Death of a King: Birth of a Nation

The crisp air had begun to brighten as the rays of the sun drifted from behind the grim mountains. The suns incandescence driving out the morning gloom. The blades of sunlight stabbing through the thick fog, casting an azure light over the mass of armed men, the slightly sloping basin of grass and immortal trees, that housed the two colossal armies. Tension hung in the air, so thick it could be sliced. All were silent, lost in thought, awaiting the on coming deaths battle would bring.

The troops were arranged on opposite sides of the basin. Defenders lined the east side, a band of desperate men. Disarrayed, but with a single advantage, the defence of their people. In the centre stood the proud, but mismatched foot soldiers. A large array of weapons held in their hands. Skilled hunters behind them, posing as archers, carrying long, hunting bows. To the left and right perched the knights on their stallions adorned in heavy armour, calm and safe in their castles of steel. Mighty catapults and ballista sat behind in the murky background, willing to unleash their loads.

Bright breastplates and spears shone on the west. Disciplined soldiers and seasoned warriors waiting to slaughter the defenders. Spearmen stood on the flanks of the bulk of foot soldiers, waiting to tear through defender cavalry. Archers held their ground behind the spearmen, stringing their bows.

Kaile thought back to the warrior kings words:

"My people," he had boomed in his deep, husky voice. " The time has come to send back those who would vanquish our people. Our fight for freedom has been for many years. This is the final battle. This decides our fate!" A tear rolled down his bearded cheek and splashed onto his steel breastplate.

Kaile checked his equipment. The two short-swords hung from each leg. His shield strapped to his back, behind which, his great, double handed sword.

The fog had started to break, the risen sun pouring in, giving both armies their first - and only - glimpse of each other before the coming carnage. As their eyes met fear rose to join the tension. In the far distance there could be seen the grey, ashen mountains, thrust up to dominate the sky line.

Trumpets screeched, the warriors stirring, shifting, rippling as they stood. The whip of catapult arms cracked like thunder, sending the large boulders lashing the air to fall on milling soldiers. Shrieking spears, thrown by the almighty arms of the ballista, joined this colossal bombardment. This caused a wave of confusion to spread among the enemy soldiers. Panic began to spread, the fighting line breaking. Commanders used all of their influence to bring order back to the force.

Astan placed a quiver full of arrows by his side and attached the string to his bow, pulling the string taught, before selecting an arrow. The mud covered tip would add to the wound it would make, causing disease and infection. Calmly, he drew back the string to his cheek. Whistling marked the release of a hail of arrows from both foes. Yelps from the dead and dying filled the basin.

Then came the drums.

Those rumbling tolls of doom, bringing death closer with each beat. That deep, almost dark sound, signalling the mobilization of the massed men. Thumping of feet joined the drums, shaking the very air like an earthquake.

Burning hatred erupted into the heavens as the two sides roared, washing towards each other. Men were falling as they ran, but Kaile kept going strong. He was in the frenzy of battle his dark green eyes looked as if a fire were burning in them.