Padraig sidestepped the first man's charge, driving his dagger into the back of his neck. The other two men tried to draw their weapons. Padraig was too fast. In two steps Padraig had cleared the gap between them and slashed his sword across the second man's jugular. The third man took one look at Padraig, spun on the spot and sprinted away. He heard a noise and spun around to see a black robed man standing behind him. "Impressive, child, what is your name?"
"Padraig, my name is Padraig."
"Padraig, Padraig, wake up you lazy git!" Padraig opened his eyes tried to sit up. A sharp pain in his side stopped him. "Whoa there, you just hang tight, that's a nasty hole you got in you." Padraig realised he was in lying in a bed in a small room. Bellephron crouched next to him. "Where am I, what happened?"
"Don't worry mate, you're in the count's palace. There was something in that ale."
"Yeah, I figured."
"That guy mangled you pretty bad, and that dagger was poisoned too!"
Padraig suddenly remembered the taste of blood and realised it must have been his own. He tried to sit up but collapsed back onto the bed as a searing pain shot through his body. He looked down and saw his chest was swathed in bandages.
"How long till I'm back on my feet?" asked Padraig.
"About two weeks." Bellephron replied.
"Two weeks!" Padraig wailed.
"Believe me, you're lucky to be alive, we have some of the best doctors in the empire!" Padraig hadn't heard him though, he was already asleep.
Padraig threw up his sword to parry another fearsome blow, the force of his adversaries attack would had broken Padraig's arm were it not for the bracers he wore on his wrists. "Good block Padraig, that will be enough for today. We will continue training tomorrow…" Padraig walked away, rubbing his wrist.
Padraig awoke to agony; it felt like red hot daggers were being pushed into his chest.
He sat up and his breathing became a little easier. His senses were in disarray and his head felt like it would explode. After a few minutes the pain subsided and Padraig slumped back down. He lay awake for what seemed like hours, his body covered in cold sweat. His brain trying to make sense of what was going on. When the morning came Bellephron visited, he sat with Padraig for a couple of hours before he had his watch, of this Padraig were grateful. Bellephron was one of Padraig's best friends, probably his only real friend. After Bellephron had left Padraig tried to sleep, but he couldn't, visions of the past melded with the future, making the two almost indistinguishable.
The din of battle filled the air, men screamed and fell all around him, yet he still stood.
Padraig sat up bolt upright. Bells rang furiously in the distance and men screamed.
He swung his sword, slaying all before him.
Something was definitely wrong.
Soon only two figures remain. They circle each other then charge, clashing together fiercely.
Padraig threw back his covers and marched to the door. He threw it open and saw a solitary guard in the corridor. The guard had short blonde hair, and couldn't have been any older than 20. There was a look of fear in his soft brown eyes. Padraig walked up to him. "What is going on?" he demanded.
"I..I..It's the barbarians, they're, they're attacking the city, there's thousands of them, we are all going to die!" the guard slumped to the floor muttering to himself. Padraig looked at him, and then went back into the room, closing the door behind him. He emerged a minute later wearing his shimmering steel plate mail, his crossbow at his belt and sword in its sheath. "Take me to Bellephron," ordered Padraig "take me now."
Bellephron stood, silently, garbed in full armour. In his hand he held a massive two handed axe. Next to him stood count Raalack. They where surrounded on all sides by the count's knights, who where ready to fight and die for their lord. Archers stood on the walls and the city militia guarded the gatehouse, with swordsmen at the front, supported by the pikesmen behind. A loud horn blew in the distance, followed by several more. Bellephron called up to the archers on the walls "What's going on?"
"It's first company sir, they're back."
"Five men. Five men out of a company of 60, what the hell happened out there! You had horses, you had bows, just how the hell did the barbarians do so much damage?"
"That's the thing sir, its not just barbarians; there are giants with them! Frost giants!"
Padraig charged down the corridor, his armour clanking loudly, his footsteps echoing of the marble floor. He had to find Bellephron. Up ahead he could see a large wooden door. He skidded to a halt, smashing into the door and bruising his shoulder. He wrenched it open and found himself in the entrance hall. The hall was full of soldiers in elaborate plate armour carrying ornate great swords. They all wore long crimson capes with a golden lion's face embroidered on them. The same symbol was on their breastplate and there helmets had golden plumes. Padraig recognised them as the counts personal guard, the golden lions, in their centre stood the count. He was clad in a set of mithril armour, one of the hardest types of armour known to man. He wore a cape of shimmering gold with a crimson plumed helmet. Sheathed at his belt was a long sword made of mithril, strong enough to cut through stone. There was a large blue sapphire set into the hilt of his blade. Probably enchanted by some kind of mage.
"Sir!" Padraig stepped forward. "Sir, I wish to fight, where would I be most useful?"
Bellephron watched as the messenger ran across the courtyard. "Sir, the barbarians are advancing."
"Damn it, is artillery ready yet?" yelled Bellephron.
"No sir, Sergeant Brown is still working on it!"
"Incompetent fool!"
"Right prepare the defences, check everyone is ready."
"Yes sir."
Author's notes: sorry this took so long, but i hope you'll think its worth the wait! Keep reading!