The night air was filled with the sudden clash of arms, swords meeting each other, shields meeting swords, axes, halberds, men shouting and groaning and shrieking as they fell from horses and hacked each other to death. The battle lines quickly became blurred as the two sides melted into each other, each fighting viciously for survival.

Duncan saw Anvin, beside him, swing a flail and saw its spiked metal ball knock a soldier backwards off his horse. He saw Arthfael hurl his spear and pierce the throat of a soldier before him, a broad man who had raised a sword for Duncan. He watched one of his largest soldiers, swing his halberd sideways, chop a Pandesian in his shoulder, and knock him sideways off his horse. Duncan filled with pride at his men. They were all formidable soldiers, the best Escalon had to offer, and they all fought fiercely for their homeland. For their freedom.

The Pandesians, though, rallied, and fought back just as fiercely. They were a professional army, one that had been on the road in conquest for years, and not a force to be deterred easily. Duncan’s heart fell as he saw many good men fall on his side, too, men he had known and fought with his entire life. He watched one man, a boy barely his son’s age, fall straight back beside him as a spear pierced his shoulder. He saw another lose a hand as a battle axe came straight down upon it.

Duncan fought back with all he had, cutting a path through the carnage, slashing soldiers left and right, urging his horse on, forcing himself forward at all costs, way deeper than all his men. He knew that to stop meant death. He soon found himself completely immersed in battle, surrounded by the enemy on all sides. That was the way he liked to fight—for his very life.

Duncan spun and slashed from side to side, and he caught the Pandesians off guard; they were clearly surprised to find the enemy so deep in their ranks. When he was not slashing, he raised his shield and used it to block blows from swords, maces, clubs—and to smash men sideways off their horses. A shield, he knew, could sometimes be the best—and most unexpected—weapon.

Duncan spun and head-butted one soldier, then yanked a sword from another’s hand, pulled him close and stabbed him in the gut with a dagger. Yet at the same moment Duncan received a sword slash himself, a particularly painful one on his shoulder. A moment later he received one on his thigh. He spun and killed both attackers. The injuries were painful, but they were all surface wounds, he knew, and he had suffered enough wounds in his life to not let them startle him. He had received much worse in his lifetime.