Pincer wall, cut them down!” roared what could only be a Velheim officer as their foes closed ranks and marched at a trot, having every intention of flanking and pinning Eloquin and his Squires between the two wings of shields before ruthlessly butchering them all under a flurry of devastating thrusts, even as Jess and her friends found it impossible to effectively use their longer weapons with enemy shields pinning them tight. It was a devastating tactic that had won many wars before multiple overlapping rows of pike had become the norm. Against anything other than cavalry or several hundred well-trained pikemen it was still an excellent tactic, and one Velheim had used to decisive effect to guard their mountain passes for centuries.

“Bloody hells,” Malek hissed.

Jess glared at the hard-eyed soldiers rapidly approaching, knowing they were seconds away from dire peril.

"Now!" Eloquin roared, a dozen spears abruptly jutting forward, seeking not to strike the wall of shields before them, but rather thrust into the lightly armored legs below, the careful charge staggering to a halt as men tripped or desperately dodged.

Injuries were few, but the strike was a resounding success, their foes momentarily flustered. And before they could regather themselves, the Velheim shield wall was ruthlessly yanked apart by poleaxes hooking shields and soldiers out of formation the instant before Jess and her fellow Squires roared and stepped into the attack, ramming their weapons like spears into the faces and throats of the now utterly disorganized mass of soldiers, forcing them back, breaking through their line, howling like madmen and lashing out with powerful overhand blows, cleaving through their enemies and sending the panicked, stumbling Velheim troopers crumpling to the ground.

And Jess was lost in the storm of combat once more.

Hands spread wide in a quarterstaff grip, Jess slammed upwards, a cleaving sword deflected as screams and shouts wash over her. Spinning to the left, a second foe's furious charge was dodged as her poleaxe arced down, the slightest jolt as it cleaved right through the poorly forged helm before it, her foe crumpling in a spray of blood and brain.

Another shieldman rushed forward and Jess seized the Vor, lunging into the charge. Her foe gurgled in wide-eyed shock as poleaxe spike plunged into his brain, her surprised foe's wooden shield having ripped free of his grip, seemingly of its own accord.

And another opponent howled and fell upon her, Jess desperately twisting to counter his furious lunge, her snarling foe suddenly choking in blood as the Squire behind Jess ran him through.

Parry, dart aside, slam hammer end against helmet.

A soldier groans and falls.

Jess slipped and stumbled, barely raising her poleaxe in time as a howling berserker cleaved downward with his battleaxe, blinking in surprise as the wooden shaft sprang out of his hands an instant before Jess plunged her poleaxe straight through his heart.

Cut, parry, dodge and strike. The dance of death weaved to the beat and blow of steel against flesh and bone. Screams and cries serve as the darkest of counterpoints, this the one dirge Jess could master, all others leaving her stumbling and confused.

But here, now, in the mad melee of death, never had she danced so well.

"Kill the queen! Bring her down!" The roar echoed through the Velheim troops inhabiting the keep. And Jess could only laugh as her closest foe's vicious overhand strike sought her soul, the soldier grunting in surprise when he missed, Jess weaving aside and spinning about, her poleaxe cleaving into the soldier with such abandon that it sheered right right through his armored skull, each surprised eye blinking oddly out of sink, spraying Jess with blood as he stumbled to the ground, pulling Jess's poleaxe free of her grip, lodged as it was in his armored chest, so deep had she cleaved her foe.

“Kill her!”

Jess stumbled back, Erica's spear bursting through a furiously grinning swordman's groin, and how he howled as Jess unsheathed her longsword, her heart roaring in her ears as fear turned to darkest glee, and she embraced the killing frenzy once more.

Sword held in Ochs, point straight ahead, Jess charged into the bloody melee howling like a madwoman, a blistering series of Oberhau and Zwerchhau strikes denting iron helmets, momentarily stunning her enemies, for all that her longsword could not burst iron with killing force like her poleaxe could.

Yet never before in sparring had Jess struck with such frightful speed as she did while fighting for her life, furious slashes to her stunned foe's throats sending them dropping to death faster than they could blink, desperately held shields giving way before her wrath, toughened cuir bouilli armor shredding like parchment to her cleaving blows.

Every twist and dodge, every parry and strike, every cleaving blow was her body embracing the darkest of dirges, death's handmaiden dancing her merry way through the crash and cry of steel, crimson mist the cloak she wore, reveling in the savage surge of sundered sinew and bone, the screams of foes consumed by her terrible thirst, body and soul.