The world around him blurred. From atop his horse he saw Norvans and Reecians and his own slashing sword, blindly shooting out to parry. Time slowed and had no meaning, and though he heard the voices of the Reecian captains, he could not understand them over the din. Toward the rear of their ranks, King Raxor rallied his soldiers, shouting as he held a battle axe aloft. Horatin and others members of the Red Watch swarmed around him, protecting him as Norvan riders strained to reach him. Aric pivoted, trying to find his comrades in the me?le?e. Trace and Brenor, distinctive in their green Nithin garb, battled back the curved blades of a band of tattooed mercenaries. Aric had seen their likes before, in his first clash against them, each of them dark-skinned and crazy-eyed. Trace barreled his stallion into them, disappearing for a moment as a single, pony-tailed brute rose up in Aric’s sight. His blade fell quickly, knocking Aric back as he blocked it. The horse beneath him whinnied, then spun to help its master, letting Aric return the blow. The mercenary’s own horse reared, kicking dirt into the air as Aric broke away. He had no shield to slow him down, and when the big man’s horse came down Aric’s blade was there, mercilessly slashing its neck. Its rider cursed as the horse collapsed, falling headlong into a swinging Reecian mace.
‘Aric, watch yourself!’ Brenor screamed. It was his mace that had split the man’s skull. He sidled up to Aric through the battle.
‘I can look after myself!’ Aric shouted.
‘Stay close! That’s what we all do!’
Already another band of Norvans were breaking toward them. Trace emerged from the crowd, fighting his way back to Aric and Brenor, his emerald armour splashed with blood. As he reached his comrades an arrow plunged down, piercing his shoulder. He roared, spitting obscenities, and with two hands forced the pommel of his sword through the eye of a coming mercenary. Aric hurried toward him. Other Norvans had sighted Trace. Bearing down on the young man, they had almost reached him when the Reecian catapults began. Fire filled the sky as the burning missiles arced toward the Norvans, exploding like sunbursts amid the frenzied horses. Aric and Brenor pressed the distraction, and joined by charging Reecians forced the Norvans back. The slashing sword and flying spears blinded Aric but he kept on, faithfully fighting the way he had learned, the way his own father had once taught him. So far the battle was only minutes long, but Aric had not even taken a scratch, and a glamour of invincibility fell on him. He cried out in gleeful triumph, sure they would win the day, sure that his Reecian friends would easily best the dogs of Norvor. .
Until Trace fell.
Aric was laughing, cocksure and strong, and he had not even seen the lanceman’s charge. The weapon came from nowhere, like a cobra out off the crowd, striking Trace dead in the chest and blowing him backward. Aric’s laugh died in his throat as the Norvan lance carried off the impaled Trace, and as though a gentle rain had fallen, his spraying blood struck Aric’s face.
Dazed, Aric let his guard down. He stared dumbly at Trace as the Norvan shook the corpse from his weapon. ‘Trace?’
‘Damn all!’ roared Brenor. ‘Aric!’
His cry broke Aric’s stupor. The Nithin glared at him. ‘Brenor, Trace-’
‘He’s dead, now pay me some heed! Forget him and fight, Aric!’
Aric shook himself, lifting his sword again. Trace’s blood tasted salty on his lips. He looked around, not sure where to go, the battlefield swollen with friends and enemies. Brenor was calling him, waving him on. Aric steeled himself again. Then, he heard a distant trumpet sound behind him, calling the Reecians soldiers’ attention. Something was happening, confusing Aric. The Reecians grew pale-faced. The Norvans cheered.
‘What’s happening?’ Aric asked.
Then, he saw him. Baron Glass. His Father.
Alone on his black charger, galloping toward them, his body glistening in living metal, Baron Glass drove toward the battle, towering over the men around him. The Norvans drew back, surrounding him at once, but Aric’s father remained clearly visible, like a giant, shaking his fist and shouting.
‘Fate alive, what’s he doing here?’ Brenor asked.
The clash around them softened as Norvans and Reecians both looked to their captains. At the rear of his army, King Raxor had seen the Black Baron enter the fray. The old monarch’s face twisted with rage. Captain Grenel flew to his side, then barked orders at his men to regroup. Norvan leaders did the same, and soon the battle reignited. Aric and Brenor both fell back, sure that things had changed. Amazingly, King Raxor was riding forward.
Then, realizing what was happening, Aric reined back his mount. Looking toward the Norvan line, he saw his father madly scanning the field.
‘It’s me,’ he said, coldly certain. ‘Brenor, it’s me.’
‘What?’
‘He’s here for me, I know it,’ said Aric.
‘Well you’re not going to him, that’s for sure.’ Brenor positioned himself between Aric and the Norvans. ‘Head to the rear, Aric. I promise, I won’t let him take you.’
‘No,’ said Aric, then turned his steed to fully face his father. ‘I’m staying.’
‘You’re not!’
Brenor reached out and snatched the reins of his horse, jerking him forward.
‘Let me go, Brenor,’ argued Aric. ‘Let me face him!’
Before Brenor could speak again the battlefield filled with Glass’ voice. ‘Raxor! I have come for my son!’
Impossibly, the voice squashed every sound, effortlessly reaching over the armies. Already Aric’s father was cutting his way forward. Reecian soldiers swarmed to stop him, forgetting their private skirmishes. The baron’s mercenaries fanned out to meet them. Unsure what to do, Aric watched as his father churned toward him, his crazed voice ringing from his helmet. The Devil’s Armour swam on him, the tiny figures on it writhing with life. A Reecian spear crashed against it, splintering. The strange sword in his father’s hand pointed its way toward Raxor.
‘My son, Raxor! Give him to me!’
King Raxor and his captains galloped forward. The old man raised his axe hatefully at Baron Glass.
‘You’ll not take him! You’ve taken a boy from me already, monster. You’ll not have this one!’
His pledge brought a cheer from the Reecians, who surged forward again to fight. From the rear the catapults renewed their fire, tossing up their burning missiles. Reecian archers drew their beads, loosing their arrows against the baron. One by one the shafts bounced off Glass’ breastplate. Aric’s father took the blows, raising his strange sword high in the air and cursing Raxor’s cowardice.
‘King Raxor, stay back,’ said Captain Grenel. ‘Take the boy with you, back to the rear.’
‘No, I won’t run from him,’ swore Raxor. He looked at Aric. ‘You stay, hear me?’
‘My lord, no!’
‘Stay put,’ said Raxor. He hefted his battle axe and prepared to ride. ‘I won’t let him take you.’
‘He’ll kill you!’
‘Let him. He’s taken my son and the woman I loved. He’s taken everything from all of us.’ The old king took a deep breath and smiled sadly at Aric. ‘I told you, I wasn’t coming back from this one.’
The argument was lost and Aric knew it. Raxor ordered Brenor and his Watchmen to stay with Aric, then galloped off with Captain Grenel toward the Norvans. Aric moved to follow him, but Brenor and the others held him back. All he could do was cry for Raxor to come back.