The full moon hung in the sky low and full illuminating the silhouette of a lone rider surging through the black and twisted forests. Horse and rider moved as one flowing muscle and breathe as if they were two parts of the same body. Pure unbridled energy flowing through the night on paths unseen. There was no pause, no slight hesitation only urgent movement. Hoof beats sounded rhythmic, hypnotic, just a low pounding in the night breaking the calm of the still blackness. A whispering promise of what was to come.
The red dawn sun begins to overtake the blackness a crimson line slicing the horizon like a sword. Still the rider’s journey continued. Trees with shimmering green leaves lost in the haze of the morning blurring the world in emerald fog. They closed the world in an earthen blanket, everything blurred to green as the black cloaked rider galloped.
The forest melted away into a barren plain. Fertile leaves replaced by choking dust empty land blinding in the noon day sun. Still the rider pressed on cloak whipping in the breeze generated by the flowing rhythm of man and horse. Two bodies one heart one motion indistinguishable from body to body.
Plains became pastures. Houses started to appear. Stone cottages with thatched roofs housing the tenders of the fields and their kin. Curious faces started to appear hailing the rider for news. All blurred in the midst of the rider. They couldn’t stop becoming like the shadow phantoms of legend, there and gone. Only hoof prints were left behind as a testament of their existence.
Soon lone farm houses became villages. Villages flowed into great rich golden cities. Towers soared into the sky blocking out the bright sun as if they were eliminating any rival to their beauty and awe inspiring presence. The rider’s hooves clattered noisily on the stone covered streets still no one gave him mind. Rich folks too wrapped up in the grand play that was their lives no time to study anything around them. They worked so hard to build those great towers that now go unseen. Bright cloths clung to their bodies as further testament to their wealth.
The rider’s pace became more urgent, the journey was almost over. A castle appeared in the distance, its stone battlements curbing the arrogance of the bright sun. Black slate towers put the forest to sham by the sheer size and presence. The rider turned sharply moving towards the castle as if drawn to it by an unseen thread. A fast flowing moat stopped the rider dead in his tracks. The horse stood there panting as the rider dismounted. “Open these gates” the command was sharp and the drawbridge was lowered across the moat.
Servants taken from lands abroad came out and tended to the rider’s horse whispering in a language as old as time. The rider paid them no mind and strode into the courtyard of the hallowed citadel. The courtyard was shrouded in a layer of snow. Twisted white trees with strange brightly colored fruits lay spaced out across the massive terrace. Without pause the rider moved to the mammoth oaken doors gripping the iron handle worn smooth from centuries of use.
The door swung open bringing a dark hall into light. This was a familiar territory for the rider. Each archway felt like an old friend, each door a path home. Steeling himself the rider opened a door different from the rest. While the other doors were made of various woods this one was steel inlaid with gold and jewels. The handle was silver so pure it gleamed in the near absolute blackness of this fortress home.
The rider gripped the silver and forced open the door stopping in the entryway to admire the chamber of the lord. The cavernous enclosure was carpeted in rich amethyst with matching tapestries on the walls. Golden symbols etched on a purple backdrop of elegance wound serpent like around the walls. Arched windows filled with stained glass cast blue and red shows over everything. Barbarian guards garbed in rough animal skins gripped spears and glared at the rider with distrust. They stood aside to show their noble charge.
He sat on a throne of stone carved from the cliffs themselves. Broad hands gripped arms worn smooth from the kings before him. He was a bear of a man with wild dark hair and a beard that blended into his coarse chest hair. A crown of wrought iron circled his head its gems invisible in the tangle of hair. “What news bring you?” a deep booming voice echoed across the vast chamber. The rider reached into his cloak and pulled out a yellowing piece of sealed parchment.
The king roared with rage and flung himself from his chair raising his sword. “To war to war my brother’s to war. Sharpen sword, gather shield, and prepare to honor your ancestors.” The guards howled in response and raised their oaken spears so their heads shown in the light, looking red with the stained glass.
At once the rider was off on a fresh horse moving from town to town spreading the message. A chance for honor has come at last. All able men followed him creating a dark mass of youthful enthusiasm. Soon the peaceful hills were transformed into a grand display. Pavilions stood tall and proud brightly colored banners blew and fluttered in the gentle spring breeze. Noble houses from all across the realm all waiting for a chance to bring glory to their father’s names.
Drums beat slowly bringing all warriors from their tents. Bright steel showed in the lustrous morning sun. They slowly marched into formation banging spear against shield mimicking the drums power. The war song began. The music was drum and horse hoof, the choir clanging armor, a dirge as old as time itself was summoned as man and beast prepared to ascertain their right to call themselves noble.
At once the sun was extinguished and the world plunged into twilight. A mass of bodies appeared, cloaked in red with eyes that glowed like embers from hell’s deepest level. The monsters roared into the night freezing the hearts of even the most seasoned combatant. They raised their arms at once and a crack ripped across the acropolis. Shadow beast flowed from the gorge. Muscle and sinew made of liquid blackness; the coldest night made to flesh the horrors rose up on talon paws and bayed to the empty sky. Forked tongues flicked from their jaws tasting the air. Fear’s bitter liquor moved loving down their throats to caress sinister hearts.
“Show no fear” The king shouted from his war horse. There were no animal skins now, no sign of the drunken barbarian from the castle. This Khan sat with the presence of a god in full armor. His breastplate showed luminously in the soft moon light golden and dignified like the man himself. His shield bore the image on a rearing lion robbed in purple with three whip like tails. At their King’s show of daring the men at arms began to once again pound their shields.
As if it we pre-ordained the first charge didn’t occur until the moon graced over the horizon. By some unseen sign both side clamored into a gallop racing across the hallowed proving grounds of adulthood. Both sides met with a crash as both struggled for the advantage. Claws raked across steel and wood while swords scraped across scales. A cruel game of tug of war played with blood and lives.
It took almost twenty minutes for the first drop of blood to collide with earth. A man’s spear fell from his hand and the spiked tail of a monster burst from his back. He fell unacknowledged by his comrades and died an agonizing death, just another casualty; a coin to pay the cost of highborn living. All nobles must fight, that is all that is expected of them, that is their raison de tra. From birth they are taught that this was a good death but to the man experiencing it there was no glory only agony and the cold realization that it was all for nothing.
The barrage raged on for a fortnight then two. Neither side saw an end to the futile slaughter. The crimson life of the fallen painted the hills of battle in vermillion hues. Appendages and gore lay there ground into the earth by hooves and boots until they could not be recognized. Each day the pile of dead grew higher until at last a wall of carrion stood; it was an endless buffet for the vultures and scavengers that had pilgrimed to this scared feast.
When it was over no songs of victory were sung. Wives and mother’s lamented from the dead and wailed into the night. Children sat ignorant of what had happened unaware that their fathers would never return to them. There was no victory for this, there was no victory.
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