As I slip the cool mail mitten over my hand, I am surprised almost that I’m not excited, that my heart is not racing. Outside the clash of arms can be heard, as well as the groans of the wounded and dying; the familiar sounds of battle. My armor is on, and so I belt my broadsword at my side, slip my arm into the straps of my kite shield, and readjust my helmet, a simple metal skullcap. My real helmet is slung on my back, for use soon. For now, I prefer visibility.
There is a frantic pounding on my door, and with my hand to my sword I call out,
The door is flung open and a rather nervous looking brother sergeant, unarmored and clad in black, stands in the doorway. I relax my grip on the sword.
“What is it?” I ask, slightly more relaxed.
“The commander sends the summons; all men who can bear arms are needed at the walls.”
I nod, the gravity of the situation coming to bear. "On behalf of God," I respond as I move past the brother.
Outside, the world is dark in the late night, with only torches lighting the world. Arrows fly over the wall, which I see is well manned. I wonder for an instance what the urgency is: then I look to my far left, to where the majority of the noise is coming from. The gate has been smashed in, the remains of the wooden doors still hanging in their hinges. The gateway is clogged with the bodies of both the living and the dead, and I can see the white surcoats and the red crosses of my brother Templar holding a desperate line against the invaders, whose curved swords and round shields flash like a flood against the armored knights. I reach back, sliding my own great helmet on. My walk turns into a run as I move towards them.
I can tell that my brother knights are hard pressed, and indeed many have fallen. The banner is in the midst, and seems always on the verge of falling as its bearer attempts to defend himself with one hand. But the white surcoats of my brother knights are especially grouped around the banner, guarding its bearer even as they begin to advance, foot by foot.
I reach them swiftly, thrusting with my lance to slay a turbaned swordsman. I meld into the line, and in the close melee, my lance proves useless; I throw it into the flow of foes, knocking the man attacking me back just long enough to allow me to draw my broadsword. I advance, keeping in careful line with the knights next to me. Inhuman they seem, in blood drenched surcoats, and the same expressionless great helmet. Like stone they are, even though their fallen account their humanness.
We are wading through bodies as we advance; both those of our brothers and those of our foes, and those far more numerous. The onslaught lessens slightly, and then more so, as our line reaches the gap, barring it. Living stone replaces the dead stone of before, and we strike out with burning fierceness at the invaders. Above us, the banner of the Temple flies, shewing with its height the strength of our stand.
This is a little story I wrote for an Ambage write-off a while ago, for the theme 'stone'. It's short, but I liked it so much that I posted it here. I would have posted the other Templar fic I wrote as well, but it has the Psalm the Templar sang before battle, so I can't. :/
Edited by Zarayna, Oct 02 2012 - 02:50 PM.