OK, here is my second attempt at a power moment. I want this to be inspiration to those who write medieval fantasy rather than about magic. A character doesn't have to be magic-based to compete in this contest.
Let me introduce you to Tazar.
Bristling spears tangled and vied for position. Tazar lunged to the side, avoiding a point that jabbed for his right eye. The line of combat was chaos incarnate, looking more like a jumble of knitting needles than an organized front.
Two shield walls held fast, leaving soldiers on either side to reach over their protective barriers, trying to score a hit. Spears thrust through any opening as the opposing side tried to grab the weapons and pull them out enemy hands. Both men and women shoved, grunted and howled insults or encouragement to each other.
On the side of the good guys, the shields interlocked, protecting the braced priests from the stabbing melee above and in front of them. The bad guys had a distinct advantage. Two layers deep, their shield wall wore so much armor they looked like iron-clad barrels. All the spears behind them had to do was flail until they scored.
An enemy weapon scored a hit on the priest next to Tazar, denting the man's leather armor and taking him off his feet. The gold bracelet on the other fighter’s wrist popped like breaking glass.
Without the magical bracer keeping him protected from the shield, Tazar could see the strain in the other man's eyes. Shaking his head like a dog, the downed fighter let his brothers pick him up by the armpits and made a shaky path away from the front line. The chosen weapon of their Order lay in the dirt, abandoned like a piece of firewood.
These Games were anything but. The weapons might be made out of wood, but the stakes were real.
The long-armed fighter aiming for Tazar’s face used the distraction to tap his helmet. The curved skullcap deflected the blow. Tazar’s bracelet didn’t break.
The spear goaded him, jabbing closer to his face.
He grabbed the spear’s tip and gave it a heave, yanking it out of the enemy’s hands. Swinging the weapon through the tangle of knitting needles, Tazar pulled his arm back, grateful that the soldier-priests behind him were short.
Drawing his arm back, he aimed, using the spear as a javelin.
Tazar grunted and lunged, releasing the weapon into a low arc.
The oversized lance flew into the air.
The weapon made contact with head of the man who enjoyed taunting Tazar. The enemy soldier’s head flew back, taking the rest of the body to the ground. Two or three others fell alongside their comrade in a healthy pile.
The sound of shattering glass followed.
Satisfied, Tazar was willing to go back to keeping the shield wall from being shoved off their feet, but someone pressed another wooden spear into his hand. The tip of this spear had a blunt tip, but the point wore barbs and was carved in a wide base to prevent the point from accidentally piercing through someone’s armor. The other team didn’t use any similar caution.
Yet another reason they were the bad guys. Tazar aimed at the shouting leader of the barrel-armored shield wall.
The javelin hit with full force, but the well-armored soldier stayed standing. Tazar heard a muffled but mocking laugh that made him want to grind his teeth.
This was going nowhere. He tapped the helmet of the soldier behind him. Eyes turned toward Tazar, darting back to the fray soon after.
“What?” demanded a woman’s voice.
There was a lady in there? Tazar made sure to include her in his bubble of things-to-be-protected. “Change the rules. We’re going low!” he ordered. Letting out a piercing whistle that would have made Airen proud, Tazar caught the attention of another over-sized fighter a few places down. “You! Over here!”
In this press, it was going to take time before anyone could join up. Tazar looked to his other side.
A spear nearly caught him in the nose.
Grabbing it on the thrust, Tazar jammed the weapon back at the user and heard a satisfying yelp of pain. He used a brief respite to whistle at another couple soldiers making shade for the little people around them.
Three more started maneuvering his way at the signal. Another was too focused, failing to see anything but the melee in front of him. No matter. Five was a lucky number.
Tazar waited until all five of them were together. “Grab a shield and give a shove!” He tapped the helmet of the woman with her hooked spear.
“Now!” he roared.
Behira’s priests pulled their spears back, stabbing under the pointed edge of the heater shields. The weapons darted forward, using the flat edge of the blade to hook the ankles of the over-armored fighters.
“Heave!” he shouted to his Lucky Five. Grabbing one of the shield-wall fighters by the waist, he used the man as a ram on the bad-guy’s torso.
Catching the hint, the other tall men followed suit, knocking down a row of armored soldiers like players on a board.
There was no sound of glass breaking but Tazar didn’t care. These overdone suits were too heavy for the wearers to sit up. Just to make sure, Tazar stepped on the enemy’s helmet to keep him down.
Taking short stomps to keep his footing, Tazar advanced, using the good-guy and his shield as protection. He punched the heater shield into the next layer of metal-barrel armor.
The shield wall began to fall.