The ground shook under the furious impact of spears and hooves. The wind whipped across the plains, startling both man and beast. Thousands of torches littered the sky, illuminated the jeering faces from underneath them. Every now and then, a bolt would hail down from the heavens and cast its light upon the scene. All around the Hill, the torches stood. The Davain army, alone with its grief, stood outnumbered.
The boy shuddered with the passing wind, the bronze disk beginning to dig into the flesh of his hand. His face was stained with crusted blood, drawn from a light wound inflicted within the battle of Gyarth. His dark hair was matted to the back of his neck, sealed with thick grime and grit. He had long since abadoned the mainstay of his armor- Xean had demanded full mobility of the troops and the cubersome armor proved too much in the time of flight- and his clothes had been torn beyond recognition. With trembling hands, the boy hurridly whispered the Last Prayers [1] to the One. The boy was lucky- he had managed to take a line towards the top of the Hill. He could even see when Xean and Teos had prepared their stand.
The army had been gathered around the Hill, a tight circle formed. The boy watched as Xean gave his speech, urging the men to die the only way- according to various historians- a Davian dies: heroically. And then, after silence took power over everything except for the occasional thunderbreak, they waitied for the advance.
The Knight made the first move, taking the initative as usual. The boy stared in shook as the ground shook underneath the cavarly charge, pebbles and small rocks bouncing from the jolting impacts. The torches had died by now, the battel given only in the few light breaks provided by the One. Nevertheless, the boy could see the sea of horseriders flying towards the dead men. They were, in his simply opinion, as barbaric as the Legali[3] were centuries ago. Each man clad in feirce armor, giving the same impression of a fleeing demon from some greater evil. The swords glistened in the night, giving rise to the lewd horrors of the night.
Even from his distance, the boy could feel the jolt of impact as the cavarly hit the lowest flanks. Spear met blade, flesh met armor, beast met fragile bodies. The Knights wore their way through the flanks, forced to kill each and every man as they fought their way upwards, despite their attempts to simply wound the soldiers and avoiding heavy fighting. Yet, even with their constant lossess, the boy could see his brethen holding strong with their desperate attempts.
The boy could hear the rage of Xean's voice strike out across the battle as he ordered the makeshift archers to fire. A thousand invisible arrows flew naked through the sky, crashing down into friend and foe in the raging fight. The boy watched in horror as a knight sliced the neck upon of a friend, then fell himself to the justified pike of a random spear.
The violence multiplied as the fighting grew only more intense. A knight urged his horse on, trampling the bodies of a few soldiers- then was brought down by a random falling arrow. A soldier thrust his spear into the neck of an enemy, only to be cut down the next minute by a misjudged arrow. Both sides fought with a ferocity unknown before in the mortal world- Xean's force out of love for life, the Kight's out of love for commander. Needless to say, death met death that night.
Slowly, ever slowly, the Khermians forced back the flanks. The entire force of knights had engaged in the battle, and now the other components of the army were beginning to reach the scene. The Khermians fought their way up the hill, slaying man after man in their way.
The boy watched in horror as a common Khermian footman came charging at him, blade drawn in a high arc. The Khemrian launched a mighty slash- barely grazing the right arm of the boy- before the One interfered enough to have a friend down the man. Shaken out of his horror, the boy shoved his own spear into another onrushing enemy. The battle had begun for the boy.
What has been given can be taken, what has been lost can be found, and what has been destroyed reborn. The One is my god and there are none but him.Gaevrn nur baecher, Vaeliu orvaer
In the end, it was poetic justice that ended the battle. Of the thousand soldiers that defended the top, it has been reported that only two survived. One, managing to play himself off as a Khermian, managed to make his way back to Davar and his family. The other, spared somehow by the might of the One, wrote that accord of the battle.
That boy's name was Daer.
[1]Last Prayers- the common prayer issued at the beginning of a battle, used to smooth any fear shown in the soldiers.