The battle between the large Orc and Sir John still raged. Sir John was on the back foot, and blood was dripping from several rends across his chest. The Knights of the Realm had cut down most of the Orcs now, but those in the front still fought on regardless. Finally Sir Neville made it to the middle of the maelstrom.

The large thuggish Orc had brought Sir John to the floor with his bulk and was about to bring down his massive battle-axe upon the downed Knight. When he noticed Sir Neville enter the ring. At the sign of fresh sport, the Orc lumbered around.

 His hulking body towered over Sir Neville, the massive axe that he carried was almost as big as he was. The battle was still raging on about them, but Sir Neville raised his sword at the Orc. “Not today greenskin.” Sir Neville commanded. The Orc growled a guttural response in some foreign tongue. He swung the axe down and it clattered on Sir Neville’s shield, sending him sideways, the Orc was very strong. Sir Neville skidded across the floor and pushed himself to his feet. He grabbed his blade with two hands and aimed them at the large beast.

 The Orc charged at him again, but he darted to the side and hacked with his sword, ripping in to the Orc’s flank. He let out a massive sickening cry and spun around, hunched over the fresh wound. “Going to need to try better than that.” Sir Neville said, the Orc replied by swinging his axe in a massive arc, another Knight got to close and was split in half by the blow as it sliced through his armour with no more difficultly than cutting a ripe fruit. Blood and gore exploded over the Orc and he roared again. Sir Neville darted back from the massive blow, and stuck out his sword with both hands, the momentum of the Orc caused the blade to go straight through him, ripping his insides out.

The Orc collapsed to the floor and pulled Sir Neville down with him. With the last remaining ounces of his strength he grabbed the Knight and began to crush his armour beneath his hands, Sir Neville could feel his cuirass begin to buckle under the strain and he tried to grasp for his dagger. His hand was finally able to grasp the hilt of the blade and he forced it into the Orc’s underarm. The Orc released his grip just enough for Sir Neville to squeeze out of his reach.

 Sir Neville grabbed his sword and swung it at the Orc, finally removing his entire head. The remaining Orcs lost heart as they watched their leader fall to the blade of Sir Neville, most of them dropped their weapons and shields and ran for it as fast as their stumpy legs could carry them. Hundreds were ripped apart by the pursuing Knight and peasant that had joined the fray. The longbow men on the back line then began to fire at the free targets, and hundreds more dropped to the ground. Whilst both flanks had fled, something had kept the Orcs fighting in the middle.

The remains of the horde still fought against the Questing Knights from the front, and the Grail Knights from the rear. No Orc could stand before those holiest of warriors, and hundreds had died beneath their swords in a matter of minutes. It was only now that Sir Neville could finally see them, glowing under the morning sun.

“They look so, different.” Sir Neville said for lack of a better word, they reminded him of the Lady that he saw in his dream, that unsettling yet soothing glow. The Orc had fallen upon him, and Sir Neville was unable to push him off, until a familiar voice called to him.

“Bloody good work there Neville.” Spoke a friendly voice, Sir Neville wretched his head over, it was Sir John.

 “That is Sir Neville to you Knight.” He joked at him, Sir John laughed at him.

“Never forgets his chivalry, even when stuck under an Orc's arse.” Sir John replied, as he tried to push the beast off him.

 “Of course not, now keep pushing.” Sir Neville asked, finally there was enough room for Sir Neville to squeeze out and he climbed to his feet.

 “We’d better go sort out the middle.” Sir John said, “The battle is still raging.”

“Yes,” Sir Neville paused to catch his breath, then collected his dragger from the Orc’s armpit and put it back in its sheathe. “I wonder why Lord Henri hasn’t broken them yet.” Sir Neville looked at Sir John. “Let’s run.”

 Sir Neville led the way to the middle at the head of a small group of Knights, many were injured or were off chasing down the running Orcs, but a core of about twenty remained. Sir John ran alongside him, his tunic covered in blood. “It’s just a flesh wound.” He proudly told Sir Neville as he made his way there. But the time they had reached the middle, the battle was over. All the Orcs were either dead or fleeing. Lord Henri had just finally managed to put down the massive Orc boss. A giant who seemed to dwarf the Orc that Sir Neville had just fought. The battle was finally over.

 Lord Henri looked around to the group of Knights and held up his sword as a sign of victory. He made out the heraldry of Sir Neville and walked over to him. “Sir Neville.”

 “My Lord, the battle is over.” Sir Neville replied, Lord Henri was about to start something when a Knight walked over, he basked in a golden glow that seemed to warm the air. He had taken off his helmet and his grey hair slowly waved in the breeze. He seemed to be ageless, and as a Grail Knight, only he knew how old he actually was.

“Well done Lord Henri and well done Sir Neville.” He looked to Sir Neville, his golden eyes seemed to pierce his very soul. But he had a soft smile. “The Lady sends her regards.”

 “I was about to speak to Sir Neville here about the disobedience that overcame him.” Lord Henri looked at the Knight. “I believe the battle plan called for you to attack the centre, whilst the Errant Knights took care of the left.”

“That was the original battle plan yes.” Sir Neville responded, “But we did not account for the young Knights to find themselves fighting an entire group of Black Orc. They were outnumbered and outmatched.”

 “No one outmatches a true Knight of Bretonnia.” Lord Henri replied.

 “Actually you will find that many things do.” The Grail Knight responded. “I should know, I fought many myself, so have many other Questing Knights. There are harder and nastier things in the world than Orcs.” The Knight paused for a moment, his voice was like sweet wine floating on the breeze, it would be impossible for anyone to argue back without seeming uncivilised. “Besides, I do believe we took care of that rear charge for you.”

Lord Henri looked to be very frustrated, he seemed to be very out-manoeuvred. He replied to the Knight. “Yes, that may be so. But the battle would have been lost if he had attacked the flank and you hadn’t attacked the front. He needed to follow my orders."

“Sir Neville did what was right, Lord Henri.” He spoke, “If he had followed your advice, the left flank would have collapsed and the battle would not have ended the same way.”

 “But he was required to follow my command.” Lord Henri protested.

 “Yes, at the beginning he did, but battles are fluid and can charge in a heartbeat. Your plan might not have worked for this one, it may work for the next and the one after. But it is never certain.” The Grail Knight looked at Sir Neville. “You may not know it, but I was summoned her by my lady. So the battle was never in danger, I was required to looked for a Knight called Sir Neville Morchart, the one with the three silver stags on the blue background. She was looking for a Knight like you.”

 “A knight like me?” Sir Neville answered, Grail Knights were mysterious and queer folk. The drinking of the Grail changed them for all eternity, they gained a vast sense of wisdom, and the lost the ability to have impure thought. As such they made excellent advisers and generals, with decades of experience in battle making. They were brilliant allies, and made even worse enemies should they be crossed. “No, you to be exact.” He replied calmly.

Lord Henri looked on with great rage in his eyes, he was a Knight of the Quest, the honour of being address by a Grail Knight should have been his. He brought the army together, and he would have won it, had Sir Neville not gone behind his back. The Grail Knight looked at him, as if he knew what was going on inside his head.

 “Being spiteful?” The Grail Knight turned to face Lord Henri, a burning gaze in his eye. “In all my years in following the Lady, I don’t believe I have come across such a stuck up Knight. You almost lost the battle with your determination to kill the Warboss.” The Grail Knight pointed to the dead Orc that lay in the middle of the battlefield. “There is nothing wrong with going after the Warboss, but please do so after the battle is won.”

“But I only wanted to clear out the Orcs, to keep the land safe.” Lord Henri replied.

 “And you have, are you not glad? No you are not, you are full of hatred of this noble knight who saved the day, believing that he has stolen it from you? You should be proud that the day is won so well, and yet you are not.” The Knight sighed. “At this rate, you will never drink from the Grail. You must learn humility, before you may be allowed to do so. It takes years, but you must learn humility.”

 The Grail Knight turned and walked away slowly, his horse was waiting. “I must return to my chapel, but take a lesson from me please. The day is won, it does not matter who has won it, only that it is over. The Orcs have been crushed and will not return. Be proud that you have done Bretonnia a great and invaluable service.” The Grail Knight turned around. “Be glad and happy that you have done such a great deed.” And with that he kicked his horse off, and the Knights rode away after him. The peasants that followed turned tail and ran off behind their heroes, ready to fight for them another day.

 Lord Henri and Sir Neville stood for a moment in a stunned silence, before Lord Henri glared at Sir Neville, a fire in his eyes. With a flick of his wrist, he threw his gauntlet down as Sir Neville's feet, much to the shook of all around. Sir Neville glanced at the gauntlet, before bending down and picking it up.

 “Are you really prepared to duel over this so called lost honour?” Sir Neville asked as he threw the gauntlet back.

“Yes, you have caused a great scar against my honour as a Knight, I wish to rectify that.” Lord Henri replied.

 “If you wish to regain your honour by losing to a Knight of the Realm, then you are more than welcome.”

 “Don’t do it Sir Neville, it could go wrong.” Sir John begged him, but Sir Neville patted him on the shoulder.

 “Not to do it would be a black mark against my house, I will not undo my father’s work.” Sir Neville looked over to Lord Henri. Sir Neville dropped his battered shield to the floor with a loud crack and readjusted his helmet. He pulled his sword out and held it with both hands, Lord Henri put his helmet on, it was much thicker and heavier than Sir Neville's but it obscured his view dramatically. His sword was much longer than Sir Neville's blade, and much heavier. It was designed to be held in two hands, and gave excellent reach when on a horse.

 Lord Henri circled around, holding his great-sword lightly, one hand around the pommel, one on the bottom of the blade to give it good thrusting power. Sir Neville hand both his hands on his long-sword’s pommel. Lord Henri took the first swing, Sir Neville jerked his sword to one side and the blow glanced downwards. He recovered quickly and brought the sword back up. He thrust with another blow, and Sir Neville deflected that. Lord Henri was a dangerous opponent on the field of battle. Like Beren of the companions of Gilles le Breton, he was a brilliant fighter, and could easily overwhelm lesser men with a ferocious attack. Sir Neville had spent a great deal of time as a duellist. He trained under the virtue of Carleone, and would often spar and best Sir Holland, who was the Grail Knight at his father's chapel.

 Lord Henri came in again with a vicious barrage of attacks, his great-sword spinning through the air like a dancer, Sir Neville spent the entire time on the defensive, blocking the blows with subtle flicks of his blade and dancing with his feet using as little effort as possible. He would not strike until it was time. The sound of steel on steel raged for several minutes, Lord Henri attacking wilding, followed by a swift counter-attack from Sir Neville that would push him back, many more Knights had gathered round and watched the display, it was fast, brutal and quick.

 Sir Neville finally saw the opening he was looking for, Lord Henri brought his sword around once more from Sir Neville's right at near his head hit, Sir Neville caught the underside of his blade with the tip of his and launched it upwards. The sword flew out of his hands and into the air, nearly knocking one of the Knights over, however he dodged out the way and the blade went spiralling into a peasant who was standing behind, piercing his cheap armour and pinning him to the floor.

“Surrender.” Sir Neville said as he pointed his sword to his victim's neck.

“I Surrender, Sir Neville.” Lord Henri replied. He had been defeated, and humiliated again.

 “Good.” Sir Neville lowered his sword. “You fought well, but I fought just a little bit better. Maybe we can duel again, as friends next time.”

 “If you say so.” Lord Henri replied, his was visibly upset over his humiliation.

“I do, now where is that horse of mine, I must return home.” Sir Neville looked around, and saw Gulliver standing by Sir John, the horse had walked over to see the spectacle himself.

“Good duel Sir Neville.” Sir John said as he helped him on to his horse, Sir Neville grumbled as he got on.

“An unnecessary duel if you ask me.” Sir Neville replied. “By the way Sir John, if you ever happen to be near the vaults, look me up, you will always be welcome in my keep.”

 “Really? I'll hold you too that Sir Neville, is it far from here?”

“Only half a days ride really, don't suppose you could talk to my squire and have him sent all my equipment back home, my father will be waiting for news of the battle you see, I'd rather get there before it does.”

 “Certainly Sir, after saving my life, it is the very least I could do.” Sir John replied. Sir Neville turned Gulliver around and trotted him off to where he dropped his lance, he always seemed to know exactly where he had dropped it. He came over to it, still attached to the dead Orc, and ripped it off the ground. He turned around and trotted back over to Sir John,who was walking in the direction of his lost horse. “Keep an eye on this for me will you? Make sure my squire gets it.” Sir Neville shouted as he threw the lance to Sir John's feet. “I will do Sir, don't you worry.” Sir John smiled back as Sir Neville turned Gulliver off and made him head for home at last. Glad to have survived another brutal battle in the saga that was the land of Bretonnia.