CHAPTER 27: THE FIRST BATTLE

It was three days before the great battle, and King Tharyn Elyndor had personally traveled to Velgard with his elite Phoenix Guards. Ser Devic, his most trusted knight, led them as usual and was closely behind him.

Velgard had become a fortress of activity. The generals were already there, waiting for the king. Maps were spread across the tables, formation plans already drawn, and miniature figures that showed troop positions. The generals first bowed as the king entered the war tent. They showed him all they had prepared. Their strategies, formations, supply routes, and even secret weapons, which they had hidden deep in the woods and only trusted soldiers knew the location.

The king listened to all they had to say and was nodding here and there. For the next three days, he studied everything he needed to, every plan, every countermeasure. And all he was saying was that the generals had done a wonderful job. Indeed they had prepared efficiently for this battle.

Then the third day came and the battle was before them.

The battlefield was set on the open plains of Velgard. It was a very big stretch of land that was surrounded by forests.

King Tharyn mounted his horse on his black stallion with the dark armor that he wore. It was trimmed with gold. Anyone who saw his cloak would know that he was indeed the king because of how unique it was. The entire army of Ivarion stood behind him and was awaiting the horn for the fight to begin.

But before that, Tharyn turned his saddle to face them.

He raised his voice and screamed. "Men of Ivarion! Warriors! My brothers!"

He then paused for a moment and let the words hang.

"Today, we do not fight for land. We do not fight for gold. We fight for something far greater. We fight for our homes! We fight for our women! We fight for our children! We fight for every man, woman, and child who has ever called this kingdom home!"

He pointed his sword high into the sky. "We fight for our future, and for the freedom to build it with our own hands!"

His voice became louder now. "So I ask you... Will you ride with your king today? Will you fight with me? Will you help me drive these bastards back to the mud they crawled out from?!"

"YEEEEAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!"

The army roared as they lifted their Spears and hit them against their shields.

Across the field, the Sandborn warriors began to appear.

There were many, almost twice their number. Their riders were at the front lines, waving their weapons and shouting, making all sorts of sounds.

The Sandborns didn’t wear proper armor. They were wild, wore rough leather and furs. They carried weapons like.. spears, jagged swords, and heavy hammers. They were scattered and charging to rush into the battlefield. Indeed they were barbarians.

Then, the signal came.

A horn blew from the Sandborns’ side, and they charged in full force. Even the ground could feel them.

But the generals of Ivarion had seen this coming. They had laid traps along the fields, they had hidden deep trenches by the grass, pits, and rope snares. The Sandborns rode straight into them.

Suddenly, horses began falling and they began screaming. Sandborns fell into pits or were flung from their saddles. Before they could even understand what had happened, the Ivarion cavalry came forward.

They were a terrifying sight.

Their armors were fully made of steel, including their horses. They were untouchable. They rode in tight formation and began encircling the trapped Sandborn warriors. Anyone who tried to escape was quickly pulled down and cut down.

With that formation, just within an hour, the Ivarion cavalry had made nearly 4,000 Sandborns lie dead or dying. As the rest of the Sandborns saw the slaughter, they turned and fled. A horn blew from their side again. This time, it signaled retreat.

The soldiers of Ivarions were stunned. It was over? They had expected a long and bloody fight, but the Sandborns had retreated.

They cheered as they had won the first battle.

"..."

"..."

That evening, the camp of Ivarion was full of laughter and song. Soldiers sat around fires, drinking, eating, and telling stories. They knew this was only the beginning, but it was a victory, and they needed to celebrate it.

King Tharyn had retired to his chambers, a small tent at the edge of the camp that was guarded very well. He was just removing his armor when General Arvel, the High Marshal, rushed in.

"My King," he said while breathing hard, "a group of Sandborns was spotted heading north, trying to circle us. They may be aiming for the villages."

Tharyn was shocked at that. "We cannot let them touch a single village. Gather as many soldiers as you can. Take them and stop those barbarians."

"Yes, my King," Arvel replied.

"Take the Phoenix Guards too," the King added.

Ser Devic stepped forward. "Your Majesty, if I leave with the Phoenix Guards, you will be vulnerable here."

"I’ll be fine," the King said calmly. "Go. Stop them. That’s an order."

Devic hesitated, but he couldn’t go against the king’s orders. He saluted and left immediately.

Deep in the woods, Ser Devic noticed something strange. They had been chasing people with torches, yes, but they were only a few. "This number couldn’t do anything against them or even invade a whole village". It hit him then.

It was a trick. They weren’t chasing an army, this must be a bait.

He immediately turned his horse around. "To the King!" he shouted.

He rode very fast and was pushing his horse beyond its limits. He has to get to the camp and to the king as quickly as possible.

When he rushed into the King’s tent, what he saw scared him.

King Tharyn was fighting. Alone. Bleeding.

He had already killed four Sandborn assassins, and their bodies already lay at his feet. But two more of the assassins circled him.

The King had been stabbed, his right shoulder was torn open, and blood was dripping down his arm. But he still held his sword.

Devic didn’t wait. He charged and struck the first attacker down in one clean blow, then fought with the second.

In seconds, both assassins had dropped dead.

Devic rushed to the King; he caught him as he was about to fall.

"My King! You’re hurt."

The King tried to speak, but his lips were pale. His strength was fading fast.

"Help... Help" Devic shouted as He carried the King to the bed, tore off part of his own cloak, and pressed it against the wound to stop the bleeding.