Victor stood in the battle line his body threating to collapse in fear. This would be his baptism by fire as were. As simple farmer with three young children his youngest being only three all he could think about was getting home to them. His wife Gods bless her, works just as hard as he and is all the brains in their marriage. Men and woman both are drafted in times of war at the Reach, but in the case where married partners are concerned only one is required to enlist if they have children. Sense Victor has a strong back but not much brain he was the obvious choice.
He knows how to fight having always fought as a teenager, but this is a war not a simple fist fight in a back alley between teenagers. He couldn’t afford more than light gambeson for his armor. He had always been handy at the forge, so he crafted his own axe and shield. Being a decant hunter he had a hunting bow he had made last season; it has a draw weight of one hundred thirty pounds.
He wears a pot helm to help protect his head from glancing blows from maces and morning stars. The enemy line of Zerp have dire wolves which when they reach his own battle line will tear through them like shears to wool. Despite most trying to hit the riders he will try and down the wolves in hopes they might tumble and crush the riders that sit atop. It might seem cruel but is not all war cruel by its nature. The war horns sound, his hands tremble. He thinks of his family that await his return which helps calm his nerves.
The zerp outnumber them two to one, but they are not the best fighters relying on their numbers rather than skill. Their weapons are crudely made axes, short swords, spears, and slings. A few have better gear they will be the veteran soldiers the ones who have lived long enough to have tasted blood. They are led by a small group of human bandits who most likely bought the zerp as slaves when they were few and bred them.
The order to take aim is given. He draws his bow holding it steady never flinching. His arms and back are bult for hard labor his muscles hold their place like a vice until the order is given to lose the rain of arrows down the other side. Shields rise as the hailstorm of iron tipped death descends striking against some shields harmlessly while some find their target piercing flesh and taking life.
The wolves charge giving Victor and the army he’s with time for only two more volley’s. He’s then told to pull back behind the row of pikemen their only defense against the cavalry charge. Then the enemies infantry charges the order to fire at will is given and Victor begins to target the wolves. Several others see what he’s doing then begin targeting the wolves as well. The prolonged firing begins making his muscles burn.
Soon there are cries of men being torn to pieces by wolves while some of the wolves are skewered by the pikes. Blood sprays the ground feeding the grass that has been trampled. Victors heart pounds in his ears like a war drum. He gives himself to the bloodlust in an effort to make it home. Reaching into his quiver he pulls his last arrow it needs to count for more than just a zerp fighter or hatchling.
He can see the enemy commander still atop the largest white dire wolf he’s ever seen riding down anyone who tries to slow him. He cannot see the man’s face under the closed helm, but his neck is not as well protected. Victor takes a deep breath aims his bow then fires. The arrow flies like a soaring eagle finding its purchase just under the jaw. The wolf lurches as the commander falls from his mighty position in the battle.
Victor feels a sharp pain in his back with a thunderous crack. His legs give way and suddenly the only thing he can move are his arms. Then another pain this time between his shoulder blades. His breathing becomes labored his vision cloudy, sounds from the battle fade as his eyes become heavy. Victor breaths one last breath then closes his eyes. He would not see his family again; he would not see the enemy retreat having lost their leader. Victors body is taken home, he is grieved over by his wife and his children. He is given a hero’s funeral and title for his sacrifice. Three generations would remember and give thanks for the gift he gave, SACRIFICE.
THE END
