"Defenders of the Realm. Chapter 1" by Derek ´Wiseman´ Bangay

Stay calm and in formation the captain yelled as Miles and his fellow recruits gathered their equipment in haste. So this was the eve of battle he though as he stared around the large camp. Everything was mayhem. Messengers, with the scroll emblem on their shoulders, were hurrying every which way delivering maps, orders and other documents to the different ranking officers. To do this though they had to weave their way amongst the crowded camp and also avoid the crates of equipment, fresh from the smithy. Looking down at his banged-up armour and second-hand sword he wondered why he couldn’t use the new stuff that was just lying there. “I guess it’d be a waste on most recruits” he said to himself as he slid his longsword into the scabbard at his left hip.

            Jogging across the camp he soon tracked down his troupe, which would accompany nine others as the second line of defence. So as the captain had stressed earlier the troops moved in formation to their rendezvous at the opening of the pass. As they moved forward Miles began to scan the land, taking in everything from the terrain to the plant life. Anything that could give him an advantage in the upcoming battle was crucial. To either side of him rose large cliffs. Fighting amongst all those loose rocks and uneven terrain would be suicide for any soldier. That’s why the army had decided to make their stand here at Guardian Pass.

            As they began to spread out across the pass, the sounds of battle roared down the pass to meet them. The noise struck the soldiers like a tidal wave, spreading fear and uneasiness throughout even the most experienced troops. Out of the corner of his eye Miles saw a handful of soldiers drop their weapons and run back the way they’d come.

            Then a loud scream, almost inhuman, pierced the air. Miles hand instantly went to the hilt of his sword. Gripping it tightly he took a deep breath and focused on what he’d learned in the last 6 months of training. He wasn’t an excellent swordsman but he figured he could hold his own against most in one-on-one combat. The only problem was this was not individual practise with the wicker swords. This was real. This time being struck by the enemy’s weapon resulted in more than an angry yell from the old weapons master. His blood would be the trade for an enemy breaking his defences.

            Looking at his fellow soldiers he saw that many of them had their heads bent in prayer. Miles should his head in disbelief. Do they really think that a god was going to protect them because they asked one to? Miles thought intently. This was why Miles preferred to put his faith in his own skills then in a god up above.

Because of Miles’ argument with himself he failed to notice the figure hurrying toward him. It wasn’t until a firm hand grabbed his shoulder and the figure spoke did he snap back to reality. “So you ready there old buddy?” spoke the figure. Slowly turning around Miles came face to face with a young man considerably shorter then himself. A mischievous smile crept onto his good friend’s face, the same smile that had gotten them into trouble many a time as children. “Only you would be smiling on possibly your last day, Felix.” His friend let out a small chuckle, which sounded completely foreign on the grim battlefield. “You should know better then that Miles” replied Felix, holding up the silver dice that hung on a string around his neck. “This here beauty will get me through this one my friend. It hasn’t let me down before.”

            Thinking back he couldn’t remember a time when Felix hadn’t worn that dice around his neck. His friend did always have the most fortunate luck and apparently, according to the trouble maker, it was the source of that luck. Blessed by the gods or something Miles remembered his friend saying at some point.

            A loud horn blast from the front lines surprised everyone. That had been the signal that the enemy had broken their lines, so the mayhem began again. Quickly Felix grabbed his friends hand in a firm grip and wished him luck before jogging off to join his own troupe. Once again Miles was left to consider his fate. Listening to the noise coming down the pass Miles could tell the enemy was closing in. He guessed that within a few minutes the enemy would be upon them. Taking one last deep breath he pulled his sword free from it home at his hip. Holding it up before him the blade caught the light from the setting sun and shone a deep red.

            In front of his now crimson blade he caught a glimpse of the first of the trolls coming around the corner of the pass hundreds of yards ahead. The large almost human-like creatures lumbered slowly towards the awaiting army. Then came the order to charge, which came in the form of a loud war cry coming from the captains of each troupe. Soon other voices filled the air declaring their presence. So with his homeland behind him and his enemy before him, Miles raised his sword and with a load cry began to charge.