12
Drew roared as he and Blair charged forward, flanked by their most fearsome and formidable warriors. The English army could be seen across the field, dressed in bright red tunics, standing out against the green of the field. Drew's heart thumped in his chest. Battle drew near. With every stride of his horse he was closer to the war when steel would clash against steel and make a fine song, a song that would ring out across the land.
Being this close to this heated atmosphere made everything else fade into obsolescence. The troubles with Deirdre, Blair, and Rosemary didn't mean a thing. All that mattered was defeating the English and defending their home, and getting justice for Gall. When they left this battlefield it would be covered with English bodies.
Looking over at his brother, he saw Blair relishing the act of going to war. This is what he had been born for. All his life he had been a warrior, but he had not been able to indulge that aspect of himself because there had been no war. Now there was, and he saw Blair in the prime of his life, a perfect warrior suited for exactly this situation. He was holding his sword tightly, high in the air, bringing it down, ordering the archers to fire.
Suddenly a shadow loomed over them as hundreds of arrows soared through the air. Each of them rising high, touching the heavens, only to come back down with force and break through the English lines. Many men were felled. Some horses too, and the air was loud with their anguished cries. But still more English came, and they fired back arrows of their own. Drew felt them fly past him, hitting his fellow warriors.
He looked around, but did not let his gaze linger on the fallen for too long. Urging his steed on, he and Blair raced forward to meet the English head-on. They ate up the ground between them and soon his sword met the enemy. The song of steel rang out and Drew was in the heat of battle. All else was driven from his mind, everything except the man before him. Drew met his blade and parried back with a thrust of his own. In just a few strokes Drew had driven his sword into the man's gut. He slumped over his horse, and the horse ran away.
“Ye are doing well, brother!” Blair called out.
Drew grinned, and moved further into the battle.
Entrails hung off the edge of his blade, but there was no time to clean it. Other Englishmen were already upon him. The haze of blood and guts rose up. The air was thick with the smell of fear and death. Already countless men had died, but it was only the beginning.
A few men approached him, trying to make him fall from his horse. Drew caught their blades with his and used his strength to push them back. Quickly, he slashed through the air and caught one of them in the throat. His sword fell to the ground as he clutched at his throat in a futile attempt to stem the flow of blood, but the crimson liquid squirted out.
Drew barely had any time to pity the man as the other soldier was still above him, crashing his sword down. With one hand on the reins, Drew pulled his horse around to meet the blows, thrusting back whenever he could. This solder was more skilled than the others he had slain, but he still wasn't good enough to best Drew. With a quick flick of the wrist Drew slashed at the man's chest, and then stabbed him in the heart.
Blood dripped down.
There was no shortage of enemies to face. Red tunics were all around him, and Drew reveled in the battle. He roared mightily, losing all sense of time and space. There was nothing but he and his blade, and the Englishmen who would all suffer because of them.
The two armies merged together, bodies and swords clashing. Many men alighted from their horses and were fighting on the ground. Drew charged around them, slicing off their heads as he went. English soldiers dropped easily. Occasionally there was another barrage of arrows. Drew could not tell whether they were from the Highlanders or the English.
He'd lost track of Blair as well. In a moment of respite Drew looked across the battlefield for him, but could not see him. He could not see Declan either. There were thousands of bodies strewn across the field, and it would be unlikely that he would find his brother any time soon.
Drew lifted his sword and fell back into the fight, galloping through the English army, causing as much death and destruction as possible. Although Blair had always held more of the warrior's spirit within his heart, Drew had a deep-seated rage brewing inside him as well, and now he finally let it out. The anger burst out in primal bellows. Rage clouded his mind, and one by one he cut down the English who came before him.
But this rage came at a price.
Drew gave himself so fully to the rage inside him that he lost some of his sense of perception. There were so many bodies hurtling past him that the world became something of a blur. It was as though he and his sword were one; the blade merely an extension of his arm. He swerved and dodged, parried and struck truly. Nobody could stand in his way, and he stood tall among all the Highlanders and Englishmen. He welcomed more soldiers coming to him, ready to send them all to their graves.
Then there was a lancing pain through his leg. He cried out, and only just managed to hold onto his sword. His head throbbed and his heart beat frantically. Looking down, he saw that a javelin stuck out from his leg. He had been so focused on what was in front of him that he hadn't paid enough attention to everything around him. Then again, it was almost impossible to keep track of everything on the battlefield since there was danger from all sides.
Drew managed to fend off another attack, but then he had to reach down to try and pull the javelin from his flesh. The pain was excruciating. Drew gritted his teeth as he tried to bear it, but the javelin was just a little too low for him to be able to pull it out.
Reluctantly, he sheathed his sword to give himself better purchase, and turned his horse away from the onrushing English soldiers to try and give himself a few moments of respite.
Drew managed to reach down and feel the warm blood that was seeping out of the wound. He wrapped his fingers around the thick wooden javelin and started to pull, a guttural scream bursting from his lungs as he did so, when he looked up to see a huge hulking man thundering towards him. The man was unarmed, but his fists were like clubs, and he smacked Drew in the jaw as he passed. Fueled by the momentum of the horse, the strike was even more powerful than it would have been had the men been standing, and Drew slumped over his horse, giving into the encroaching darkness.
His fingers loosened and were unable to pull the javelin. The horse rode away from battle. Without Drew to guide it, the steed listened to its own instincts, and took Drew away from the fighting.