And Ruin Came Red

The ground had flown swift beneath the pounding hooves of my panicked horse, plunging through a battlefield in chaos. From glorious charge to ignoble flight, a mere instant had passed, or so it seemed, and now, leaderless and in rout, we had all been swept up and away, scattered, driven off. I had fought, unflinching, mastering my fear with the promise of glory, the rightness of our cause, and the loyalty that held me to my lord. The lust of blood and battle had done the rest, until now, when defeat, previously untasted, had poured its bitter wash over me, and in despair I had let my horse have its head, carrying me away. Caught in an eddy of stillness, an oddity of the battleground, the fateful spot, where the fallen lord and struck banner still lay, came into sudden view.

Dire and fell, the Dark Captain had personally taken the field.

With a sharp cry, I rallied the surrounding combatants, the certainty and simplicity of the orders streaming from my throat, throwing them into motion with renewed vigor. With a new direction, a new opportunity in sharp focus before us, our frenzied cavalry charged once more, eager to rejoin the fray. Battle and the deceptive gentle roll of the plain hid from us our goal, but the momentum drove us forward unerringly. After all, the fight would be wherever we took it, wouldn’t it?

A terrible cry, undimmed by the drumming of hammering hooves, rent the air, victory indistinguishable from defeat. Rushing along the field strewn with the dying and the dead, the slowly rising ground revealed the enemy, milling uncertainly ahead.

Victory, glory, triumph was ours, beckoning like a doe-eyed girl, and the very wind at our backs seemed a boon from on high, blessing and promise of our coming conquest.

A sudden shout stirred the foe below to action, but much too late. They could do nothing more than perish on our swords the faster against our well set charge, no matter their fierce foreign songs and shining shields. They would be fodder for crows and vermin before nightfall, swept under beneath steel and hooves.

Yet the roar that rose from the pale-faced throng was no vainglorious paean anymore, and no gleefully ferocious grins galloped to meet our thundering ranks. Only one word, one cry, grim and wrathful, echoing that which issued from the madman with the white-crested helm, driving their force like a burning lance:

“Death!”

And ruin came red to claim us.