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She could smell the smoke before seeing the fire, yet where the fire was, was never in any doubt to her. Pushing her horse past its limits, she raced the final distance as if pursued by the Devil himself, or maybe she was pursuing the Devil, she was unsure. Her mind was devoid of any emotion, with only one overriding urge; go to Felar, save your city, save your people. This was the third horse she recalled, or was it the fourth? Whichever it was, it had cost her her last pennies and was not worth the price, however it could run swifter than herself and was straining with every muscle to obey its new mistress' command. The rain was laced with ash, and smoke billowed in the wind preventing her seeing the city, pulling her hood tighter about her face she urged more speed from the horse though his flanks were already streaming with sweat. As she crested the ridge of the last hill, the horse gave out, collapsing onto the ground. Losing no momentum, she threw herself from the back of the horse and raced towards the city. She felt a pang of guilt, it was her fault the aged horse was dying upon a hill, soaked by rain and covered in mud and ash, and looking back one last time, she saw him take a last breath and stop breathing. ******* Climbing the last rungs and heaving himself over the edge of the wall, he found himself in a moment of peace in the midst of the turmoil of battle, but he was trained well and moving quickly stepped over a falling comrade to take a place at the edge of the salient. His short sword darted into the fray and then back out covered in blood, blocking thrusts and inflicting wounds, both minor and fatal, upon his enemies. A skillful fighter, he quickly advanced through the weight and press of bodies leaving a trail of bodies, but more importantly allowing his allies to follow and push the defenders backwards. Suddenly he found his short sword blocked by a strong blade, and blinking blood and sweat from his eyes saw a huge man wearing the twin plumes of a captain. The captain's face was also muddied by blood and sweat, and his haggard features betrayed age. Age hadn't dulled his reflexes though and soon he was advancing upon the hapless invader, his broadsword moving with surprising speed to block his opponents attacks and also inflict several cuts on his foe. The battle raged around them, but in a personal fight of their own it didn't affect them. His blade coming down to block a thrust by the invader, he put his whole weight behind his swing and forced the invader to the walltop, and leaping forwards swung down to finish the fight. But the invader had rolled out of the way, and grabbing another sword from a dead soldier - comrade or enemy didn't matter, nor was it possible to tell - leaped up ready to continue the fight. The defending captain stood more warily now, and it was clear he was tiring, he knew his broadsword was too heavy for a fight against two light short swords. The invader, seeing his foe at a disadvantage perssued the attack and quickly inflicted several peripheral wounds, forcing the defender to retreat. Observing how the city was burning, he decided to finish his worthy opponent and join in the looting. Favouring his right, he attacked with a series of thrusts known to all swordsmen, and thus easily blocked, however at the end he diverted his blade, lunging at the shoulder of his opponent sword arm, and bringing his second blade up, stabbing towards the rib cage, and the vital organs. The captain had no chance, he couldn't avoid both blades, and either would inflict a wound serious enough that he couldn't continue, and so dropping to his knee and dropping his shoulder, he brought his sword sweeping round in an arc, and denting the chain mail his opponent was wearing, cleaving into the ribs. Pain shot up his arm as the invaders first blade connected, and he watched with horror as the second blade swung towards his face and plunged between his eyes fountaining blood. The invader fell too, though he was injured severly and not dead yet, and the pools of blood spread and connected, the rain and ash splashing into them and discolouring the puddle. So dies Franketh, a captain of Felar.
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