Look at yourself. You're no prince of the Blood; you're an animal that talks."

Incensed, Erlaan-Orlassai closed quickly, drawing his sword back for a backhanded slash. Ullsaard met the charge head-on, driving the point of his blade at the warrior's armoured thigh. Metal screeched across metal but the armour held as Ullsaard dashed past, Erlaan-Orlassai's blow cutting air just behind him. The two spun to face each other, swords springing out on instinct, meeting between them. Ullsaard's arm went numb as the force of the blow reverberated through him from hand to shoulder.

Feet moving quickly through the mud, he side-stepped, flexing his fingers on the grip of his sword to restore some feeling. The Askhan king was having serious doubts about his course of action. His foe wore armour heavier than any normal man could bear and his flesh, covered with unnatural carvings, was like toughened leather. Still, Erlaan-Orlassai was bleeding from many cuts, and even if it took another hundred such blows, Ullsaard was determined to finish him.