The Breton Boys

Chapter Nine: The Battle at Banebury | 3

Reid clutched his sword in one hand and his shield in the other, waiting tensely with the rest, barely breathing. The spring sun shone down upon them gently, and Reid could smell the faintest hint of salt, seeping into the air from the ocean. It almost seemed inappropriate what they stood there waiting to do, so close to the brink of battle. It was such a pleasant day.

And yet there were dark clouds on the horizon, hovering over the Hobblish Hills but not daring to cross into Hollenmere. Reid gripped his sword more tightly. The trees began to rustle, though there was no wind.

The onslaught was quick and from all directions. Darthags burst from the forest in chaotic droves, like ants pouring out of a destroyed anthill. The Hollenmerish rose to meet them; the clash was instantaneous.

Jo surged forward, her weapon held high, while Tristan turned to defend from the opposite side. But Reid stood, paralyzed, as he watched the battle erupt around him.

The darthags were more terrible than Reid could have imagined. The pictures he had seen did nothing to convey the blood lust, the unbridled rage and twisted satisfaction that was etched into every fiber of their beastly faces. It was clear that they shared a common ancestor with the fauns, but for how they looked now, that must have been long ago. The beings were covered from head to hoof in dark hair so coarse it looked as if it would be sharp to the touch. Some of the beasts bore arms - arrows, axes, rocks and clubs - while others came empty-handed, their dirty claws and razor teeth weapons enough. But every creature shared unnaturally large, wholly dark red eyes and thick, yellowy brown horns that curled to sharp points on the sides of their heads.

"Look out!"

Reid snapped back to the battlefield, though the warning had not been for him. His legs still felt too heavy to move as he watched Imeric dive in front of Dashel, intercepting the arrow that had been headed for the new page. Some how, the poisoned tip found its way through the opening between the metal nose guard and side of Imeric's helmet, piercing straight into his eye. He fell to the ground and clawed at the arrow weakly for a moment before going limp. Dashel stood over him, horrified, but Reid could do nothing to help as he saw, out of the corner of his eye, a massive darthag bounding straight towards him.

Suddenly, all sensation seemed to flood back into Reid's extremities and he leapt aside, raising his sword. The darthag flew past him, but realizing it had missed its target, he swung back, growling fiercely.

Reid held up his shield and hacked wildly at the beast, hot, purplish blood splattering over his face and hands. Finally, the creature fell, rank yellow foam pouring from its mouth. It lay still, though it was not quite dead. Turning his head so that he wouldn't have to watch himself do it, Reid lifted his sword with both hands and drove it through the creature's chest. Thick, tar-like blood shot up quickly from the wound before calming to a trickle. Reid removed his sword and ran as fast as he could away from the mangled body.

The battlefield was chaos incarnate, packed thick with combating soldiers, beasts, and the fallen. Darthags continued to spill out from the Hobblish Hills as Reid continued to run with no purpose other than to avoid the thickening swarm of the enemy.

A clawed hand clutched his shoulder, and Reid whipped around, driving his sword through the creature's gut before its raised wooden club could make contact with his face. The darthag collapsed heavily, and Reid took off once more, brandishing his sword as he went.