Blood of the Highlands

Chapter 14

Ok you guys I promised an update tonight so here it is but... I'm not happy with my fight scene yet, it needs work. It is my first big one after all so im kinda leaving you with a bit of a cliffhanger and I do apologize.  The rest will be up soon!

Chapter Fourteen

Tormand's POV

Tor stared out at the blackness before him. What he was attempting was dangerous and not to mention foolish but he was confidant in his skill and knew he would get his men down this damned mountain alive.

Placing his hand over his deserters mussel to keep him quiet, he gently guided him down the narrow path to the flats. One wrong move, one slip and they would cascade down the mountainside to their deaths. The aurora of danger made Tor's blood pump faster, adrenaline rushing through his veins.

Tor lived for moments like these. He didn't have a death wish, no but the opportunities to test his skills, to do what others deamed impossible excited him to no end.

Tormand had thirty men at his back, some would say its wasnt near enough men to fight a war but Tormand knew they were wrong. They were his men- MacLeods. They were battle hardened warriors whose skill, thanks to Tormand's vigorous training, surpassed most. They lived to fight, yearned for battle, whether it be by sea or by land; Tor knew his men were the best.

Tor and his men were rumored to be demons who filted through the wood like wraiths scowering for unsuspecting victims and children to feast upon. It was said they could often be found around a fire picking their teeth with the wee bones of their victims.

He smiled into the darkness, nursemaids had to much fun making up such stories to scare they're charges into obedience.

Tormand heard a stumble and light curse behind him causing him to halt.

"Steady yourself Eric, " he said to the young lad who he knew was the one to falter. He was the newest to Tormand's men and was too eager to prove his worth. "concentrate on your senses and your footing. Don't overthink it lad," he whispered before continuing down the sloop. 

"Aye Chief,"

It took two neck breaking hours to reach the flats due to their causious pace. His men had done the impossible and decended the dangerous terrain in the dead of night. Pride for his men swelled his chest as he gazed at their hardened expressions.

"We're not done yet men. Watch your footing through the flats and stick together. Keep your mounts quiet." he ordered in a low voice.

Balfour came to his right then as they carried on. The man's face was barely visible in the dark but Tor could make out the grin covering his face. He grinned back, they didnt need to speak to understand the excitment of what was to come. Against the odds, Tormand's plan was working.  His sword arm itched to grab his Claymore and rip through as many of those filthy MacGuins as he could.

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They were a hairs breath from the MacGuin village. Tormand looked around at the small shacks littering the grounds. They would burn tonight, children would lose their homes, people would die but it was essential for the plan. Otherwise this mission would never work; his men would die.

"No woman or children are to be harmed," he ordered his men.

"After the fires are lit, we wait. When the patrol comes out to help is when we'll strick but remember we strick and retreat. This is important men; we must draw them out."

"Any questions?" Tor MacLeod scanned the blackened faces of the men circled around him in the darkness. The ash helped them blend into the night. "I don't need to tell you how important this is. If you dont know exactly what you are supposed to do, now is the time to speak up."

His men exchanged glances before turning back to him and nodding.

Tor looked to the group he'd chosen to sneak through the villiage. "Light the fires lads," he said with a mischievous smile. "Lets give the bards something to sing about."

Tormand's men slunk back into the shadows to wait. The air of excitment was high, his warriors were ready. When the first fire went up he tensed waiting for the patrol to cry a warning. Quickly four more fires ignighted throughout the villiage. Screams and shouting filled the air as people ran from their homes to escape the flames. They waited like monsters in the night for the opportune time to strike.

As the patrol and rousing soldiers ran out through the gates of the keep, Tormand dispatched ten of his men to begin the fight, "Strike and retreat!" he reminded them as they took of from their cover hollering out a feirce battle cry.  Soon the MacGuins realized what was happening and with curses they drew their swords to defend themselves but the tired patrol  were no match for Tor's men and soon half of their bodies littered the ground.

A cry went up within the keep alerting all soldiers to prepare for battle, soon the walls were lined with archers just as Tormand had predicted. Exchanging a look with his men, they began to retreat further into the darkness of the wood intending to now start the fires that would burn the southern villiage, furthest from the MacGuin keep to draw out their warriors. Soon the fight would begin.

Tormand ran through the woods with sure footing, barely making a sound. in the cloak of darkness, the dark cloaked MacLeods would appear out of the mist suddenly and undetected, their numbers shrouded, like the phantoms some proclaimed them to be.

Tor's heart pounded faster as the last of the fires were lit. Within moments the area would be swarming with MacGuin warriors and if his plan worked, they would all be running to their deaths. The men Tormand had sent to light the fires and root the men now began to return to wait for further instruction. Tormand raised a hand, signaling his men to be ready as they waited for the enemy to arrive. Tormand could see the men piling out of the keep ahead heading their way. His body hummed in anticipation of the coming battle. The adrenaline running through his veins making his senses more hightened, his vision clearer, his muscles stronger.

Tor unsheathed his broadsword, raising it in the air he yelled out his clan's battle cry, " Bàs roimh Gèill!," he screamed. Death before surrender. To a Highland warrior there was no other choice. They would succeed or die trying. Death held no fear for them. To Highlanders there was no greater glory than dying on a battlefield.

His men followed suite raising their weapons and screaming in unison,      " Bàs roimh Gèill !!"

Tormand smiled and rushed headfirst into battle, the roar of his men at his back.

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