"Vaars Zelderloo, it is said, killed his entire extended family to secure his position as King. As such, your father had no qualms about doing the same for Vaars III, securing it as a tradition for House Zelderloo. I wonder who will slaughter Vaars V's family? I would love to stay and find out but, I have an appointment I really must keep." - Last words of the Biljvank Court Jester to the young King Jaap-Jan Biljvank II before being executed.

The vanguard of the Desravank army stood tall and wide. Twenty-five thousand soldiers armed with spear, shield, and axe. Knights and their charges, bearing their own sigils, sprinkled themselves amongst the sea of black and white that was the levy of House Obbink. Standing at the very front, donned in her families plate and great helm with horns for goring, was the Duchess Nadine Obbink, the Duchess Obbinkerloo, her axe drawn and ready. To her left, with horns of equal utilization, was Andronikos, newly appointed chief of the Chiyou, surrounded by five-thousand Bull men, all willing to die and ready to take as many along with them. To her right, wearing his families plate, was her lover and future husband, Prince Thijn Biljvank; his greatsword rested on his shoulders, poised for conflict. Before them all, was a wild and unleashed man whom the duchess had learned to fear - not out of a concern that he should win the day, but that he will implement all forms of cruel savagery he could imagine in his attempt. After all, it was cruelty mingled with ambition which had brought the false Duke Martien Ruuding to this position, conspiring behind the backs of his own brother and nieces to seize control of Rodzijl. His soldiers were adorned in the light blue and white checkered colors of his house, with their shields hosting the full sigil of the wild man's head of crimson. The duke paced in front of his line, equally filled with anxiety as they gripped their spears and hatchets. A devious grin was smeared across his face as he locked eyes with the duchess, filling her with the mixed desire to know what went on within such a mind and to see his grin cut from his face. No more waiting, as the air suddenly fell still, no wind penetrated, no birds called out, there was complete and utter silence as both nobles raised their weapons high into the sky. The battle, had begun.

Arrows flew from one side to the other, screams followed, ringing out from either side. Raising her shield, a javelin pierced through the wood, stopping just before her face. Hatchets had begun to rain down as well, with Nadine giving the word as her soldiers returned the bladed gifts. She looked to Andronikos, and she looked to Thijn - Thijn, greatsword in hand, the two had made a pact not to let the other out of their sights this day, they would not be separated again. Nadine's knuckles went white as she gripped the handle of her axe, raising it high once more - enough of this playing from afar, the sound of wood being struck and splintering had droned on long enough; she gave the next signal. A roar of thunder was all that could be heard across the field as the thousands of feet pounded the earth beneath them, charging with spears out to eviscerate their enemy.

Spears shattered against shields as hatchets tore them away. The screaming and grunting of peasants who had been forced into a conflict not of their own making deadened any voices with commands. Nadine clenched her jaw fiercely as the pain from her collar bone returned, bringing her shield arm low. Damn that priest, they had said the herbs would numb the pain. This laps in her defenses opened her wide to a stray axe which careened for her, striking her helm and sending her backwards with a heavy grunt. Left arm still immobilized, she spun herself around to show this foe how a real soldier swings an axe, swinging blindly into the mass of bodies before her. She felt a jolt as her weapon met resistance, turning to see that she had struck the neck of a soldier now coated in crimson, blue, and white. She thanked Bershion she had not hit one of her own; there were too many of them surrounding her, each side now pressed directly up against the other, vying for dominance on this arbitrary line, hoping to break through and shatter their enemies resolve. Managing to ignore the pain in her collar, the duchess lifted her shield with a limp grasp and pressed forward. Glancing around, she saw her love close behind, heaving his great sword through countless foes. She attempted to get closer, noticing as she fray began to pull them away from each other.

"Nadine!" She heard his shout from afar now, his physical form no longer in her direct line of sight. She continued to slash through gambesons of light blue and white, bodies falling in heaps at her feet. There was nothing but chaos all around - the line would not hold much longer. Signaling her retinue with a nod of her head, Nadine raced towards the sound of her lover's voice and the screams of enemies. Bursting through, she now saw Prince Thijn in all of his glory. Swinging his greatsword above his head, he spun this way and that, dancing about the battlefield to keep spears away, each one too fearful to get too close - for those who did, soon saw their head hit the ground before their body. Calling for her retinue to join his, she carved down the side of a Rodzijl shieldbearer, cleaving their right arm off entirely before rearing back and driving a horn into another one's face. The duchess took up her position beside Thijn, the two of them now carving a path through the enemies line. We must break theirs first.

"What do you think, love?" Prince Thijn asked as he pulled back next her, having just freed his blade from the chest of a knight in azure and crimson.

"What do I think of what?" Nadine leaped back from a spear thrust, Thijn pinned the shaft with his foot while she jumped forward, burying her axe into the skull of the wielder.

"The line has broken, we are immersed in utter chaos." The old prince kicked the back of the leg of an enemy knight, sending them to one knee, allowing him to bring his sword down on their neck.

"That is how war goes, love." Nadine turned slightly to her side, barely raising her shield to block the swing of a hatchet, spun quick and stabbed the neck of her assailant with the tip of hers. She gritted her teeth, swallowing the pain with the best of her ability.

"Should we not call some of our forces back to regroup?" Thijn swung his blade whirling around his head, bringing it down firmly against the shield of a Ruuding levy, shattering it in twain and coming through to make contact with the wielder.

"They show no signs of stopping, and I fear what Martien will do if we show ourselves running. No, we must press on until they break." And already it seemed they were doing so. But that could just be an illusion. After all, who knew how far in they had pushed themselves? Perhaps only the levy in their immediate vicinity had begun to show exhaustion. And where was Andronikos? As she thought this, she turned to see Prince Thijn struggling to wrench his weapon back out of the ground, as well as the soldier he brought low with it. It was then she watched in horror as a spear point found purchase between on of the gaps in his armor, sending the old prince backwards in pain. Furious, she leapt out and heaved her axe down on her lover's attacker, swung her shield to smash the face of one beside her, and head butted another to her right. Searing pain shot through her torso from her collar, but she continued onward. Pulling herself back, she nearly ducked out of the way of an enemy mace, feeling it make contact and see her left horn go flying off of her great helm. She turned to fight back but saw as her retinue did away with them and any other who might come too close, joining with Thijn's so that she might go to him.

"Are you all right?"

"Never better, love." The old prince winced as he stood, drew his longsword from his hip, gripping it with both hands - now coated with his own blood - and signaled to continue forward. Horns blared followed by the thunder of hooves as Andronikos was seen rushing through, tearing a hole in the side of the Rodizjl forces. The Chiyou gored, ripped, and tore levy to pieces, tearing open the stomachs and chest cavities of any foolish enough to stand in their way of their horns. How glorious it was to bare witness to such a charge. Andronikos and the Chiyou may be what breaks the Ruuding vanguard, forcing Rikkert forward and allowing Phillipe to come from behind and send Zoe and Emilie to flank both sides. The Duchess raised her axe high to shout and cheer on the rampaging bull, but slowly withdrew as she watched in stunned horror as the short lived victory waned. Bull man after bull man began to fall, coordinated efforts sending several spears into them all at once, now that their charge had lost momentum they began to make easier targets for the Ruuding forces. Soon enough, it became clear that those involved with the charge had not calculated how deep passed the line of wild men they would travel through, finding themselves now completely surrounded and fighting for survival. Andonikos could be seen above them all, grabbing soldiers by their heads and throwing them twenty feet in any direction. We must help them. The duchess attempted to push forward to aid her allies, but the swarm surrounding the Chiyou was too great.

She now watched as the chief of the Chiyou poised himself to face off against a knight in the light blue and white checkered pattern of House Ruuding, the crimson head of the wild man emblazoned large across their gambeson beneath chainmail. Who would dare to single handedly take on a bull man of the Chiyou? Martien.

Nadine and Thijn managed to creep slowly closer to the fray, each of them deflecting blows and returning them ten fold. Cleave after cleave, painful heft after heft, enemy soldiers fell at their feet. Sweat no longer came from their pours as their bodies ran near empty of all sources of energy and reprieve. Looking forward, she could see as the duel between false duke and chief continued, the two going blow for blow; Martien jumped, dodged, and ducked to safety from each swing from the Bull man's axe. Utilizing the momentum of each of his movements, the false duke was managing to land a small stab or slash against the thick hide of Andronikos. Still attempting to get closer, with Thijn close behind, all she found herself capable of doing was to watch, as the chief of the Chiyou began to slow down, getting weaker and weaker with each successive hit from Martien's blade; all the while, the wild man proved the connection between himself and the crimson head on his chest. His eyes were wide with a look of determined blood lust carrying him forward. The duke's need for cruelty and victory drove him truly into a wild man, sending Nadine into a spiral of despair as she was now forced to watch the unthinkable. Outpacing his foe, Duke Martien had managed to keep up his speed and agility, all the while Andronikos could barely lift his axe anymore. Pulling his sword back, following a spin away from the axe, Martien thrust his sword through the left eye of the chief of the Chiyou, sending shock waves across the ground as the bull man's body hit the earth lifeless.

Nadine screamed a war cry like no other. All around her, including the newly victorious Martien Ruuding, spun around with eyes wide in terror as the Duchess Obbinkerloo ran head first in a sea of blue and white. Like the mighty Bull men of the Chiyou, she gore her way through with the one horn she had left, sending her axe to finish off any who should survive it. She heard the gurgling of those whose throats were slit, alongside the coughing and wheezing of those who held onto their innards for dear life. Thijn and both retinues followed close behind, finishing off those would attempt to come at her from behind. One man was in her sights, one man would now meet the full wrath of all of Obbinkerloo. She would tear through the false duke and send his soldiers fleeing in terror. He was only fifty feet away now, she could feel her heart beating out of her chest to keep up with her adrenaline rush. Time slowed down with an abrasiveness that she did not understand, was Martien smiling at her? A heavy object stopped the duchess short as it collided with her head, sending her great helm flying off and into the chaos which surrounded them. Stunned, she stumbled backwards, the world spinning before her as doubled vision attempted to find focus on her perceived assailant. A knight in azure and grey, a green wild man's head on their gambeson beneath mail, a bastard of House Ruuding perhaps, stood with mace gripped in both hands. Lifting it high for to finish the job they had started, a blur took their hands as Prince Thijn swung his longsword downward with a member of their retinues using the moment to send the point of their sword through the visor of this bastard's bascinet. Laying dazed on the cold, blood soaked ground, the Duchess Nadine Obbink watched as Prince Thijn flew into a rampage, making circles around his love as he sent more and more levy to meet Mostrosty. The gap she had opened with her charge had begun to close, the sounds of battle still rang out, but she could hear the horns of her soldiers getting closer. Were they winning? Pain was all she could feel, no longer just coursing from her collar through her arms, but now from her head down the length of her spin. She struggled to stand, raised her axe high and felt a knew pain take hold of her body. Warmth could be felt racing down her left side from the source of this new pain. Turning, she could see the spear wielder who had found purchase under her left armpit. Despite the weakening sense taking over her body, she managed to pull back and stab the spear wielder through their nose with the tip of her axe. Thijn rushed over to her and shouted words she could barely understand to their retinues. Suddenly she found herself being carried away from the fray.

The sounds of battle still perforated her ears, but the duchess could tell they were not close enough to the main action to be concerned. Her love looked upon her with a pale face, his wound from earlier clearly having been worse than he had let on. The captain of her retinue could be heard screaming for a priest, though she knew there were none amongst them. Peering into the old prince's eyes, Nadine felt warmth. He smiled with brightness, with the duchess only then realizing that he too had been lied down to her left.

"Nadine darling, it appears you are bleeding."

"Oh, this? This is nothing. You should have a look at yourself." The old prince chuckled dryly.

"I have never felt better."

"Thijn. Take my hand I cannot move my arm."

"Captain!" Thijn called. "Captain! Remove our gauntlets. Remove our gauntlets!" Could he not move either? She could not lift her head to look, she only felt the cold wind take over her skin as her gauntlets were removed. This sensation was quickly saved with the warmth of his hand in hers. The two looked upon one another, each attempting to cry but having not the energy in their bodies to do so.

"I have cherished our years together, Thijn."

"And we shall have more. So many more." A single tear found itself in the corner of the duchess' right eye, slowly trickling down her nose and her face until it dripped to the earth beneath their heads.

"I love you, Thijn."

"I love you, Nadine."

Seated upon a black mare with white spots, sword in hand, chainmail over his torso, with splint grieves and vambraces over his legs and arms was the young Prince Mathias, awaiting the call of the fight. His heart palpitated, nearly beating out of his chest cavity. Knuckles clenched white on the pommel of his saddle as rage coursed through his veins. Dead. He thought. Dead because of the actions because of my own uncle, his own brother. And now, here they all were. Uncle Thierry, of course, was hiding. Uncle Thierry... No. He had lost the right to be called family. Thierry, cowered behind his mercenaries, paid for with no doubt stolen gold. Now, as much as Mathias wanted to, he had to wait for his opportunity to get his revenge.

The vanguard of each side clashed. Bull men roared and gored the blue and white of House Ruuding, while the black and white of House Obbink struggled for supremacy on the field. Why did I have to be left in reserve? The young prince thought to himself. I have just as much of a reason, if not more to be out on the front lines, chasing down any who dare call themselves a Desramaux while actively killing their own. Swift Arrow placed a hand on his shoulder. Turning to the centaur, he saw that she could read the pain and anger behind his eyes.

"I understand that you are eager to fight, young Mathi." There was cold reserve in her voice. "Battle is not as glorious as we might think."

"I know. I have fought in this war already, Swift Arrow, Daughter and... what are your titles?" He watched as she looked out towards the fray far ahead of them, a glimmer of dread sat behind her eyes.

"Daughter. My mother still lives. But you need not be so formal with me. How is your injury?"

"I am managing." The pain in his right leg was little more than a dull throb at this juncture, but who knows how it will handle a galloping steed.

"And you still believe you are in a condition to fight?"

"Of course;" The young prince snapped his attention forward, giving himself a moment to simmer down, recognizing his unintended burst of emotion with only two words. "I have to be. I have to be able to fight no matter what. Too much is at stake. For me to be relegated to some sick bed... I can fight from horseback." Unconsciously he rubbed his thigh. He had been lucky, the Pelariaux spear had left a clean cut, allowing the priest of Darion to sew it together and allow for scarring to occur quickly. His thoughts turned to his cousin.

"I only wish that Renault were here, beside me."

"Who is that?" Swift Arrow asked.

"One of my other cousins. He is a brilliant rider, can fight menacingly with a spear on horseback, and he has equal cause in this fight as me - he too has lost his father to this needless conflict. But, he volunteered to stay behind."

"Stay behind?"

"In the event all of us here were to die... he would live on, and the Desramaux Dynasty would live on through him. He is the designated survivor."

"I see. Do you really expect so many of you to perish?"

"It is a distinct possibility that we must be ready for. I already know at least three more of us will fall."

"The three who have turned against us? Who will we face today?" The young prince tightened his grip further around the pommel, his jaw clenched tight.

"Yes." His hands began to hurt, forcing him to release, clenching and unclenching his hands so as to stretch and relax the muscles. I must be ready when the time comes. That time had seemed to occur much sooner than he had anticipated.

Just to the north, the sounds of a horn could be heard. Mathias and Swift Arrow both turned to face the source, as cresting up over the hills, waving the banners of Houses Pelariaux and Jaqueaux, was a force of thousands. Squinting in an attempt to make out who stood at the helm, the young prince noted they bore black and gold, a stark contrast to the fields of azure, gold, rose, and carnation behind him. It surely could not be Rikkert, no, he must be commanding the main forces from the center. Who would lead an assault from the back? Focusing harder still, the young prince took note that there were two figures at the helm adorned in these colors - though, he came to realize that they were not black and gold, but rather, gold, and black. The blood rushed from his face as the recognition came into focus. It must be... Thierry and Louis? Had he misjudged, was Thierry not the one cowering behind two legions of elves?

"About face! Reform to the north!" The young prince encouraged his mare on as he road up and down the columns of the rear guard. They will not take us so easily.

"Face north! Reform to the north!" They thought they could get the best of us, did they? The prince thought to himself. On his heals was Swift Arrow, shouting commands in the ancient tongue of the centaur as she commanded her people to prepare for battle. Barking orders from the other end of the swiftly reorganizing lines was the voice of Duchess Helene, turning her ten-thousand infantry from columns of waiting shields into walls of eager spears. Ten-thousand cavalry and their supporting infantry slowly turned to face the approaching foe. The wind grew quiet as the air went still. Not a sound could be heard, save for the beating heart of the young prince. The silence was broken only by the shining scream as he unsheathed his blade and raised it high above his head.

"For House Desramaux! For House Desravank! And the Empire that we kill for, live for, and die for! All traitors will know their end!" An uproar of applause, whistles, and yells echoed out from his soldiers.

"The traitors will know their end! The traitors will know their end!" His final words were shouted repeatedly by the soldiery, swelling in volume and intensity with each refrain. Lowering his sword, they took off in a trot, Helene and her infantry doing their best to keep up, Mathias looked to her signaling the centaur would strike first, allowing her soldiers to come in from the left flank. Mathias observed how this was not the response expected by their surprise assailants. As he could almost over hear the conversation now between his uncle and cousin.

"Father I think they are charging."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean they are charging, look!"

"That is not supposed to happen... form up! Form up!"

"Into what position, my king?" A captain more than likely questioning the orders from the old prince.

"I - umm... we will meet them head on! Prepare for a charge!" Or so the young prince imagined. But by this point, as he imagined and would soon see to be the case in reality, it would be too little too late, as Prince Mathias Desramaux II brought his cavalry to collide head-on with those of House Pelariaux and Jaqueaux. The silence of the air was shattered with the neighing and whinnying of horses, the clashing of steel, and wailing of those falling to spear point, blade, and axe head. 

Mathias swung hard to his left, slashing across the chest of an unfortunate soul only adorned in gambeson, who could not even let out a yelp as the all the air exited his chest and he collapsed from his horse, sending it racing off into the distance. Tramping over the bodies of those who had fallen already, he no longer had his ears filled with the sounds of hooves on earth, but now was deafened by the crunch from the horses destroying the bones beneath them. Blood splattered everywhere, and the white spots of the black mare turned crimson. Centaurs could be heard letting out war cries as they hurled their spears and fired their bows from a distance, circling the enemy cavalry. It was not long until the Duchess Diependam seized her opportunity to send her spears in, anchoring down to one knee and thrusting out into any rider or animal that should come too close, slowly moving their line along the ground to squeeze the enemy. Mathias, still at the helm, slashed all over, slitting the throats of a nearby horse, sending it and its rider colliding to the ground as the body wriggled and blood gushed from its wound, the rider now pinned beneath the one-ton corpse.

"Show no mercy! They would deliver none to us!" Were the orders of the young prince. He recognized the change in him. Was that an order of a prince of House Desramaux, or the order of a son mourning his father and craving vengeance on those who killed him? His mind became focused as he honed in on the idea of vengeance. He scanned the horizon, bodies of horse and man hurled against each other as axe and spear did their dirty work. Shields began to shatter against the impact of maces and hatchets, as swords slashed the throats of those who did not protect them well enough. Then he found him. Yes, he recognized the coloration of the gambeson beneath that chainmail. The youthful face of confusion and horror as he encountered his first - and last - battle. Digging his heals deep, Prince Mathias raced across the battlefield. Leaning and swinging hard to his right, he removed the arm of a soldier clad in the colors of House Jaqueaux. Now leaning hard to his left he ducked beneath a blow to his head, swung around, and caught the back of his would be assailant. Continuing on, he allowed himself to lazily lean to the right to strike a wondering soldier, dazed after being de-horsed. Finally, he found his target.

Spinning his horse around in a constant circle as he swung his sword back and forth and back and forth in a defensive manner was Prince Jean-Claude Desramaux. Mathias felt a jolt of surprise rush over him; Thierry and Louis were out on the front lines. Claude and Jean-Claude were the two figures he had seen at the helm of these foes. He gritted his teeth, they were all the same. Traitor. Cousin. Foe.

"Jean-Claude!" The young prince screamed.

"Mathi?" The prince's eyes went wide with horror as he looked up to meet his cousin's gaze. "Oh gods, please no. I do not want to fight you!" Prince Mathias could not help himself but laugh. It was a cold, menacing laugh.

"You do not wish to fight me? Well then, perhaps you and your father should have thought of that long ago." Mathias swore he could see his cousin begin to shiver.

"Please. Let us retreat. Please."

"I cannot do that. Soldiers! Stand down!" The soldiers on foot and horse who had been assailing the other prince Desramaux slowly backed away in confusion as their commander came forward with a trot. He swung his sword with great intent as he heard the scream of terror from his cousin ducking beneath the blow and swinging wildly in response. Mathias simply swatted away his cousins attacks, one after the other. They were weak, untrained, and unwilling to deliver a true blow.

"Come on Jean-Claude, fight me!"

"No! I will not!" Mathias, frustrated, reared back, raised his sword high and swatted the ass of his cousin's brown gelding, causing it rear back and throw Jean-Claude to the ground. He stammered to get up, standing now over a fallen banner of House Desramaux. Struggling to stand, he dropped his sword. He then fell to his knees and gazed up.

"Cousin, you must fight me." Mathias' tone was cold, matter of fact. He pulled on the reigns to stop his horse. Biting his lip to get through the pain his leg, he forced himself down from her only to limp his way over to the crying prince.

"Please. Mathi... I did not want to! I did not choose to fight!" Suddenly, the pity he felt for his cousin in that moment was replaced with rage.

"You did not choose to fight? You made your choice, Jean-Claude. All of us made a choice. And you chose the side that would sacrifice their own." Jean-Claude raised his hands in a pleading manner.

"No! No, please. I did not want to. You must understand."

"I do understand. I understand the apathy felt by you and your father. It is that apathy that allowed this conspiracy to happen. Complacency is all you and your father offer. Witless, complacency. And that would be acceptable if you did not choose the side of betrayal." Tears streaked down the mud stained face of the young Prince Jean-Claude.

"Mathi... please - "

"My name is Mathias! And that is a name that will not abide traitors!" Prince Mathias Desramaux pulled back his sword, and with one quick motion slit open the throat of Prince Jean-Claude Desramaux. The young prince's cousin immediately placed one hand at this throat and collapsed to his left side. His body twitched, his eyes winked and blinked back and forth as he shivered and quivered, his blood leaping out onto the muck covered banner of the Golden Rose. Mathias stood there for a moment. He stared at this now still corpse, eyes still opened, and began to cry.

"Why did you not fight back? You were supposed to fight back. It was supposed to be... fair." He walked over and knelt beside his cousin. With trembling hands, he closed Jean-Claude's eyes.

"You were supposed to fight back..." Pain shot through the young princes thigh, forcing him to fall from his knees and into a seated lurching position. Tears now stained the mud stained face of the young Prince Mathias.

"My lord." The voice of a captain broke the self imposed silence.

"What?"

"The fight still continues. It would appear the young prince's father still leads the forces." Mathias wiped his face, dug his sword into the dirt and used it to steady himself as he stood back up.

"Yes. Yes, I am sure that Prince Claude is still doing his best, which, mind you, is not very good. Leave this area clear. Give my cousin space and allow his father to see what his apathy has bought him. Come, help me mount my horse." With assistance from the captain, the young prince remounted his black and white mare. He looked down at the body once more; it was strange how peaceful he looked, blanketed by their house crest.

"Mathi! Call off your - " The voice of Prince Claude came as a sudden shock to the young prince's ears, more so as it disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. Turning to face the voice, some one hundred feet off, he could see his older cousin's face begin to twist with dread.

"No. No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No!" Was all that the old prince would say, screaming until his voice went hoarse. Not a word was spoken as he raised his sword high, kicked both of his heels deep into his horse, and retreated back north. His retinue blew their horns and followed. Swift Arrow rode up beside Prince Mathias.

"Should we pursue?"

"No. They will not return. We must round up our wounded and send them back to the city. Captain. See to it that my cousin is brought to the city as well and that he is interred beside my father and his uncle. The rest of us must be prepared should we be needed again; the battle still commences before us." Looking out to the east he saw the blood shed of the vanguards. High in the sky, and south of the battle, flew three banners in unison - the black and white bull man of House Obbink, the blue and white barry bendy with the crimson head of the wild man of House Ruuding, and the black rose on a field of or of House Biljvank. Looking further off into the distance, the young prince saw a great deal of commotion in the center. Hein, he thought to himself, it must be Hein.

Hein glanced around, surveying the battle before him. The vanguard, consisting primarily of the Bull men of Chiyou and the Bull Warriors of Obbinkerloo, was clashing against his brother's forces without remorse. Banners fell as the sounds of battle rang out. Just off in the distance, the old prince could have sworn he saw a contingent bearing the flag of Pelariaux begin to make a retreat back north, away from the rearguard. An attempted surprise attack from behind? He was not sure, but it was certainly not out of the realm of possibilities. His hands began to shake as he now saw the main body of both armies begin to clash in the center. Soon, flanks from both sides would attempt to surround each other, vain attempts at encompassing the other ones center. Holding his reins, Prince Hein looked over to Mother, Chief, and High Chief Blazing Arrow.

"Blazing Arrow."

"Hein, Son and Prince." A look of determination about her.

"You know, you do not have to participate in this. There is a very small guarantee of success, and a very high probability that we will all die."

"Then why do you do this, Hein, Son and Prince?" The old prince took in a raspy breath, the air was hot and thick with moisture - an unseasonably hot summer day to meet the god of death. At least it will be during his month. It was the Ninth of Motch, the exact halfway mark of Summer and the longest day of the year. Looking out over the horizon, the glaze of heat washed over the thousands of bodies, the sharp light of the sun glinting off of their helms and spear points. Drenched in sweat and covered in blood, hundreds of thousands now slaughtered one another; the fate of three dynasties rests on this battle. The old prince allowed a shallow exhale.

"Because I have to. Because - I refuse to sit on the sidelines again, and again, and again, while those around me do what I have never been able to do. Because I am old, and I am dying. I have been dying since the age of fifteen. But... I have a son. I have a young niece who is an empress! And her husband is the king. While I might die, there is a chance that this will be the distraction that we need it to be. And that we can help the new generation usher in a united world. Peace for our people! Something I could never dream of doing. Especially in the position I have been relegated to my entire life; one of a demure, sickly, child." Hein swallowed back mucus, his eyes still focused directly outward.

"We have a chance right now. To finish this conflict, and usher in a new era. And that is something worth dying for."

"Well, Hein, Son and Prince, those are valid reasons for why you are here." Wiping away a bead of sweat, the prince looked over to his ally.

"And why are you here?" Blazing Arrow titled her head at this question, only to redirect her attention away from the old prince and forward, to the low hills that will provide them cover.

"Because I find what you are doing to be a noble sacrifice. And I agree with its necessity. Do you know why I finally came to the agreement with Phillipe, Son and King?"

"No. I admit, I do not."

"Because you are right about him, and I can only assume that you are correct about the empress. They are young. But the younger generation is full of hope, dreams, and ideas, while so many of our peers have given up on theirs; and they would sooner plunge the world into darkness than willingly give up the reigns of power. And that, is something that affects all of us. As much as me and my people would like to sit on the side and let you fight it out, in a situation like this it is just not possible to sit on the side lines. Everyone must pick a side. For better, or for worse. No one can wash their hands of this, all of us will be affected eventually - one way or another. I have chosen for the future of my people, of the Mannes. Your reasons are so similar to my own. It is time that I passed on the mantle, to Swift Arrow, Daughter and Chief to Be. It is time for the next generation to save us from ourselves. And that is something I will die for. Should we survive this, Hein, Son and Prince, it will be a blessing from the gods. But, I accept the far greater reality that I will perish. Those who ride out with me have accepted this as well, and I trust those who ride out with you have as well."

"They have."

"Very well then." Blazing Arrow turned back to face their collected force. "May Bershion bless us this day! Ride with me! Centaur of the Mannes, riders of the forest, riders of the Trentenn Wood. Soldiers of the Desravank Empire. We fight so that those who come after us might know peace! Might live on in a world better than the one we have known! One united and strong. Mannes! Raise your spears with me! Riders of the Desravank! Raise your spears with me! Hein, Son and Prince, we ride with you, to what ever end may come."

With a quivering lip, Hein placed his helmet over his head and dug his heels into the back of his horse. He, beside Blazing Arrow, Mother, Chief, and High Chief, beside two-hundred fifty Mannes and two-hundred fifty mounted knights rode out in a triangular formation to pierce the side of the Biljvank forces.

Approaching with an initial trot, the cavalry and Mannes warriors came forward in what felt as though time had begun to slow down. The old prince could feel every last heartbeat amongst the five hundred brave, and possibly suicidal, soldiers that he now proudly led forth. He heard, as it were, the noise of thunder. A crack of lightening slowly echoing down from the heavens, cascading across the open sky and terminating on a lone tree in the middle of the hills they now triumphed over. The tree did not burst into flame, as one would expect, but rather... Hein squinted, and he swore he saw the figure of an old man standing before the tree. His skin was grey, almost silver, with golden hair of curls that flowed down to his shoulders. Upon his face was a great beard which had been braided down to his waist. In his hands was a mighty spear, the like of which no mortal had ever seen before. Who was this man? Another crack of thunder coupled with another flash of lightening, and the figure by the tree was no more. Time began to regain its original pace. So too did the old prince and the five hundred behind him. For the first time in his life, Prince Hein Biljvank felt strong. He gripped his sword with all of his might, dug his heels deep into his horse, spurring it on faster and faster. They had not noticed them yet. How is it that an entire wall of spears and axes do not see their deliverance?

Bracing themselves, the triangle penetrated the enemy forces. Crashing through line after line, screams of surprise echoed out into the great ether. Hein swung his sword right to left and right to left, over his horse on each side, striking down soldiers that bore his family colors. Both families. A soldier in silver and white with the head of a dragon on his chest extended a spear tip in an attempt to kill the old prince. Before this soldier could extend his arms up, the hoof of Blazing Arrow, Mother, Chief, and High Chief found purchase in his skull and buried it beneath the dirt. Invigorated and feeling no need to stop, the charge continued on. More and more confusion was screamed out. He could hear the voice of Vaars Zelderloo VIII, but could not tell what was being said. Blood began to block his vision. No, it was not blood, it was thicker. Darker. Green. The old prince realized he had begun to cough and wheeze as he hacked up globs of mucus. He could not feel it, he could not be stopped. He turned around to see how many were still with him, and saw nothing but carnage. The bodies of horses, Mannes, and soldiers were strewn about in the wake of their chaos. He spat a glob onto an enemy soldiers face and continued forward.

The old kings heart raced. The sounds of clattering steel and shattering wood were all that filled his ear drums. Sweat drenched his back, his hair, and his hands. He went to grasp the hilt of his blade but found his hands too clammy. Looking to his left and to his right, Huang Gui and Weit Yan stood ready, ready to bring their legions down upon the enemy forces. All they needed was his command. King Thierry swallowed in a dry throat as he watched Martien Ruuding lead his vanguard back and away as fresh troops, led by Phillipe, marched forward.

"Alright. Today, we make Mostrosty earn his keep! For he shall have tens of thousands to lead to their afterlife this day. Warriors of the Sun! You are the greatest warriors on this continent. Now, prove it." Once again swallowing in a dry throat, Thierry wiped his hands on his trousers, pulled out his sword, and gave the command to advance. But, just as he brought his sword arm down to initiate the rush into battle, he heard commotion behind him. He turned to look and found that Rikkert was no longer at the center of his square. Where he had run off to, Thierry did not know, and he hesitated longer and longer still. Duke Vaars, now, had brought his troops around and had begun engaging Phillipe's forces. The old king looked at Huang Gui.

"Is that, the command?" The purple skinned elf asked, his glaive poised and ready. Thierry continued to look about him, turned back to face where Rikkert once was and then to the fray before him.

"No." He whispered under his breath before speaking up. "No it is not. Something is happening and I do not know what it is. We shall only act when I fully understand the situation. Understand?"

"Yes, your Highness." There was a level of indignation in Huang Gui's voice which the king did not appreciate. Clenching his jaw, he sheathed his sword, and waited.

King Rikkert, seated upon his horse, stared intently at the battle raging before him. A mixture of colors, a veritable rainbow of flags, banners, and gambeson danced before him, each one painting the other with crimson and steel; and yet, there was a strange sense of awe. Not admiration, not a desire to look upon the wonderful, but rather, being dumbstruck by the current situation. Soldiers clad in black and gold tore into one another - how did they know whose side they fought for? This is a question which every commander on the field today would have to grapple with; a question, that would not be answerable. Surely, they could have had some level of foresight. But, then again, what could have been done? Reissue gambeson? There was not enough time. Sow patches? Perhaps, but for one-hundred fifty thousand soldiers? This would need to be considered in his future kingdom, of course. A military distinguishable, not just by colors, for there are so many noble houses that you are bound to pit similar color schemes against each other. Even similar crests were an eventuality - one they were facing today.

He prepared his center square to break through and meet the main forces of Phillipe Desramaux, his cousin by marriage. Someone he had never met, never known, but was told to hate. Only time will tell if that was the right decision. Looking to his right, northward, he gave Vaars Zelderloo VIII the signal to send his soldiers in. Martien, surely, would be pulling the vanguard back now - it had been nearly an hour already of brutal fighting. Simply counting the banners still standing and subtracting that from the amount which had begun the day, already some ten-thousand soldiers have fallen - and there would only be more as the hours of the day progressed. Perhaps, even, this battle would not be a one day affair. It would not be the first time King Rikkert had fought a battle over the course of several days. But, he had hoped it would not come to that. Then, he saw it, and his heart began to sink. Far off to the west, their little surprise had seemed to begin too soon, as he now watched as the rearguard of Phillipe's charge at Prince Claude and Prince Jean-Claude. The old king gritted his teeth. Damnit. I should have known from the moment I laid eyes upon him that Prince Claude was a fool and not to be trusted with command. He thought to himself. But, there was nothing to be done. Luckily, it would seem Martien had gained the upper hand and managed to crush much of the Desravank vanguard. Certainly, there would have been an equal number of deaths, but, by the ebbing and flowing of bodies, Rikkert could tell the enemy vanguard were the first to pull back and usher in the main forces of King Phillipe. With the prospect of fighting fresh troops with yours worn and battered, Martien Ruuding did like any intelligent commander would do and retreated. Horns were blaring, and Rikkert gave the signal to move in. His focus was ripped away as he heard commotion coming from behind him. Screams, cries, the pounding of hooves...

Turning around, the old king dropped his jaw in horror as he saw the five-hundred cavalry breaking through the back of his line. Soldiers, doing as they had been trained, turned about face and pressed the charge head on. But, the element of surprise was still in their favor. Rikkert unsheathed his sword and prepared to give the orders of how to handle this insurgency, until he saw a glint come from one of the soldiers at the apex of the wedge. The driving force, cutting through his own soldiers like a hot knife in butter.

"I know that sword." The old king said to himself.

But, that could not be. That was impossible. He focused his eyes, a nearly vain attempt to look through the fray and see. Was it? It swung back and forth, blood sent splattering high into the air, raining back down upon the wielder of the sword. As it was raised high once more for a backswing, it only confirmed Rikkert's suspicions. The hilt, the guard, the blade itself. All of it had been designed by none other than Rikkert himself - for his brother. Either an imposter was at the helm or Prince Hein Biljvank himself was leading a cavalry charge into his brother's rearguard. It suddenly registered into the old king what was happening, as knight upon knight fell to the impeccable training of his own soldiers. They were prepared against something like this. They would lose a significant number of their own from the initial impact of the charge, but they had now reorganized themselves seamlessly and were pushing back, though the enemy - enemy? The cavalry still attempted to drive further and further in, taking down countless as the pushed onward. His soldiers did not know who this was. His soldiers would kill him.

"Stand down!" The old king bellowed at his soldiers, digging his heels into his horse to cut through their ranks.

"Make way! Make way! Stand down! Stand down!" Confusion erupted in the masses as the conflicting orders from captains and now from their king permeated their ears.

"Stand down, I said! Stand down!" He watched now as Hein's horse took a spear to the throat, sending it collapsing to the ground. Rikkert was close enough now that he leapt down from his horse.

"Hold! Hold! Stop! Stop! Stop!" And there was that sword. He was now face to face with it, as it swung this way and that way, clattering against spears and shields: slitting throats, cutting open the chests of his soldiers who were now dazed and confused. What were they to do? They were now being assaulted openly, and yet their king demanded they stand down.

"Hein! Hein!" Was all the Rikkert was able to say.

Hein had never felt such power before coursing through his veins. He knew he might never feel it again, he even knew such power could consume him. But, he did not care, for he had to fight, he had to wield it. He fought for his Queen, he fought for his King, he fought for his home, and he fought for himself. Hein could not surrender. Pushing passed the mucus, the coughing, the stabbing sensation all around him, he went ever onward. His horse, however, could not withstand the assaults from all around and finally collapsed of exhaustion from spear points. Spears, pikes, aimed all around him, Hein did not give up. He slashed at his assailants, swinging his blade around wildly. He spat on the faces of his enemies, those he once called kin. There was an uproar throughout the crowd, confusion abounded. Soldiers did not know whether to strike or keep him at bay. Either way, Hein could not be stopped; the power coursed through him, the power pushed him on.

Scores of soldiers fell by his hand. He could not stop, he could not be stopped. If he was going to die then damnit he was going to die here, now. For glory - no, not for glory. For justice. For a better tomorrow. So that he would not simply fade into obscurity. The child of a noble, the cousin of a king who died decrepit and famished from a disease that slowly and surely took everything from him. Hein was so filled with power and rage that he could not hear the cries all around him. There was no difference between the voices of who yelled what. Then, he found himself in a clearing facing one soldier. This soldier continued to yell at him. Their swords clashed, with Hein finding himself confused as this soldier seemed only to fight on the defensive while no others approached; still, he could not stop. He swung harder and harder, slashing, piercing and stabbing. Anything he could do, any chance he had to strike his foe he took. Then, finally, he heard. He heard the cries of his enemy.

"Hein! Brother, you must stop! Hein it's me! Hein - " And then the voice fell silent, as he blade struck true. A blade engraved with the roses of the Biljvank and the dragons of the Zelderloo, a gift from someone who refused to ever see him as lesser. A blade that now found purchase in the chest of its designer and gift giver. It was then, and only then, that he could see through the haze of carnage. He had struck his enemy through the sternum. They locked eyes.

"Rikkert..." was all that Hein could muster. The two made eye contact, and then it came on. The storm. The storm which had been held of, kept at bay just long enough for Hein to do the unthinkable. Against all odds, he wielded the might and power of ten generations of Biljvanks. With their might and with their power he carved a path and distraction through the enemy lines. And with their might, he brought down the one member of his family who truly loved him as kin, who never saw him as something lesser than, something to hide away and only bring out for breeding. Rikkert.

He felt the power drain from his veins. He felt it pour into his throat. He coughed. He hacked. He collapsed upon his brother's corpse. Hein coughed. Hein wheezed. And Hein fell silent.