"I suppose we are holding up fine." Atriks chatted while Emmeso watched the soldiers roll out the Thigian corpses from the trench and regained their stance, pavises interlocked and spears poised.

Emmeso sighed. It had been quite a day.

He was here and the battle had already begun. They managed to drive them back the first time, thanks to the stones walls of the Throat.

He cast an eye around the valley. The walls were sheer enough, the path widened as it climbed, resembling an open throat.

The unfortunate attackers had rushed into their defences half maddened and terrified by the arrows.

A good number fell into the dug trench at the entrance to the pass, with stakes driven into it. It was a cruel way to die.

Their agonizing cries mingled with the clash of steel. Their comrades had stepped on them, some jumped over the trench only to receive a shield bash back into it.

It was an easy rout. And that bothered Emmeso a bit. He glanced at the army far below. The Thigian host spread over the plain like black ants. He could make out their blue and brown standards.

Why did Vantu keep sending assault after assault to take the pass by brute force? Such a renowned general should know better than to waste her men. Or was she desperate?

Was she in a haste to break through and march on to Alamaria? It seemed she didn't have a shortage of men.

Maybe she wanted to tire them out. There was no chance of that. Alamarians would fight without tiring with their homeland involved.

He sat erect on his horse and he spotted  Balog   Dasa Filk.

He could have sworn that the nobly born commander of the First Fort was glaring at him under the afternoon blaze.

Well, I can hardly punish a man on the suspicion that he's glaring at me, let alone a noble.

And that was part of the trouble. He wasn't a noble but Dasa was.

The Assembly had put him over Dasa. That must irritate him severely.

To Dasa, he was probably more worthy to lead than him because he was an aristocrat.

Never mind that the House of Filk was among the dregs of nobility. Noble is Noble as they say.

Dasa with his thin face and small eyes was the tenth or ninth son of the late son of the polygamous late patriarch. Probably over forty.

Dasa never got the chance to seat in the Assembly. His mother was not a favourite of the late patriarch.

Whatever the case, his father had secured for him a position in the First Fort that guards the city against the south. A place of ease.

Where nothing has happened for ages.

Yes, Dasa probably had little battle experience. There were talks of him having participated in the Eastern campaigns, but he didn't particularly distinguish himself.

As far as Emmeso was concerned his being general had more to do with his being a noble than any leadership skill of his.

When he and Atriks had ridden out of the city amidst the knelling of alarming bells, they come upon their assembled force at the outskirts of the city with Dasa who was looked so thin Emmeso swore he must collapse under the weight of his armour.

Dasa had come with arrogance flashing in his eyes. He beat the Filk lily emblazoned at his heart in a salute.

To Emmeso it was had seemed more of a loud declaration.

"I'm no noble, you're not!"

'We must march out once at full speed, we will catch them before they reach the plains and deal with them decisively. " Dasa had spoken with an air that demanded obedience, like a noble.

He had faced Atriks, but Emmeso knew a challenge had been thrown to him. If he submitted to this bullying, it will never stop.

He had drawn himself up then, summoning all his commanding power, and said, "Balog, command the men to march at a moderate pace." He had breathed nonchalance, not even sparing Dasa a gaze.

If he wanted to play disdainful so could he.

Dasa's eyes had registered displeasure. "The Thigians are coming swiftly! We should move even faster to give them battle as far away as possible from the City, your Excellency." He added lastly and hesitantly. He had addressed him as a politician, not as his commander.

Emmeso had appeared unconcerned.

"Is that so? Balog  Dasa, we march at a moderate pace. I will not have my army worn out by a long march before the battle."

Yes, his army let him know that.

Dasa had gnashed, "The enemy must not be allowed to come any closer to the city! Our star city, the dwelling of our fathers, the home to thousands. This is... This is ...."

In essence, Dasa was telling him he was mad to play with the City's security.

"You bring the enemy close to our city! You will let them cross the plains."

"That's the plan, Balog. They will reach the plains but I don't intend to let them cross it."

Dasa had seemed inflamed to kindle fire, but Emmeso didn't care.

"Balog, go ahead and carry out my orders. I would forgive your insolence because of your ignorance. You spoke of our forefathers. I'm sure that as you're noble your tutor didn't neglect to teach you what every child knows- that the fathers of Alamaria held back the Gita horde at the Throat a thousand years ago."

At that he had wheeled around, to allow Dasa to consider his stupidity if he wasn't too angry to do so.

He allowed himself to grin at that recollection. He handled him well.

In the end, Dasa did as he was told. He carried out every order with a scowl. Not that he cared as far as he obeyed.
It made it even sweeter. Helpless rage was pathetic.

"They're coming!" Atriks voice was filled to the brim with tension.

And true enough beyond the first line of Alamarian soldiers, a score standing abreast with pavises interlocking like scales, he could see the enemy stir like some beast of the multitude. Another assault, coming uphill

Here they come again, don't they ever give up?

When this war was over, if he was still breathing, he would move the Assembly to build a fortress here. Years of security on this front had allowed for its lack.

He raced to the front, beside Dasa not because he enjoyed his "pleasant" company but because Dasa had almost given the charging order the last after the fleeing enemy.

Such a reckless move would lure them down, out of their advantage, maybe that's what Vantu wanted.

Dasa welcomed his company with something akin to the bristling of a dog.

"Ah! General, I see you're upset with the Thigians. How great your rage against them must be, for being a noble you must love Alamaria very much, enough to rage at the enemy. Yes, yes. It's well. Give it to them."

He smiled and patted Dasa while relishing the confusion on his face which later switched to a scowl after he got the mockery in his words.

Archers standing on higher ground had already notched their arrows, strings of longbows were drawn taut, eyes trained at the enemy. They awaited his order.

He waited, the enemy riders came near the screes at the foothills, marching over corpses of their fallen brethren, ignoring the grim message.

How long will they play this game? He wanted to shout at them. "Turn around! Go home, don't come here to die, you have families."

But he didn't, he knew they wouldn't listen, they were just like him, they were soldiers, slaves of orders.

He sighed and gave the order while Dasa scowled. "Loose!"

Arrows whizzed overhead, rising elegantly a flock of birds, making for the skies before plummeting with deadly intent on the approaching men.

A shower of death. He ignored the screams of the enemy and gave the order again before his will broke.

No mercy for them, they would have none for me.

Again arrows whizzed, men fell and more insanely drew near.

The first arrivals paused at the trench
uncertainly, before their comrades behind maddened by the showers of arrows and chaos shoved them forward into the trench, unto the spikes and stakes!

AaghrAaghhr! Emmeso saw a man impaled in the gut, his blood pooled with the rest and gushed some more as his comrades stepped on him in a maddened frenzy like a bridge to the other side.

The Alamarians rushed, spears and shields clashing at the enemy.

"You shouldn't be here, the enemy might breakthrough cautioned.

Emmeso looked at the scornful Dasa.

You coward, you would love that, wouldn't you? The great Thigian bane hiding and cowering behind his lines and you the hero at the front.

"They wouldn't break through." He
said stubbornly, clenching his scabbard.

More arrows, more blows and blood, the enemy was breaking like glass against their shields.

It seemed chaotic, but with one order, death!

His men pushed on, in tight formation, each switching positions if injured or tired, each stroke blessed with stronger momentum.

A big brute pushed a shield aside, he hacked viciously at the man behind. He slashed his axe into the next man to rush into him, spraying himself with blood. He laughed crazily and struck side to side, hoping to tear an opening in the Alamarian defences.

Men rushed over to him. Emmeso counted three arrows in his chest , huge gashes in his arm. Yet the devil moved with fury.

He splattered the brain of a spearman and took up his spear to impale an archer.

He drew the corpse out with a sickening shove.

He gave an unearthly howl, gritting his teeth. Men went fell back, over come with fear. He laughed madly.

The laugh of a dead man, his eyes met Emmeso's and he saw death in them!

He yelled and charged for him, umoved by jabs of spears and swords or arrows. He drew ever nearer.

Emmeso's heart beat harder, he drew his sword. The messenger of death was coming.

The Harbinger's eyes bulged, then his spear clattered to the floor and he slumped, dead as stone.

Atriks bent over the corpse, wiping his bloody sword on the remains of its cape as the last of the attackers fled down hill.

"I told you the front wasn't safe." He said simply with a strange cool in his blue eyes.