…Spears and Shields Raised
The warrior dismounted his sturdy stead. The battlefield lay strewn equine and human bodies. This battle had no winners. The grassy field lay blurred in the stain of blood. The smell of death had not yet overcome this place, but the warrior was sure it soon would. He slowly made his way across the field looking for one soldier in particular. This one he hoped not to find amoung those who had fallen. Eerie silence filled his heart and his ears. There were no moans of the dieing. No cries of pain, only silence. After a few moments, he came across a ridge. Here the battle had raged heaviest. The toll was enumerable for either side.
His heart stopped as his eyes locked upon a tapestry. This was not just any tapestry. It was the banner of his line. His Family Crest adorned its face. Its intricate stitching of gold and silver thread now marred and torn. He approached the tapestry slowly, hoping his worst fears had not been realized. The tapestry lie covering the face of its bearer. The warrior knelt to pull it back. As he did, he became aware of a saber at his back. His attacker had been stealthy. He had approached without even the slightest clammer of armor or rubbing of leathermail.
The warrior slowly stood. As the attacker spoke, the warrior’s heart lept with joy. He turned. There stood his youngest brother, alive and well. He had pleaded with their father not to let the youngest go into battle. Father wouldn’t hear it. He had almost hated his father for ignoring his plea that would save his siblings life. “He is not fit for battle.” the warrior thought time and time again. Yet, here his brother stood. The only apparent survivor of a cold, cruel night.
“What happened here, my brother?” the warrior calmly asked as his younger sibling lowered his sword with a smile. “They attacked as we prepared to sleep. It was not expected.” The results spread across the battlefield were evidence of that. “We had set camp and were preparing to hold up for the night in the edge of that wood, when they sprang upon us like rats.” The warrior reached out his gloved arm to his brother’s shoulder. “Do you know who?” The younger just shook his head. “They bore no flags or markings. They dressed only in black and appeared to vanish into thin air as quickly as they came.” “How did you survive such an onslaught, my brother?” the warrior questioned. “I was in the wood gathering firewood for the encampment when I saw the figures in black slip from their holes. I remained hidden. Was I wrong to do so? You have seen so much more battle than I.” The warrior paused, then said “No, my brother. Had you come out of hiding you too would be lost to the fate of your friends.”
This place would haunt their soles for eternity. They gathered what personal belongings they could carry from each man. These trinkets would identify them to their kin. The warrior mounted his stead and then pulled his brother up. “We will go from here. We will find the black devils who did this, but first, we must find more swords to bolster our numbers.” They rode back toward the main encampment near the river to inform the King of the masacre. They spoke little as they journeyed along. If they could not find their advisary, the land as they knew it would not be safe.
They rode on with purpose to reach the King. As they did, a pair of stealthy eyes watched from a distance, following them like a shadow on a bright sunny day, duplicating their moves seamingly effortlessly. As the warrior and his kin arrived at the encampment, their shadow too stopped in his place. He too had been the lone survivor of his comrads. He would have his revenge. He let out a cry of terror as he raised his sword and ran toward the King’s tent. As he did, the King’s archers took aim with deadly accuracy. The predator had become prey. He broke off his attack. As so much smoke in the wind, he disappeared from the archer’s gaze. Neither side would win this battle. On the contrary, both had lost and paid a terrible price.