The Last Templar [antikvár]

PROLOGUEAcre, Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem, i2giThe Holy Land is lost.That single thought kept assaulting Martin of Carmaiix, its brutal finality more terrifying than the hordes of fighters swarming through the breach in the wall.He fought to block the thought, to push it away.Now was not the time to lament. He had work to do.Men to kill.His broadsword held high, he charged through the clouds of choking smoke and dust and plunged into the seething ranks of the enemy. They were everywhere, their scimitars and axes ripping into flesh, their warrior howls piercing the haunting, rhythmic beat of the kettle drummers outside the fortress walls.With all of his strength, he brought down his sword, splitting one man's skull clear to the eyes, his blade springing free as he lunged at his next opponent. Flicking a quick glance to his right, he spotted Aimard of Villiers driving his sword into the chest of another attacker before moving on to his next opponent. Dazed by the wails of pain and the screams of rage around him, Martin felt someone clutch at his left hand and swiftly clubbed the offender away with the pommel of his sword before bringing down its blade, feeling it cut through muscle and bone. From the comer of his eye, he sensed something menacingly close to his right and instinctively swung his sword at it, slicing through the upper arm of another one of the invaders before slashing open his cheek and severing his tongue in one blow.It had been hours since he or any of his comrades had known any respite. The Muslim onslaught had not only been