Excerpt from And Kingdoms Shall Fall

by Author | October 23rd, 2017

As I sign up a few copies of fantasy battle epic And Kingdoms Shall Fall for a few special people, I thought I would share with you another snippet from the novel…

“Come on!” He bellowed to his men, his anger and vengeance rising inside him in a torrent of sudden intensity. “Kill the bastards! Kill them all!”

He bellowed again, an incoherent and meaningless roar of pent up fury, and then he was upon them. Leaping over a dying mother and two dead children, he selected his first target and hurled his spear with every ounce of energy in his body. At just five paces distance, the young Drumorian put up his leather shield as he saw the danger suddenly appear before him, but the spear slashed straight through the flimsy construction and embedded itself in the man’s skull, entering via one eye socket. The Drumorian simply toppled backwards without a sound, thudding into the mud of the track, dead.

A second Drumorian, stunned at the sudden counter-attack, had just enough time to react. He swung around on Hilderwulf, sweeping his axe down towards the thegn’s head in a broad arc, but Hilderwulf pushed his shield up with both hands and smashed it forcefully into the man’s wrist. At the same time he slammed himself bodily into his opponent, who was propelled backwards, falling heavily onto his arse.

Despite the shock of the body-slam, the Drumorian rolled over instinctively and came back up onto one knee, ready to make another blow or fend off another attack, but Hilderwulf had not stopped running, and the blue-tattooed warrior gasped as he found his opponent’s foot coming straight for his face. Hilderwulf’s foot connected with a sickening crunch, and the Drumorian’s nose splintered. The blue-man flopped back onto his backside again in shock, as a great wave of blood erupted from his nostrils. Hilderwulf paused over him for a moment, then brought the wooden frame of his shield down on the man’s skull; once, twice, thrice, until the man simply keeled over on his side and lay still.

Seeing the man topple, Hilderwulf dragged his stone headed war-hammer from his belt, but staggered sideways as someone barged into him. He swung round, ready to fend off the attack, but hesitated as he found himself staring up at a terrified Erna, desperately trying to keep control of her panic-stricken pony.

“Get back there, Erna!” He shouted, trying to push the dancing beast away from him and back towards the village, but it was whinnying with terror and surrounded by fighting men and dying humans, and it was losing control of its wits. Just then, the other pony came up behind it and Freodric, a long, bloody slash marking the side of his jaw, grabbed the rope reins from Erna and hauled both her and the pony along with him, as he urged his own mount free of the press of fighting men.

“Go!” Hilderwulf encouraged them, and turned back to the fight.

He saw the club coming at the last moment and twisted away desperately. Instead of crushing his skull, the bronze-studded wooden cudgel clouted him painfully on his shoulder, and he fell heavily into the mud, stunned by the pain that shot down the entire widdershins side of his body. He rolled over with some difficulty, dragging his shield with him, though his entire arm and shoulder were shrieking in pain. Instantly, a wild-haired creature with black teeth towered over him.

The Drumorian had a strangely feminine look, he thought, and the she-warrior raised the club again in both hands, ready for a second strike. Hilderwulf tried to push himself sideways, but his arm and shoulder were so numb he didn’t have any strength or purchase in them. He glanced up again at that leering, ugly, female face and expected to see the club descending on him, but instead a dark flash of movement came from behind his field of vision, over his head, and the very next moment, he saw a long, broad, iron blade pierce the Drumorian woman’s chest; sliding deeper and deeper inside.

The blue-painted hag gave a screech like a crow having its wings ripped off, and then the club dropped harmlessly from between her fingers. Still stunned, Hilderwulf watched in fascination as an arm, covered in expensive mail, reached out a large, powerful hand and grabbed the woman by the throat. The unknown rescuer held the woman there at arms length as the blade was yanked back out of her body. The blade came free in a great gob of thick blood which splashed down into Hilderwulf’s face. He wiped the thick, metallic-stinking gore from his skin frantically, and was vaguely aware of the dead Drumorian woman toppling sideways. Then he was being hauled roughly to his feet by someone standing behind him. Noise was rushing in Hilderwulf’s ears now, and the whole cacophony of battle seemed distant, as if he was listening to it above the rush of a forest waterfall in full force.

As Hilderwulf steadied himself on his feet, his rescuer turned him around and yelled at him. It was Morcar, a look of madness in the old warrior’s dark eyes.

“Get up man! Come on! They’ve got Gytha!”


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Seelöwe Nord is the online home of Andy Johnson, a war fiction novelist. Seelöwe Nord is a war novel that tells the alternative history of Operation Sealion, the proposed German invasion of Britain in 1940. Followed by Thunder in May, and the recently released Crucible of Fate, the trilogy of War Fiction remains a popular read within the genre.

Andy has also started to publish small Leadership and Management Booklets drawing from his extensive experience across many sectors and industries, both military and civilian, the first of which is entitled Captains of the Gate and is now available for download on eReaders directly from Amazon.