Tales of the Lorekeepers 01 - Rise of the Red Dragon
of their men in harm’s way. I’m surprised they haven’t done so already.”
“Maybe they want a little bit of sport,” replied Freston. “Who knows what thoughts lurk in the heads of barbarians.”
Suddenly, they heard cheers and clamor coming from all directions at once, screams of encouragement and sadistic laughter, followed by the rhythmic banging of weapons against shields.
“What are they so happy about?” wondered Kaleb.
The answer to his question came in the form of an enormous giant, slowly emerging from the trees in front of them, where the Saxons had taken cover from Freston’s deadly bow. The man was easily over seven feet tall, with shoulders as broad as those of a bear. He was wearing full-plated armor that covered his entire body, with a shield attached to his chest. Pieces of a skull were lashed to the shield with leather straps. The colossus held a sword in each hand. The blades were more than three feet long and scalloped on one side, like a couple of handsaws from hell. The hilts of those dreadful weapons bore small blades like little daggers. On his head rested a helm with a horn extending on each side, at the ends of which were attached dried and unnamable body parts of slain foes. A third horn went straight up in the air on top of the helmet, white and sharp. Finally, a metal mask covered his face, with only two small holes for the eyes.
“Dear God,” said Freston.
Shaking off the initial shock induced by the sight of the infernal giant, he aimed his bow and fired. The projectile ricocheted off the shield on the giant’s chest. The archer quickly loaded another arrow, aimed a little higher than before and fired again. This time, he hit the metal mask of the colossus.
Eerie laughter came from the uncanny fiend, who was calmly marching toward them.
“Malloy, help me out!” begged Freston.
Both men fired arrow after arrow at the incoming giant, but all bounced off his armor. The rest of the Saxons discreetly emerged from behind their trees and followed their leader at a short distance.
“Stop wasting your ammunition on the big guy. Take down as many of the others as you can!” ordered Kaleb.
Freston and Malloy moved their bows slightly and fired at the “regular” men approaching them, aiming as best they could and reloading as quickly as it was humanly possible. When the giant was within fifty feet of them, Darroch stood up, grabbed his shield and, with a savage growl, darted toward the huge man, his weapon raised above his head like a madman.
“By all that is holy, I’m going to fight on my feet and not die like a coward,” he screamed.
Kaleb and Atwood imitated him, the latter limping because of his wound, which had thankfully stopped bleeding. However, they both turned around to face other enemies coming from every direction. Malloy dropped his bow and took out his sword to do the same, while Freston kept shooting at more barbarians, which were rapidly closing in on the small group.
Samuel could not move a muscle. He had lived through scenarios like these many times in role-playing games, but he had never imagined he would find himself in a real fight. The foes were real, the blades were sharp, and the chaos that reined was almost intoxicating. When he heard the clash of metal against metal, as Kaleb engaged the nearest Saxon, his heart nearly jumped out of his chest.
He had to do something; he could not simply remain on the ground and wait for the inevitable. His head was telling him to get up, but his muscles refused to obey.
He saw Darroch charge the giant warrior. The bulky Briton brought his weapon down hard, striking his foe on the right leg, hoping to destabilize him. The blow resonated throughout the forest, as Darroch was not a small man by any means. However, instead of having the desired effect, the blow only seemed to infuriate the giant. Darroch barely had enough time to put his shield to his side, as the towering Saxon pivoted and hit him in the flanks. Darroch blocked the blow, but the sheer force of the swing sent him flying in the air, landing a few feet away.
“Darroch!” screamed Atwood, as he saw his brother land hard on a dry tree trunk.
“Sam, get up and fight!” Kaleb called. “That’s an order!”
The young boy turned around and saw that the officer had already dispatched a couple of enemies and was fighting a third one. However, another was getting into position to attack him from behind. Before this second foe could put
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