Return of the Stormcriers

CHAPTER 53 - TO BATTLE

Matt clutched the hilt of his sword so tightly his knuckles began to cramp, yet he hardly noticed the pain. His nerves burned and his lungs stung as he breathed deeper than seemed even possible; he had never in his life felt this awakened, this terrified, or this alive. His heart pounded to the beat of his footsteps as he struggled to maintain pace with his friends, unwilling to be the first to reach the battle, yet too honor-bound to be the last. The screams and cries grew louder as the clashing of swords, shields, and armor heralded the rising sun with the sounds of the dead and dying.

  "We must find one of the Dukes!" Anthony shouted to them as they closed in on the rear ranks of the resistance. "One of them will tell us where we are most needed!"

"Arrows!" A nearby soldier warned, his voice cracking from the force of his shout.

Glancing cautiously skyward, Matt's heart sank to his toes as what appeared to be a black cloud against the now amber backdrop of dawn sailed away from the city faster than any wind could push, flying out over the ranks of resistance soldiers. He wished he had a shield, or stronger armor, or anything at all he could use to cover his vulnerable body from the sting of arrows. From somewhere amongst the dozens of rows of men before them, a large gust of wind, strong enough to be briefly visible against the air around it as it bent and pushed through the resistance of the natural world, struck the falling arrows with sufficient force and angle to shove the majority of the projectiles harmlessly aside where many sank into the soft sand of the beach instead of the flesh of their intended targets. A brief, elated cheer rose up from the men as the supernatural powers of one of their leaders, whether it had been one of the dukes or another member of the noble families, pushed away the danger.

  The cheers proved to be premature as the few remaining arrows that had not been caught by the wind, as well as a handful of stragglers that had been fired at a delay from the rest of the volley, struck home amongst the resistance. Several men collapsed in convulsing piles as the projectiles found points of weakness within their armor, crying out with horrific wails of agony. One particularly lofty arrow, perhaps unintentionally aided by the gust of protective wind, made its way above nearly the entirety of the approaching army before burying itself in the throat of a man just in front of Matt, splattering hot and wet droplets of blood and gore across his face as it exited the back of the man's neck. Bile rose in his throat as he struggled to not get sick all over his boots. He reached forward reflexively to catch the mortally wounded man before he fell, but the soldiers around him had already seized the man by his arms and pulled him away before Matt even had time to see the face of the man whose blood he now wore across his face. It seemed too awful, and too personal of a moment to share with someone who would forever be a complete stranger.

"Matt!" Sylvia was yelling in his ear. The fear in her voice told him that she had been crying out for some time, but if she had, he had not heard her; the sound had dropped away from the world when he had seen the man die in front of him. He turned to face her, wiping blood from his face as he did.

"Yes?" He managed weakly.

"Are you injured?? The blood..." Sylvia's voice trailed off as she inspected his face for any signs of injury. Finding none, she began to look over the rest of his body for wounds that could have caused such a gruesome mess upon him.

"I am fine, it is not my blood," he assured her, grateful that she had evidently not witnessed the awful sight he had seen, her vision impeded by rows of marching men. He swiped his arm across his face, succeeding in little more than smearing the blood in warm streaks across his cheeks. A horn blast rang out from along the shoreline, long and baleful like some large animal crying out its pain and lonesomeness to the sky, sending shivers down Matt's spine as it was repeated three times more.