Devoto's Battle

It was only by sheer luck he managed to dodge the incoming projectile that swept past his shoulder instead. Several hundred arrows were shadowing the sky but most of them wouldn’t even strike the towershield he was hiding behind. With and angry sigh he realised that this time he might have actually taken on something he couldn’t handle. On the horizon the castle of Redmer reached for the sky, mocking them with its grey walls just out of reach and only a few hundred feet away stood the rest of his battalion behind their shields, awaiting orders and taking cover from the incoming rain of death. Between them and the castle was thousands and yet again thousands of orcs, goblins, halfmen and familiars.
  “Lodo sera” he mumbled to make his voice reach over the screaming, undisciplined footmen that were charging against the enemies between him and his soldiers. “This might be the day we finally get to meet the goddess of death! We fight until we die or until there is nothing left to kill! Charge in triagle-formation! For the righteous King!” He only waited long enough to see the spears being brought out and the shields lifted slightly from the ground, before he raced up, dropped his shield and began his own charge.
  Far to the right of him he saw the veteran’s legion fighting with icy eyes and weapons, as sharp as any other on the battlefield, that cut through their victims like a maid would cut through a steak. Again he was nearly hit by an arrow but he got his sword up just in time to deflect it. With a whirl he jumped and swung his sword neatly cutting the throat of the orc closest to him. It was a true pleasure to see his personally trained soldiers storm into the enemy lines with spears piercing any one who stood before them. Their battle cry “For Lord Devoto and the King!” echoed as they opened the shield-wall and threw their short spears into the lines in front of them. The soldiers on the flanks made a last push with the hillebards and spears before dropping them and drawing their swords made of blessed silver from the dwarven mines. The shine did not last long, for it was soon damped by the blood of hordes of orcs that kept marching over their own dead. But he had not time to think very long. Over the body of his dead comrade came a goblin running. Short, pale green and with armor made by leather straps and single pieces of copper, it threw itself against his head with a snarl and the slightly curved blade waving in the air. Reflexes, enhanced by adrenaline and magic, made him take a step backwards while moving through the swordmovements he had been taught since childhood. “Wolves Hunting” over to “Moon Shines” and the goblin lay slain before him.
  His own armor had not shone, like they said in the stories, for several years. The dust and blood covering it would probably destroy the beautiful decorations with rust any day now. Strange what trivial matters that runs through your mind when you’re in the middle of a battle. He began thinking about how it would be to actually have somewhere to go back to even if he survived this battle. His betrayal at Lord Bren’s fortress must’ve been figured out by now. The last events of that night would haunt him until he escaped life through the beautiful grasp of Goddess Death.
 
  He froze suddenly. Had he heard right? It couldn’t be….could it? He looked over the shoulder of the orc he had just pierced and started focusing his mana as soon as his fears were confirmed. “Giant!!” He shouted with magically enhanced voice that reached the ear of every allied soldier on the battlefield. Giants, known for their battle-lust and never ending strength, were believed to have moved back to the far away wastelands when the second War of the Tribes began. Now there was one right in front of him, swinging a crescent-shaped axe amongst the soldiers, throwing them several feet in the air, if not cutting straight through them on the spot. Pale blue skin and fiery red eyes always looking for a new prey now met his chilly gaze. He had to kill it, or the battle would be lost already.
  Even though giants were mostly muscles and no brain, even they possessed some magic connection that the orcs and half-men had since long severed. Through the eyes of the puny human in front of him the giant felt something it hadn’t felt in hundreds and yet again hundreds of years. A challenge. Bloodlust filled its senses and it moved into an uncontrollable state with only one thing in mind. Kill the challenger.
  Devoto felt the mind of the giant change. It had spotted him and chosen its new prey in the same second. As it came rushing against him he tried desperately to think of some way to slay the twenty feet monster. The enormous axe buried itself in the ground where he had stood a split of a second earlier. Though he knew it was useless he had to try.
  “Fira Blank!” he shouted and the magic words barley had time to leave his lips when the sword burst out in flames. The giant grunted, surprised by the sudden light and took half-a-step backwards raising its arms. Devoto wasted no time and ran past the giants waving guard. Aiming for the legs he moved through the “Dancing Eagle” stance which should have left any normal man cut neatly in four pieces. When he raised his head he barley had time to notice there was only scratches on the skin before the giant once again waved its axe. This time though the axe was not coming from above but from the side, aiming to decapitate him. As adrenaline slowed everything down he leaned backwards, rolling in air and felt the sharp weapon cut through his armor like through butter. He felt his right arm being cut open and pain made his calm mind shatter into thousands of shards.
  Now on his knees he managed to gather his thoughts enough to speak the words that would stop the bleeding. “Slato Bold” was not an easy magic despite its good purpose. It left him completely drained of mana and with a sickness that should force any other man into hours of convulsing throw-ups. He would have to thank the stupid demon for training him later. Now…focus! By the force of the chop the giant had spun around and that was just enough for Devoto to find its weak spot. He smiled a little. The irony of him slaying a giant at this time felt like an absurdly sick joke from the gods. As the giant once again turned to face him Devoto knew what he had to do and wasted no time. He got up and threw his sword in one swift motion. While the sword was still travelling he began to dash after it. His mind was still affected by using all that magic and everything move unnaturally slow. His still red-glowing sword sank into the leather strap that acted as the giants’ belt. With a growl of pain he jumped onto the knee of the giant and contracted his body to spring from there. Yet again he flew through the air. His hands clutched the sword and he used it to twirl onto the giants back. He didn’t have to hurry anymore. The thick skin of the giant made it insensitive to pain but also too the steps of someone walking along its back. He looked over the battlefield and smiled as he shouted in the foul language used by the dark minions.
  “See! Your great warrior and beast! Even he does not stand a chance against the righteous kings Army!” Without further delays he quickly reached for the sky with his sword, turned it around and plunged it into the neck of the giant where the wrinkles if the deformed head had made the skin less resistant. The satisfying crunch of the neck crushing seemed to stop all battle for a few seconds. When it continued the dark minions fought with less courage and even less skill. The giant fell with a roar of pain and misscalculation.

  They would not lose this battle. They would not meet the Goddess of the Night today...