1.
The sound of clashing steel had died away. The screams of agony and death had become nothing more than quiet murmurs on the chapped lips of the many men that lay littered across the battlefield. Some cried out for their wives, sons and daughters others, perhaps the younger flag bearers, perhaps knights old enough to have sired kin older than the flag bearers cried out for their mothers. The name of Gorgaroth, God of old, was sputtered out at the final moments, asking for forgiveness and a place at His right hand side as one of His warriors. Thoughts of the next journey becoming their last on this blooded land.
The sun had risen as a fiery red disc as red as the land the first rays of its mighty light had spread upon, any witness would see the tendrils of low lying fog burning away under the heat of the rising sun. As the fog cleared the bodies came into view, face down, on their backs, draped one on top of the other, in many places skewered on large poles, sheer carnage of the battle unveiled for all.
Yet one moved, alive amongst the dead. About him, bodies of his friends, of his comrades and of his enemy littered the ground. Faces could be seen twisted into masks of agony as death finally took them. He sat up on his knees, the front of his white surcoat and his cote of arms hidden beneath blood and mud torn in places revealing chain mail and armour beneath it. He doubled over gagging and heaving as his stomach lurched, he held his eyes tightly shut head pounding as he attempted to be sick. But nothing more than spittle left his mouth, catching on his beard.
"Crusader," The call came from behind, a voice of pure fury and vengeance the word descending into a terrible scream "Crusader," he turned too fast his head throbbed an almighty pain, his stomach lurched again and he fell forward his left arm barely keeping him up right. A man, no a Giant, staggered across the field, his clothes torn and frayed and a shirt of black hung now round his waist. Arrows, by Gorgaroth so many arrows had pierced his skin front and back, sticking out as if he were a maidens pin cushion. In his hand he held an Axe its end chipped and bloodied but thirsty for more. "Your time has come Crusader. Gorgaroth walks not this filthy ground, bow your head and receive the blessing of my Almighty father." The giant screamed raising the axe above his head.
The Crusader moved quickly catching the giant by surprise. The man was on his feet in seconds springing forward, in his right hand a broad sword that caught the sun light making it look like the blade was made from the fire itself. The giant swung high, at the last moment the Crusader ducked and pushed forward with his sword. The giant howled out as the blade pierced his side ripping through the flesh just below the rib cage.
The Crusader cursed his unsteady hand, the thrust was meant to go deeper and end the fight before it had chance to begin. He sprung back and landed awkwardly on a tangle of bodies, he looked down 'fool!' he thought to himself realising his error he looked up just as the axe came in from the left side. The Crusader screamed out feeling the axe slicing into his side then he was airborne, the force of the swing lifting him from his feet and sending him flying.
He rolled onto his back, his left hand clutching at his side, feeling shredded armour and worse yet the gaping pulsing wound that was quickly covering his hand and the body beneath him in warm blood. A shadow descended, he looked up squinting through the pain. The Giant stood over him a grin stretched across his hairless face "The time of the Crusader is at an end," He said breathing heavily raising his axe once more, "no more will your ilk stink up this land."
Somehow he moved, somehow he had gotten to his feet and propelled himself forward, the weight of righteous steel in his right hand swinging round connecting with the giants side, slicing, digging and embedding into his flesh. The Crusaders left shoulder crumpled beneath the weight of the Axe as it swung down, had his shoulder plate not been made of hard iron and the Axe pitted and worn it would have removed his arm with ease.
They embraced, the axe now forgotten on the ground, the broad sword buried deep in the giant's side. The giant wrapped his dirtied and sweaty arms around the man and held the crusader to him as if he were a stout bear clutching prey. "I will crush you Crusader. I will taste your last breath as it leaves your body. I will eat your soul." The last word screamed into his face.
He felt his rib cage snap, something popped shortly after and his breathing became agonising. He freed his right arm and clawed at the Giants face, punching out trying desperately to break the hold. His last punch landed weakly on the giant's hot cheek. His hand flopped to his side as he hiccoughed blood from his mouth. His fingers danced on the shaft of an arrow.
