Battle - the description thereof

[Coney]

This is a battle that I've tried to describe from on omnipotent (although centered around the major characters viewpoint) POV.

I think that mass battle is one of the hardest fields of fantasy writing.............please add your own examples and critiques

*this is a WIP (work in progress) and needs to be edited for the final draft*

Tuchri steeled himself as the Falcan warriors charged across the field towards them. All around he heard mutters and gasps of unconsciously held breath as the Keerland soldiers struggled to comprehend that the thousands of black leather-clad barbarians had but one aim, their death.

The distance between them was disappearing all too quickly. The enemies distant screams of rage were closing in and the booted feet which so recklessly hurtled across the meadow were only a second behind those screams. With hands lathered in cold sweat Tuchri gripped his sword so tight his fingers became numb. He didn’t notice. A pair of eyes in that rushing mob had met his. A pair of eyes in a man who had chosen Tuchri as the one he would kill. Tuchri didn’t know this man, he knew that he never would but with a grip of fear which felt as though it would burst his heart he knew that this man would, it far too few seconds, turn his hate into a frenzied attack on his body.
Every fibre of him screamed run. But the thousands of Keerland behind him stopped any chance. Only one way to go. Forward.
The eyes were blue. The face murderously distorted as the man screamed through a spittle soaked beard. Tuchri hunched his shoulder behind his shield and clenched every muscle as the empty paces of the onrush dwindled. Twenty, ten, five.

Blueyes smashed into him and the press of Falcan followed. Tuchri did not fall, the sheer mass of men supported him. As he raked back breath into his lungs he felt his ribs groaning and threatening to snap under the pressure. Blueyes, just a head and shoulders in the compressed throng, spat and bit at his face over his shield. Hands grabbed at his waist and legs. Tuchri struggled uselessly to free his arm and sword.

Arms and shoulders pressed at his back, slowly edging him forward. Tuchri tried to resist, it was useless. Suddenly the pressure in front stopped and Tuchri lurched forward, slamming into Blueyes who grabbed his shield, pulling them both to the ground. A dozen boots crashed onto his legs and back. Blueyes, with great strength, pushed him upright onto his haunches. Jumping backwards onto his feet, Tuchri gasped as a blow from an unseen sword bit into his thigh. He lashed with his sword but could not tell who it hit, the blade remained clean. Blueyes rained blows on him, a short handled axe crashed again and again onto his shield. Tuchri, with a horrible knowing that his shield arm would brake, swung his sword high and down, he screamed as it struck and stuck.

They held each other with eyes of disbelief. Tuchri standing, Blueyes fallen onto his knees. Tuchri’s hand held his sword which had cloven through the leather, skin, flesh and collarbone of Blueyes shoulder. Instinctively he yanked back the sword and Blueyes fell as a rush of blood seemed to almost leap at Tuchri. The red gore covered his face and shoulders. Blinded by it, choking as he breathed it’s copper heat, he dropped his sword to wipe it from his eyes and mouth. A blow landed on his back, pushing him onto his belly. A scream assaulted his ears and a pain ripped its way through his shield arm. Boots once more thundered on and around him. Bile rose in his throat and nose. Choking on it he spat it into the blood soaked grass. A weight like a mountain fell on him, forcing the air from his lungs, the bile rose again but he had no wind to clear it. Slowly he felt himself drifting in darkness.