The Betrayed by Igor Ljubuncic Page A

filled him, a privilege reserved for dead men. Indeed, no one could die more than once.
    Around him, the other would-be spearmen were not so blissful. The smell of urine and feces was a clear testimony to their lack of agreement with his buoyant mood. He was slightly surprised to see men who had killed and inflicted untold horrors unto others shiver so fervently in the face of death. Apparently, it took a special kind of coward to kill people for fun. When that duty called on them, they seemed reluctant.
    Captain kal Armis sat on an armored destrier some distance away, talking to real soldiers, men in smart and mostly clean uniforms and with real steel weapons. Sergeant Nigel was afoot, talking to a group of crossbowmen.
    Adam was not sure if his place in the middle of the box was a favorable one. Sweat dripped from his hair into his eyes. He would relish a drink of cool, clear water.
    Some time later, Sergeant Nigel climbed on a stool and gave a short speech.
    “Listen, you lot. It’s time to fight. Do as you’re told, and you’ll live. Scatter about like girls, and you’ll be mowed down before you blink. You don’t wanna be a fallen Cornfield, now do you?”
    It was not a very moving speech. Very few people seemed to listen. Stark-naked terror gripped them in a senseless vise. Adam seriously doubted their box would remain so uniform ten heartbeats into the fray.
    He marked Sajan in the lot. The old man seemed calmer than most of the younger murderers and rapists. Since their encounter a few days ago, they had avoided one another. But Adam had no doubt that Sajan intended to murder him and claim the rest of his prize, no matter what he imagined it was. This battle seemed like an ideal excuse to settle the score.
    Shouting. Their box moved forward, men bumping into one another. Some cried like women, others mumbled incoherently, while the rest cursed or prayed. The smell of excrement intensified.
    Rubbing against one another, they crawled forward. Then, a tidal wave of fury crashed into them, breaking them apart like splinters. From that moment on, instincts took over. Unfortunately, they had very bad instincts for methodical killing.
    Adam could hardly breathe. Stinking men jostled into him from all directions. Arrows buzzed, but none rained on their exposed, unhelmed heads. People shrieked, but there was no blood.
    He stumbled over a body. Well, people were dying after all.
    Suddenly, the pressure eased. Men strayed from one another. And then, horses rushed them. Shrieking riders milled into their mass, stomping them into a pulp. Adam watched with suicidal dispassion, marking the events with honey-like sluggishness. Heads and arms flew, almost like leaves. Blood was as solid as rags.
    He heard someone bellow for them to narrow the ranks, but it was a useless cry. Spears wavered. A second crash. This time, the horsemen came from behind. Adam tried to turn and see, but a churning wave of bloody meat overwhelmed him. He lost footing and staggered.
    Sajan was at his right, leveling a spear at his chest. Leaning back, he evaded getting skewered by an inch. Without a second thought, he drew his stolen knife and lashed. The curved tip caught the toothless man just above his jacket. A patch of throat detached. A hollow breath escaped through the sudden gap, followed by lots and lots of blood. Sajan simply sank and was gone.
    Something very massive and solid hit Adam from behind. He flew through the air like a doll. Blackness engulfed him as he landed on the soft, blood-drenched ground.

    He opened his eyes. He was alive. He did not move. Moving was a bad idea when you did not know where you were. He could only see the sky, as pristine as it was that morning, before the carnage started. If it still were that morning, he corrected himself.
    The stench of death filled his nostrils. His other senses came back. The din of battle was there, but somewhat subdued. His body hurt, but he could feel no terrible focused pain