A sharp click-thunk sound came from the tree line, a rush of air flew past her head and she ducked instinctively, moved left seeking cover and crouched down low.
Someone shouted "attack, attack", the call echoing to her from somewhere further to her left, the sound carrying across the still night like rolling thunder as others also took up the cry.
The warning came a little too late for her obviously, but at least someone had raised the alarm, she thought as she peered into the gloom of the forest ahead. Her thoughts were focused on her own situation though and she peered into the darkness, squinting into the dim woods, looking for threats, trying to make out the shapes of whoever was secreted there firing crossbow bolts her way.
Click-thunk click-thunk, more bolts and another rush of air whizzed by, this one much closer to hitting it's mark. Her head. Crossbow bolt, she thought to herself in a professional way; She had come to know, and loathe, the sound over time. Fortunately she hadn't caught one. Yet. Nor did she want to.
The man to her right, an elite personal guardsman, stood and drew his longsword. Idiot, she thought; Brave idiot.
Firelight glinted on his armour, lighting him up, but casting shadows across his face, now pulled back in a snarl, where only moments before there was laughter and smiles as they swapped lies around the campfire. She watched from her cover as he stepped over the log he had been sitting on and moved towards the darkness, the woods surrounding the camp. The massive bulk of his huge frame casting a long dancing shadow in front of him in the fire light as he strode towards the woods oblivious to the quarrels flying past him, the cross bow bolts now flying thicker than before. He made it half way to the woods. src
Click-thunk-thud. The guard stopped in his tracks, momentarily still as death, as if listening to something, but she knew better than that, she knew a crossbow quarrel had found its mark. Even as she thought he's dead the mountain of steel and flesh crumpled down upon itself as if between one second and the next the bones holding the guard upright disappeared from within his body. Dead. Brave, dead idiot she thought to herself. She didn't know where it had struck him but she figured in the face considering his visor had been up and he'd died so quickly.
Time to move, she thought. She stayed low and skirted around placing the fire between herself and the woods so as not to silhouette herself and make a better target. The sounds of bowstrings now twanged in unison with the click-thunk of crossbows firing their deadly missiles. She knew the fire would spoil the night vision of the attackers but was worried a stray bolt or arrow would find her.
She silently mouthed a curse for her brother, that flame-red haired idiot who had run off to join the army seeking adventure and glory, he'd said. She was here to find him and bring him home, but it was proving difficult. Who would have thought it would be so hard considering that shock of red-orange hair he had. Everyone should know him!
She spat a curse and ran.
The clang and ring of steel-on-steel rang out around the camp around her sounding like the church bells on Sunday, but more deadly.
The sounds came mainly from the south and east, and she headed that way running doubled over to present a smaller target for the archers and crossbowmen in the woods. Arrows flew, nothing like the clouds of arrows that flew and fell on a staged-battlefield, but enough to give her pause, and caution. Stumbling once after a glancing arrow-strike across her chest plate she gathered herself and continued on drawing her sword at the same time as staying low and running, a remarkably difficult feat. She saw no adversaries in her immediate path yet felt safer having the length of cold, hard killing-steel to hand...
...The girl crashed to the ground in a clatter of armour and mail with the sword still in hand. She had the presence of mind not to fall on it and cut herself but she was pinned by what felt like a mountain on top of her.
She couldn't breathe, the weight of the mountain, armour and chain mail, combined with her already laboured breathing from the run had left her gasping desperately for air. The assailant had crashed headlong into her by design or accident, she knew not which, but the result was a desperate situation.
She struggled but couldn't move, not at all. The sound of a blade scraping from within its scabbard reached her ears and she knew she had to act, or die. The mountain atop her shifted and rose slightly pinning her to him with a powerfully-muscled arm and she felt his other arm moving; A mailed hand holding a knife searching for a soft spot, a joint or chink in her armour to thrust a killing stroke; Her throat maybe. This is it she thought. This is it. I'm going to die...
Green fields, the apple orchard and the smell of baking bread filled her mind. She recalled the sun on her face, swimming naked in the small lake near her parents cottage, laying on the grass surrounded by spring flowers, sweet scents, lazy days...But she had given it all up, for this...Sleeping on the hard ground, bloody battle, rough men and women, and death. She had given it up to find her brother. She had seen a lot of death in the months since leaving home but this time it was her turn to die and she steeled her mind even as she clenched her jaws preparing for the cold steel, the sharp pain, the point of the blade inside her, searching for her soft heart...A heart that loved once, and wanted to again...
And then the mountain moved differently; Shifted somehow. It moved like one does in the middle of winter, stiff and slow, it slumped and then went still.
Some squirming and scrambling brought her out from underneath the dead enemy soldier and as she regained some composure from her near-death moment she looked down at the man.
She recognised the black armour, heavy cloak topped with black bear fur worn by the hulking assailant that had knocked and pinned her down; The battledress the enemy preferred. She could picture the ragged face of her attacker, the long matted beard, cruel black eyes, heavy brow and tattooed cheeks...She had to picture it because he didn't have it. His head was gone. No, there it was a few feet away, eyes staring blankly into the night. She wasn't shocked, had seen far worse than that since joining the army in a bid to find her flame-haired brother.
She then looked up at the young man who had saved her life seeming to notice him for the first time. He looked like a boy; Or would have had his face and armour not been so blood-spattered or brow furrowed with concentration. He stood there, statue still sword hilt grasped in both hands and raised in the Crown Guard (Posta di Corona) eyes scanning for threats. The muscles in his arms bulged, shoulders rock hard and squared...Death, waiting for more victims.
She glanced again at the headless enemy, the blade still gripped in his lifeless hand and the cruel-looking morning star strapped to his back, then back to the young guard who had dispatched him. Had the enemy swung that morning star at her she would already be dead and nothing would matter anymore, she shivered slightly at the thought of having her skull crushed by the wicked weapon. She owed her life to this young man. Their gaze held a little longer, maybe just a little too long, then she nodded slightly, smiled almost shyly, and turned away running off into the darkness, towards the sounds of fighting.
The encounter had taken only seconds. He had seen the girl get barrelled over by the enemy soldier he was stalking, saw the brief struggle and the enemy reach for his knife seeking to end the girls life.
He had closed the few feet between himself and the struggling pair quickly and without hesitation had swung his claymore, the sword given to him by his father, raking it cross the enemy's back - The man arched up and back and on the back-swing the young man cleanly removed the assailants' head from his shoulders. There seemed little resistance at first then he felt bone fracturing, splitting and then the blade simply exited the neck continuing it's bloody arc; The death stoke had done it's bloody work The man's head had popped into the air then fell with a dull thud rolling away a few feet.
The girl broke free, looked at her attacker then him, smiled and ran away towards the sound of battle. Brave girl. Beautiful girl, he thought. But those eyes...Like spring time, sunshine glistening off the lake, like the stars had fallen and found a home within them. Those eyes...
He moved on and towards the sounds of ringing steel but not the way she had gone. He winced slightly and recalled the arrow in his leg. Somehow it had found a home in his thigh just where his chain mail hauberk overlapped his left tasset, the thigh armour there to prevent sword cuts. Not much use against a random arrow in the dark. It hurt but would have to wait. Blood streamed over the tasset, black in the dim light, but he put it out of mind;
There was fighting to do...And then he wanted to find the girl with stars for eyes...
Read the first instalment of this short story here
Design and create your ideal life, don't live it by default
The original post was written and posted by me in October 2018. This post been reworked and reposted for the 