Hallam ducked beneath the blow, pushed his left foot forward, grunting with the effort and hacked sideways with his sword. Something hard hit his shield and if he hadn’t put his foot forward he would have overbalanced. The fight raged around him. Men and krell dying in their hundreds.

 Hallam screamed a war cry and pushed against the line of enemy, seeking to dislodge a foe and open up their shield wall. Krell pressed hard against his shield, hoping to achieve the same aim. “Hold the line,” he commanded, sensing a slight movement to his left. A line that went backwards was already defeated. A spear glanced off one of his greaves and he stamped down hard trying to snap the shaft. Warm blood flecked his face, causing him to blink. The copper stench in his nostrils nearly made him gag. “Push,” he yelled, trying to get his line forward.

The author pushed back the keyboard and leaned back. Time for a cuppa. He went to the kitchen and turned on the kettle, reaching in to the cupboard for a teabag. Humming softly, he filled the cup and stirred clockwise before settling on a couple of chocolate biscuits as a treat. Sitting in front of the monitor once more, he dunked a biscuit. He shivered and glanced at the thermostat.

“What the hell,” he muttered dialing up the warmth. His slippers were new and fur lined, a rare treat and kept his feet beautifully warm. Stig, an orange and brown cat mewed playfully to one side and the author tapped his leg, allowing the cat to jump up and settle on his lap, purring softly. Outside the sky threatened snow, but the author barely glanced that way.

Finishing his tea and smacking his lips the author settled down to create. His eyes focused on the monitor as he muttered, “Now, Hallam, what fresh hell can I create.”

Hallam groaned, recognising the fearful cry from the darkened sky above, “Grakyn,” he screamed, hoping that the archers to the rear could see in the half-light. The battle was going horribly wrong. He prayed to all the gods for a change in fortune.