Chronicles of Camdairon Chapter 2

The midday summer sun was broiling hot enough to fry eggs on stone, yet beneath its haze two massive armies clashed. Horns blared and banners were raised high across the battlefield as the soldiers of the kingdom of Vlyaria, in their crimson plate armor fought against the brave men of the kingdom of Vlyaria in their steel chain mail and their Nulfric helmets. Knights on their horses rode across the battlefield their swords and spears finding targets left and right. The screams of the dead and dying drowned out by the sound of steel and iron clashing. the once green valley had been turned into a mire of mud and blood, as guts, blood and other bodily fluids began to soak the ground, making movement near impossible. in the midst of it all, was Alistair.

He thrust forward as he raised his shield over his head to protect himself from the axe that tried to hack at him. He twisted the sword, feeling the man’s muscles clench and tighten around the sword as he withdrew his blade. The man fell backwards slowly. All around him the sound of steel on steel rang sharp and loud in the hot midday sun. Banners flew high as they advanced towards each other, with men eager to claim them as their prize. A shout of anger erupted from behind him and Alistair turned in time to block the sword lunge that nearly pierced his lungs. He took two steps back and poised himself in a defensive posture. Alistair looked at the man who stood before him; the emblem on his shield bore a white seagull over a cliff and calm blue seas flying away into the distant horizon. The man’s posture, armor and sword all showed that the man was of noble birth. Alistair could not see the man’s face clearly as he had a steel helmet on, only his pale blue eyes were visible behind his mask. Alistair’s own head was not protected as he did not like having his vision limited by the dark confines of a helmet. His short black hair was loose and stuck to his skin with sweat, as his green eyes stung with sweat. The two men circled each other slowly and quietly as the battle raged around them. Alistair feigned a strike left; half spun around and attacked from the right. The noble had anticipated the move and was ready to block with his shield and to strike back with his sword; Alistair parried just in time with his sword and shoved his shield arm into the man, pushing him backwards. The noble tripped on a dead body and fell backwards, his helmet flew off. Alistair stepped down on the man’s stomach and with his shield in his left hand, brushed away the man’s last feeble attempt to strike at him. The lord showed to be a young boy, probably the heir to whatever house the sigil stood for. There was a fear on his face, a fear Alistair knew too well, he had seen it a dozen times over. Alistair dropped his shield, took his sword into both his hands and raised it. The boy’s face changed to horror and screamed as Alistair thrust into his chest. The young boy’s mouth opened slowly but no words came out, instead the last breath of air from his lungs slowly escaped his body and all life faded from the young boy. The sounds of battle slowly faded away as the last soldiers of the Kingdom of Nurfrost surrendered, fled or died.

He walked amongst the dead and dying, as his army looked for their wounded or looted the dead Nurfrians. He scanned the field until he spotted his banner, the red dragon of Vlyaria, the sigil of the royal house of his father King Hector of Vlyaria. “Well fought men!” he praised his soldiers, who did not see their prince coming and were caught off guard but quickly stood at attention and thanked their liege. “Now, see to the wounded, ours and theirs, we won’t have it said that we are savages off the battlefield as well. Edgar, Edwin, come with me back to the camp, we need to send news of this victory to my father at Tevarin castle. After that I want the butcher’s bill, I need to know how many men are dead, wounded and how many reserves we have left. Send out patrols to watch for enemy movement, if they begin to regroup I want to know and shatter them before they form a band of merry men!” He shouted all these commands as he strode through the battlefield and approached his camp. He took one good look at the field of battle once more. It was a horrid site, just like the aftermath of every other battle. The enemy dead littered the field. Their entire northern army was in shatters, its marshal was said to have routed and many of the higher ranking nobles lay dead or captured awaiting ransom. Alistair would have to check on them soon. After his quick glance he estimated his losses at about two hundred dead and another five hundred wounded. He still had about four thousand in reserves. He had played soldier long enough, now it was back to playing prince.