A group of soldiers in the brown of Halaran moved to intercept one of the monsters, flaring brightly as they enhanced already activated armour. Working together as a team, the first soldiers distracted the abomination with prismatic orbs while the others circled round, trying to find an opening.
The flail shot forward and took one of the soldiers in a single sweep, turning his body into a spray of red. Seeing an opportunity, one of the Halrana ran and hacked futilely at the creature’s neck. He was thrown to the ground and immediately impaled with the huge black sword. A third soldier thrust his spear at the monster’s face. The whip of metal spikes caught him on the back swing, taking off his head. There was only one Halrana left. He screamed something and leapt on top of the creature. In each hand he held a glowing orb. He clapped each orb to the sides of the creature’s head. The resulting explosion boomed across the battlefield, and both the monster and the Halrana were no more.
The army exerted itself to greater efforts. There were so many of them, yet this fighting core of the legion would not back down, could not be defeated by numbers alone.
Then the army cleared way as a glowing dagger of light threaded its way through the ranks — a bright column of warriors that pushed forward, deep into the core of the fighting.
The bladesingers had regrouped.
Men in green and brown stopped and cheered. Those on the outskirts of the battle, and those on the edge of the fighting, who had seen their kin destroyed beyond recognition.
"Bladesingers! Altura, Altura!" they cried.
Miro watched it all, transfixed. He could not look away.
The soldiers cleared, drawing slowly back, opening up the terrain. The evil creatures, perhaps sensing their match, formed a ragged line. There were five of them still standing.
The bladesingers, voices raised as if singing an ode to war, lined up against them, some sixty or seventy strong. They glowed so brightly Miro almost had to look away. Their zenblades were like ribbons of fire; there was no way to tell where the man ended and the sword began, each was like a being of light.
One of the bladesingers, Miro couldn’t tell who, raised his arm. He lowered it.
They ran in, perhaps a dozen men to each creature.
Instantly two bladesingers were swept away like flies. Their armoursilk protected them, but it didn’t stop them from flying hundreds of paces away. A zenblade crashed into a horrible arm; sparks fountained off and a sound like the crack of a whip echoed off the hills. It was like a dance of energy, the moves too quick to follow.
Suddenly a flail went shooting into the crowd of soldiers, still attached to the arm that held it. A green warrior jumped, high, impossibly high, his sword raised above his head. His face set in determination, the zenblade shot out, taking a creature’s head and shoulders off in a single blow.
As two of the creatures were dispatched, so the number of bladesingers attacking each grew. The great flails sent four more men flying, but the rest slowed, awaiting their opportunity.
In an instant two more creatures were dispatched. All Miro could see were stabbing swords and the twitching and writhing of the creatures in their death throes.
The breath knocked out of him, a bladesinger’s voice stopped and he went down to his knees, Miro watched in dread. The last creature’s great sword-arm probed, finding a gap in the bladesinger’s defences, then thrust forward. Blood gushed from the bladesinger’s mouth.
Screaming with rage, the remaining bladesingers leapt forward. In a flash of light and twisting figures, bits of metal flew, flesh parted. The final monster was no more.
As if waiting for the last act in some macabre stage show, the army swamped the legion’s remaining pockets of resistance.
The battle was over. They had survived their first real encounter with the enemy. Miro fell back against the hill. The grass felt like the softest linen.
~
MIRO paced around the camp, unwilling to sit still.
"Stop that, there’s nothing you can do, you need to rest. Lord of the Sky, look at you. You look terrible."
Miro turned to face Bartolo. "Did you see him?"
Bartolo sighed. "No, I didn’t. I hear he was bad though."
Miro nodded. "Really bad. I… I tried… I couldn’t help him."
"You probably saved his life, Miro. Isn’t that enough?"
"Lord of the Sky! What if that had been me?" Miro trailed off. Bartolo sighed.
Prince Leopold was calling it a great victory. Blademaster Rogan thought it was a disaster. They’d lost eight irreplaceable bladesingers, while total casualties were eight hundred dead, with four hundred wounded. They had defeated an army of four thousand.
"I can’t believe you were with them, fighting those things," Miro said, shaking his head.
"To be honest? I can’t believe I was either. I was sick when I came back, really sick. I still can’t hold food down." Bartolo’s face was ashen. "I almost died out there, you know that?"
"What were they? I never knew such things existed."