When the dust settled, the King’s eyes beheld what a day’s worth of battle gained him.
The fields before him were littered with bodies; some wearing his colours, and some wearing the colours of the King of Ithligor. Where once was green, now was red and silver and strained. Weapons belonging to the fallen lay about, beside their former masters, useless.
The King looked to his right. There stood the victors. His knights, Sir Chairing and Sir Rhupe, sat upon their horses, their stained swords still held in their hands. About them stood his footmen, loyal soldiers and peasants who wished to aid their king. They were wearing, all, and wished only to set camp and eat and sleep.
The King looked to his left. On the furthest hills of the moor, he could see the last of the remaining force of King of Ithligor. There weren’t more than a dozen, many on foot, one on a horse. That last horseman the King knew well. The knight had left the King’s service many months before to aid the King of Ithligor’s plans to attack the King. Traitor. Continue reading “It Happens In A Blink”