Chapter 3: King's Play: Part I and Part II

I

Arthada, the border with the Velesar. Two armies readied themselves for one final assault. Victory or defeat, there is nothing else, there is no middle ground. King Hirtan and King Reta, where at each other's throats for months, finally, it's time to decide the victor. King Reta and King Hirtan have the same number of men, 20, 000-strong. The commanders gave the signal; the army was divided into smaller groups. They waited, for the horn to blow. Their nerves were on edge, Finally, the horn blows, they charge. The battle is even, for now, both sides have severed heavy loses, if the battle continues, they will lose the numbers they have. King Hirtan, himself has decided that it's time to finish the battle.

“Your Grace, you must hurry!” the general shouted behind the king.

“I won't leave them!” the king turned to the general; half of his face was covered in dried blood.

“Your face…”

“It's nothing, just a flesh wound.”

“We need a counter-attack and fast.” the captain rushed to them.

“What's happening out there?!” the king was on edge.

“Nothing good, your grace…” the captain said.

“Continue!!!”

“The left flank won't hold for long.”

“That's not good.” The general said in a low voice.

“We need more men.”

“We don't have more men.”

“What about the Pathar Army?” the sergeant approached the king.

“It will take hours for them to come.”

“We don't have that much time.” the king dismissed the idea.

“The king is right.”

 “We make a stand here.”

“Wait for them to come.”

“The Velesar's are light armored, I just don't get it.”

“We will see.”

The ground trembled as they marched. The light infantry was in front of the archers and cavalry. Fear could be seen on their faces. Their strategy was worth nothing now; they couldn't attack from the behind.

“They're near arrow range, Your Grace…”

“Loose!!!”

The boiled leather armor could do little to protect from the rain of arrows. One by one they were failing only to be replaced by another one from the row behind.

The archers moved forward; bows ready.

“Draw!”

“Loose!”

Olgierd and his group have broken through the front lines. Olgierd cuts, he stabs. The Velesar fall like leaves in front of his blade.

 The king was ready for anything. Something was terribly wrong, he felt it in his bones. The Velesar moved forward, their faces were stern. What are they doing? How could they? Are they so bold? The king turned to his commander, silently he looked at them. In his heart he knew that they would survive. The only question is, how many. He didn't know how many would survive.

The commander gave the signal, the archers moved two rows forward. Everything was on them now; everything relied on them; everything would be over in a heartbeat.

“Loose!” he yells.

“Fire! Like your life is on line!” the field marshal Feri yells.

“Fire! Fire, at will!” they shouted as one.

The king holds his breath; the scale is on their side now. He only hoped that it would stay that way. His sword flashes. The soldiers eagerly await the king's command.

“Shield-wall!” the king commands.

 The formation changed. The Velesar are only ten feet away. Silence. They charge head-on. Nobody looks at the consequences. There is no room for that; a true warrior knows that. They don't fear death. Their whole lives flash before their eyes. A death on the battlefield, to them, was a true death. Everything else was false. Everything else shamed the family name.

The Velesar are only five feet away. Their grip is steady, their movement precise. It's over in a moment. Piles of the dead are buried, as is tradition. The Girdians leave no one, not even their worst enemies.

A sign of relief could be seen on the commander's face. They survived this battle, but one battle doesn't make a war. For now, they will taste the sweet smell of victory.

“I still have a strange feeling.” the king said.

“What kind, Your Grace?” the field marshal asked.

“That this only the beginning.”

“Maybe, but we have won.”

“I find comfort in that.”

“It's time for a celebration.”

“You are right.”

“There is time for everything.”

“It's long march to the capital."

II

Aeritha, capital city of Girdian. People gathered on the main street to greet their King. The bells rang. The festival is about to start. The king entered first; followed by his generals. A victory-arc was constructed in their honor.

“Long live, the King!”

“Long live, the King!”

“Long live, the general!”

“Long live, the commander!”

The day was hot and humid. It looked like it, that every citizen was on the street to greet the King. The knight all them rode in a single line. Their heads were held high. There was no one in the world this day; except them and they know it. The people were dressed in bright, exotic colors. A stranger looked at them from the crowd, he was discussed. The knights looked more like a parade than the valiant heroes that saved them. The stranger turned and left.

“What's with that guy?” somebody asked from the crowd.

“I don't know.” said the other man.

“I know. Just look at the knights; they are a parade.” said the old man.

“True. Chivalry has fallen low.”

“I'm leaving.”

One of the knights saw them. He didn't mind them. They are only peasants; nothing more. They aren't worthy of his attention. The parade continued.

A woman looked at the young knight. Her face was simple, but pretty. He always liked those women. Those were the type that didn't a high opinion about themselves and their heads weren't in the clouds.

The parade shined like the inside of a cathedral. The knight were proud of their shinny armor, which only meant, that there was more work for the squires.

Olgierd was in front his squad. The fearless hunters, they call them. They are more than earned their name.

End of King's Play Part I and Part II