Quentin turned to look across the plain, instantly seeing what Clive had.
Three armoured women standing before the Horde, alone!
‘What are they doing?’ Clive yelled, his battle plans already falling apart.
‘Atoning,’ said Quentin sadly. He knew they wouldn’t last long enough for his army to reach them.
A horse burst between him and Clive and tore down the side the rise.
‘BLUEY!’ Quentin screamed.
Turning he could see the Nicola’s had vanished and knew instinctively where they had gone.
‘Two more witches just appeared,’ said Clive.
‘It’s the Nicola’s,’ said Quentin quietly.
‘WHAT!’ Clive heeled his horse.
‘CLIVE! STOP! YOUR PLACE IS WITH ME!’ Quentin said his voice booming across the valley.
‘Thanks,’ he said to Gal who had pulled his horse up alongside his.
Clive pulled his horse up sharply but didn’t turn around, nor look back; his gaze was on the Witches, already engaged in battle.
Quentin felt his army move, sway and suddenly a section burst forth.
Chariots raced down the hillside, Queen Boadicea in the lead, her daughters in chariots of their own thundering alongside her and behind another hundred, as the Women of Briton charged into battle.
More and more women joined, kicking their horses into action to join battle, to stand alongside the women already fighting for their lives.
Quentin watched, fuming.
‘Sir Galahad, you’re as old as the hills,’ he said.
‘Hey steady on, I am not that old.’
Quentin gave him a steady look.
‘Ok I am older than most,’ Gal conceded.
‘Tell me, with your centuries of experience, you understand women right, tell me it’s possible to understand them.’
Gal gave a bitter laugh.
‘No chance lad. No chance. They’re as changeable as the weather.’
Quentin raised his hand.
‘ARMY OF LIGHT
OUR WOMEN FIGHT
DO WE LET THEM FIGHT ALONE?’
The roar of anger and rage was all he could have asked for.
The Army of Light uncoiled and moved out, the Army of Heroes amongst them, eager to fight.
Quentin knew his battle plans were ruined. The best he could do was try to follow what was left and hope it was enough.
A man heeled his horse into a gallop and raced to join Quentin.
‘How many Myrmidons do you have?’
‘One thousand swords, Prince, but all handpicked by me, so worth ten times that number.’
‘Would you do me the honour of joining me? I will be going into the depths of Hell.’
‘The honour will be ours Prince. Hector, we fight together at last!’ Achilles laughed.
‘Indeed we do Achilles,’ said Gal, ‘I hope you can keep up,’ he added with a laugh.
‘I have you son, we will be ready.’
Quentin watched as his Army thundered across the plain towards the tiny knot of women fighting. Fighting and dying.
Arrows took flight and ripped into the Demon Horde with such accuracy not one fell amongst the Women of Light.
Quentin could not sit on the hill any longer and gave the signal for his troops to move out.