Once More Unto The Breach

He let the sword slip through his other gauntleted hand. Athlistan stood atop the crest of the rubble of Bordanium’s ruptured curtain wall. Beyond, the remnants of the Saxon’s first assault regrouped. They would come again–Athlistan knew it.

As a flaming ball of pitch streaked comet-like above—a harbinger of what was to come, he removed his helm, metal hinge broken at the jaw where it caught a wayward blow.

Blood and grime ran down his furrowed brow. Athlistan shook free his gauntlet and wiped his young face, streaks of black hair sticking fast to his cheeks. Yidara thought his hazel eyes were as beautiful as a flower, yet now their ferocious sight would freeze her heart. Would she ever see that beauty again? Athlistan did not believe he would. Once, the thoughts of battle drove his blood to boil. His hands would ache, yearning for the feel of leather between his fingers.

Pain shot from forearm to shoulder, mauled by fatigue. He licked lips cracked and bleeding as the fires beyond sucked the air from their position, chest heaving against his dented cuirass.

Warhorns blared again with notes hauntingly familiar. Yidara danced across his mind’s eye, dancing and twirling as she played her flute beside the hidden glade they both loved. She would want him to join her there. He wished they had never left.

Too few defenders remained–too few to stem the tide. Athlistan looked back toward where Bordanium’s denizens fought the raging fires spreading across the rooftops. It was folly. They should run, reform, and fight another day. This fight was lost.

Moans filled the air from the dying; those men now engulfed in their final struggle against mortality. Those remaining milled about behind Athlistan with what scraps of shield and spear their failing strength could lift. All eyes fixed upon their captain, waiting…waiting…

Warhorns bellowed in the distance as the enemy reformed.

Another fireball flew overhead. The fires would consume that glade. Maybe not today, but one day, it would. Unless…

Only one option remained.

“For the glade.”

Athlistan lifted his sword from the stones.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N

If you've enjoyed this, please leave a like and an insight below. If you really enjoyed this, tips to fuel my coffee addiction are always appreciated. All formatting is designed for desktops. All my works can be found below: