Soul Under the Mountain (Legend of Reason Series) by David J. Guyton Page A
Authors: David J. Guyton
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confusion. "One—two—"
When the men heard a loud, firm "three" they sprang into action. Rommus whipped his legs up in the air as he lay on his back. He hooked them around Desmond and threw him to the ground with all the force he could muster. The soldier hiding in the bushes rushed out and stabbed the Vindyri closest to the pile of collected weapons. The other Medorans fought their way over to the pile and grabbed whatever they could.
Rommus was on his feet, wiping blood from his mouth with the back of his wrist. He was calm and still except for his slow, hea ving breaths. H e didn't eve n bother running for a weapon; h e just locked eyes with Desmond, who was still struggling to get up off the ground. His heavy frame made him a powerful man, but it also was a hindrance. He was fast with a punch and probably with a sword as well, but slow when moving his entire bulk.
Rommus didn't move. He didn't try to attack Desmond before he could get up. He didn't check his surroundings for other Vindyri who might slice off an arm or even his hea d. He just stood there, heaving tufts of steam from his lungs out into the frigid night air.
Desmond never broke eye contact as he stood up, but once he was upright, he rolled them. " Your father wasn't even a match for me, boy. You're half the man he was."
Rommus zigzagged over to Desmond to mask his intent. When he reached him, he didn't strike him or grapple with him. Instead, he twisted his helmet around his head, blinding him and breaking his nose in the struggle. Rommus floated passed him and rolled as silently as he could over to his father's sword.
Pain stung his face. Desmond had removed his hel met in a blink and had used it to hammer Rommus in the face when he wasn't expecting it. Before he even knew what hit him, Desmond's heavy fis t smashed into his face again. It didn't make a lot of sense, but s omehow the fist seemed to hurt worse tha n the metal helmet did .
His vision had gone blurry with watery eyes. His whole face hurt. His senses had all been dulled by pain. He stumbled away from the direction he thought Desmond was in, doing anything he could to avoid getting punched again.
All around him swords clanged. Men screamed as they hacked and stabbed. Even though the Medorans were in a bad position, the fact that they were still on their feet and fighting against such terrible odds was a good sign. Rommus had lost track of how long the battle had been going on, but getting pummeled in the face over and over could turn a few seconds of fighting into an eternity.
The objective was now to escape alive. It wouldn't be long before the rest of the army knew about their inf iltration of the city, and hordes of men would soon pour into the area. Rommus and several of his men were injured, and they needed to get out of the city before injuries turned into deaths.
Desmond stomped ever closer. Rommus was willing to retreat from the battle and call it a loss, as long as he could get his men to safety. But Desmond was determined not to let that happen. Rommus wasn't sure if Desmond even cared to capture him; it seemed like all he cared about was inflicting pain on the son of his former rival.
Desmond swung again, but Rommus was able to duck this time. While closer to the ground, he stepped in and grabbed Desmond's leg and lifted with all his might. He was able to knock him off balance again, and he stumbled and tripped backwards over a fallen soldier.
Rommus wasted no time. "Retreat!"
It wasn't the best circumstances to call for a retreat, but he feared there would be no other option for it. The sun had already touched the sky far off to the east, and was beginning to usher in the soft light of dawn . In the distance, at the clumps of large buildings at the city center, a dark, undulating mass of men could be seen coming towards them. They had to escape soon or death was certain.
The men did their best to obey the retreat command, but some found it difficult with all the
When the men heard a loud, firm "three" they sprang into action. Rommus whipped his legs up in the air as he lay on his back. He hooked them around Desmond and threw him to the ground with all the force he could muster. The soldier hiding in the bushes rushed out and stabbed the Vindyri closest to the pile of collected weapons. The other Medorans fought their way over to the pile and grabbed whatever they could.
Rommus was on his feet, wiping blood from his mouth with the back of his wrist. He was calm and still except for his slow, hea ving breaths. H e didn't eve n bother running for a weapon; h e just locked eyes with Desmond, who was still struggling to get up off the ground. His heavy frame made him a powerful man, but it also was a hindrance. He was fast with a punch and probably with a sword as well, but slow when moving his entire bulk.
Rommus didn't move. He didn't try to attack Desmond before he could get up. He didn't check his surroundings for other Vindyri who might slice off an arm or even his hea d. He just stood there, heaving tufts of steam from his lungs out into the frigid night air.
Desmond never broke eye contact as he stood up, but once he was upright, he rolled them. " Your father wasn't even a match for me, boy. You're half the man he was."
Rommus zigzagged over to Desmond to mask his intent. When he reached him, he didn't strike him or grapple with him. Instead, he twisted his helmet around his head, blinding him and breaking his nose in the struggle. Rommus floated passed him and rolled as silently as he could over to his father's sword.
Pain stung his face. Desmond had removed his hel met in a blink and had used it to hammer Rommus in the face when he wasn't expecting it. Before he even knew what hit him, Desmond's heavy fis t smashed into his face again. It didn't make a lot of sense, but s omehow the fist seemed to hurt worse tha n the metal helmet did .
His vision had gone blurry with watery eyes. His whole face hurt. His senses had all been dulled by pain. He stumbled away from the direction he thought Desmond was in, doing anything he could to avoid getting punched again.
All around him swords clanged. Men screamed as they hacked and stabbed. Even though the Medorans were in a bad position, the fact that they were still on their feet and fighting against such terrible odds was a good sign. Rommus had lost track of how long the battle had been going on, but getting pummeled in the face over and over could turn a few seconds of fighting into an eternity.
The objective was now to escape alive. It wouldn't be long before the rest of the army knew about their inf iltration of the city, and hordes of men would soon pour into the area. Rommus and several of his men were injured, and they needed to get out of the city before injuries turned into deaths.
Desmond stomped ever closer. Rommus was willing to retreat from the battle and call it a loss, as long as he could get his men to safety. But Desmond was determined not to let that happen. Rommus wasn't sure if Desmond even cared to capture him; it seemed like all he cared about was inflicting pain on the son of his former rival.
Desmond swung again, but Rommus was able to duck this time. While closer to the ground, he stepped in and grabbed Desmond's leg and lifted with all his might. He was able to knock him off balance again, and he stumbled and tripped backwards over a fallen soldier.
Rommus wasted no time. "Retreat!"
It wasn't the best circumstances to call for a retreat, but he feared there would be no other option for it. The sun had already touched the sky far off to the east, and was beginning to usher in the soft light of dawn . In the distance, at the clumps of large buildings at the city center, a dark, undulating mass of men could be seen coming towards them. They had to escape soon or death was certain.
The men did their best to obey the retreat command, but some found it difficult with all the
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