We hear and smell the invading army long before we see it.

The air shakes like thunder from the invading forces.

People who have never seen a legion of men move

know nothing of the scope of an invading power.

The reek of piss and shit from a small moving country hangs heavily on the wind.

The responding force is laughably weak. Only three

men. My general is to the left, and to the right is a boisterous drunk noble, sweating

heavily through his leather armor. I chose him for his booming voice and nothing else. I ride in the center, an old man, wearing no armor and a strange sword on my belt.

Let them laugh. Plenty of laughed before.

We pause at the outstretch of land before the invading horde.

The shimmering steel of the mounted knights is like a sun plucked from the heavens

and forced to the earth. The thought triggers a memory and a smile crosses my lips. Spurred by a

youthful eagerness I haven't felt in years, I dig my spurs into the horse's side and gallop toward my

opponents.

My two men call out in surprise, but then follow.

The camp comes alive with confusion as runners search for their officers.

I pull up on my reins halfway toward the enemy camp, and my horse rears back with a defying

line.

My two chosen come to a stop beside me, and we wait.

I can feel their fear as the foreign army lines up in formation to intimidate us before three

other riders break formation and ride toward us. They pull to a stop, kicking up dirt and grass.

The steeds they ride are beautiful and massive.

...