A Wizard in Chaos

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The roar of battle filled Cort’s ears, deafening him. He couldn’t even hear the bellow as the enemy soldier swung his broadsword. He only saw the man’s mouth gaping.

Cort caught the blow on his shield. It jarred his arm all the way to the shoulder, but he couldn’t hear the blade ring. He pivoted and stabbed crosswise at the foeman’s sword arm. The man rolled back, catching Cort’s blade on his own, but was too slow trying to return the stroke. Cort let his blade’s rebound help him in swinging up, over, and down at the man’s shoulder. The soldier’s mouth widened in an unheard scream as he fell away.

Even in the thick of battle, Cort felt elation that he hadn’t had to kill the man. He stood in the forefront of his men on guard, waiting for another enemy boot soldier to fill the place of the one who had fallen—but surprisingly, no one came. Instead, three of the enemy turned and ran from the unceasing blows of Cort’s own soldiers. He stood a moment, staring in disbelief. Then a grin of triumph split his face, and a yell of victory from all his platoon split the air. The raw energy of it seemed to strike the enemy in the back and push them on; they ran, then ran faster as Cort’s men redoubled their yelling.

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