The River Winds.

Second by second, minute by minute, time was passing since the news of the Doomsgatian camp had reached Sadon. In this time, word had been sent throughout the ranks of his great army for the soldiers to prepare for a battle. The long journey, crossing countless plains, rivers and forests had left most of his army restless, craving to see a fight or battle, which, despite the eventual promise of a battle, had led to skirmishes between the less disciplined soldiers, knights and squires over small disagreements which had no relevance or effect on the true fight. The fight for justice and vengeance. To finally see battle for many of the soldiers was a relief and acted as motivation to stop fighting with one another, and to fight for the real cause and not false ambitions. Despite the excitement, smiles and courage that most men had on their faces, within their hearts a different story was being told, one of fear; for many of the men this would be their first battle, let alone fight out of the training grounds and it was clear to see nerves flooded most of their bodies like blood. As much as he hated feeling it, Sadon was nervous himself, like them this was his first battle. He was no more experienced than these men, and yet here he was commanding them, their trust placed upon him like a crown of hope which weighed down on him as if it were made of lead. While his army prepared, placing armour upon themselves, sharpening their swords and saddling their horses; Sadon, along with the other lords who had been accompanying him, was positioned in a tent behind a ridge that shielded them from the view of the sleeping Doomsgatians; where they needed to be creating a plan of attack against the looming enemy. However, this wasn’t what they were doing. They were arguing.

Fire sparked off the braziers which caused light to flicker and glisten off Sadon’s armour; he had been equipped and geared up in his polished steal armour, which had a phoenix engraved, and encrusted with a sapphire on its eye, in the centre of his breastplate. In front of him, upon the table, lay a map of the great plains with a marked-out area where they were currently positioned, and around the table stood the lords and ladies of Harrador. Sadon leant over the table, his fists clenching as the lords argued and bickered upon one another.
“I say we use flaming arrows,” one of the younger lords suggested stepping forward to the table. “We will be guaranteed a swift and easy victory that way.”
“Are you mad, using flaming arrows will burn them alive, I already question the honour in attacking our enemies while they sleep but this I will have no part in,” one of the ladies quickly responded before turning to Sadon. “My lord, surely you don’t agree with this.”
Honour. Even when angry Sadon always made sure he did the honourable thing, briefly he considered the benefit of using flaming arrows but swiftly made his decision. “I could not have said it better myself my lady,” Sadon agreed. “No flaming arrows. We are here to fight them, not butcher them.”
And with that the tent was yet again filed with the roars of disagreement.
“The only way we will win this war is with brutality and no mercy for our enemies,” the younger lord shouted, trying to justify his suggestion. In doing so catching the attention of one of the older lords.
“And what would you know of war, boy?” One of the older lords shouted causing the sea of argument to die down and focus upon this conversation
“More than you would think, my lord,” the younger lord replied. “My father wa—”
“Your father was a craven, who was more adept at beating young girls than wielding a sword,” the older lord interrupted, causing various lords to smile and laugh whereas frustration began to cloud over the younger lord.
“My fath—” the younger lord spat before being interrupted yet again.
“Your mother on the other hand, now she was a lass to beware, I was there at the siege of Tetnire!” the Lord spoke as he began to walk around the table. “I watched her cut down at least 30 rebels before leading the charge through the large wooden doors, pathing her way through the fortress with blood.”
Sadon looked up and turned his head to face the older lord. “Lord Gallomere, I was always told that it was my grandfather who lead the siege and the charge into Tetnire before his untimely demise,” he queried with pride in his voice.
Lord Gallomere smiled but did not turn his head to face his prince instead he was focused on the younger lord. “Ay my lord, he was there, but he spilt little blood that day; it was Lady Claywin who led the charge. Ask Aster, he was the second man through, right behind her,” he calmly responded.
Lord Aster, who had been standing in the shadows behind Sadon up until now, stepped forward with a look of certainty on his face; Sadon looked towards him.
“What Lord Gallomere says is truth my lord, your grandfather fought bravely on that day, but it was Lady Claywin who led the charge with no hesitation or doubt, cutting down anyone who got in her way, inspiring everyone to keep fighting and not abandon our cause,” Lord aster said with sincerity.
Sadon nodded at Lord Aster before his study of the map.
“Thank you Aster,” Lord Gallomere said before stepping forward to be only feet from Lord Claywin, who it was clear to see was nervous of the older lord. “Now, tell me Lord Claywin, where was your father when his wife was ending the war?” The silent tent became even quieter. “I’ll tell you where. He was getting drunk in his keep thousands of miles away.”
Lord Claywin looked down, his tight fists unclenched, and swiftly he grabbed his sword and began to draw it. The whole tent was drowned into silence with only the sound of Claywin’s sword being unsheathed from its scabbard. Immediately Sadon looked up and faced the enraged lord.
“Enough!” the young prince shouted angrily at the lords. “We are meant to be here discussing how to win this war and save our kingdom and all that live in it.” He paused and looked back and forth around the rooms, looking every Lord and Lady in the eyes as he did before focusing back onto Lord Claywin and Gallomere. “They put their trust in us, in you —and instead of honouring that you bicker like children.” Sadon stood up straight and calmly walked towards the lords, stopping between the two. “If all those people with their trust in you could see you now, do you think they would still be trusting you?”
“No— They would not,” Lord Gallomere choked, as he began to turn to face the other lords “Our prince speaks truthfully. Trust was placed upon us by all those men out there, and all our subjects back in Harrador. If we do not honour it then we are not fit to lead,” Lord Gallomere acceptingly said before turning to face Claywin who had lowered his sword (however, still clasped it strongly in his grip) “Lord Claywin, I apologise for my behaviour. The heat of battle has caused me to become more aggressive than usual.” It was clear to Sadon that Lord Gallomere was lying about being caught in the heat of battle and this was just his usual state however despite this he could tell that Lord Gallomere was sincere in his apology.
Momentarily, silence filled the tent, which Claywin refused to break and instead stormed out of the tent sword in hand barging a messenger who was walking into the tent out of his way.
With Lord Claywin still in hearing distance Sadon approached the messenger putting his hand on their shoulder. “I apologise for Lord Claywin’s behaviour good sir, he appears to be having a little tantrum. Now, what news do you have me?” he asked as he returned to his position at the table.
“All the soldiers are ready and in position awaiting you command your grace,” the messenger announced as he waited by the entrance to the tent.
Sadon turned and nodded to the messenger signalling his leave before turning to Lord Aster.
“Have my horse brought here and saddled; also have the scholars send word to Harrador, in case anything goes wrong, then meet me at the front,” he said to Aster.
“As you will my Lord,” Lord Aster responded before heading out of the tent.
“Lord Aster,” Sadon said
The lord stopped and turned to his prince.
“Yes, my Lord,”
“Thank you,” Sadon said without hesitation.
Lord Aster smiled, and with that he left to go do his duty. Sadon looked at the rest of the Lords in the tent.
“My Lords and ladies, I wish you all good fortune during the fight and hope to see you all alive and well by the time this is all over,” Sadon proudly said as a smile grew upon his face “Now, let’s show our people that we are worthy of their trust and that we won’t let them down in victory or defeat!”
Responding, the lords cheered before leaving the tent to go and command their various parts of the army; leaving Sadon alone. Knowing that he would not be needed outside for a little while he decided to use this time to gather his thoughts. Slowly he walked through the large empty tent back to where he was previously standing and began to look down across the map on the table. As he did, he noticed that his previously clenched hands were now shaking.

Outside the tent stood two royal guards, Lord Carlard and Lord Riell, who had been ordered to protect Sadon at all times by his father. They adorned their steal plate royal guard armour, which was much like Sadon’s, with three gold rings upon the breastplate. To protect their heads, they wore their intimidating helms which covered almost all their face, only leaving a small space for eyes, their mouth and their nose. They stood with straight backs facing directly forward, with one hand clenching their sheathed swords and the other holding their elegant shields. Due to the helmets covering their heads it was near impossible to see their faces however from what Sadon could see, there did not seem to be any emotion visible on them. Seeing his moonlight white horse waiting for him, Sadon walked towards it and the squire who had begun to place the saddle upon it. As he began walking past the guards, they began to follow him like shadows slowly stalking him as he walked. Approaching from the side, a figure began to emerge from the darkness.
“My lord,” the figure called using a familiar voice.
The prince stopped a few feet from the horse and turned to respond. The night may have been pitch black however through the darkness he could easily still make out the figure to be Patch; like him and the royal guards he had also been equipped with steal plate armour, but unlike them nothing had been encrusted onto the breastplate, and instead of wearing a helmet, he wore the red bandana, that he had looted back at the Doomsgatian mercenary camp he had been found in, around his head.
“Patch, how has your night been till now?” Sadon replied as he turned back and finished walking to his horse where the squire was struggling to saddle the horse as it kept sliding down the horse’s back. Sadon put the saddle back in place and held it there so the squire could finish his job, before turning back to face Patch. “And also, how many times have I told you to stop calling me your lord and to call me Sadon?” a grin forming on his face.
“My night has been going well. Some of Gallomere’s lads invited me to join them, so I sat with them as they sang songs and let me share their drinks and let me tell you they really know how to drink. All good things must end. Lord Aster found me and sent me here. He claims the battle is about to begin?” Patch said with humour however also fear in his voice. “Oh, I know, but I just love seeing your face glow up when I call you my lord,” he added, attempting to lighten the mood.
Sadon turned his head back towards him. “You do know it is treason to not do as I command, so therefore I promise that if you call me your lord again I’ll cut off your head myself” Sadon responded before adopting a more serious tone. “Lord Aster is correct; the fighting is about to commence.” His grin was now gone and in it’s place a frown had begun to form. Turning back to the horse the saddle had been secured and the squire had moved on and was now bringing round pre-saddled horses for the two royal guards and one seemingly for Patch. Collectively, he gathered his thoughts before swiftly putting his foot into the saddle and using his body strength to pull himself over his mount and sit down comfortably in position.
“Oh, is it now? Well you can try ‘my lord’ but I wouldn’t recommend it,” the young bear smiled as he spoke. “Seeing as you’re about to charge into battle, I suppose I better stay by your side and protect you. I’ve seen you fight, you’ll need it.”
“Ah I see, thank you,” Sadon replied sarcastically, “You truly are my hero. Now hop on one of the horses and we’ll ride out to the front,” he said, gesturing to one of the horses the squire had brought round.
“As you command,” Patch replied as he bowed, before beginning to clumsily clamber onto his horse. It was clear that he had little or no experience of riding from his embarrassing attempt of mounting horse; as he did this Sadon turned to the two imposing royal guards, who were still as motionless as they had been a few minutes before.
“Lord Carlard, Lord Riell, mount your horses and accompany us to the front. You’ll be fighting with us,” Sadon commanded. The guards nodded in perfect time with one another. “Yes, my lord,” they both said and with that they mounted their horses. Despite their heavy armour they were done just as Patch had got into position.
“Have you ever ridden a horse before?” Sadon asked Patch with a large smirk on his face.
“Once,” Patch replied, “it didn’t end very well,” he added as he tightly held the reigns of his horse as if he was expecting the horse to speed off.
Sadon began to laugh at his friend’s remark. “You must tell me about it when this is all over,” Sadon said as he pulled back on his horse’s reigns signalling it to begin moving. In doing so he got a glimpse of his hands. He noticed that unlike before his hands were not shaking, the nerves had stopped flowing through his body as if a barrier in his mind was blocking them from coming through. Now he felt a lot calmer, colder and ready for the battle. Steadily he rode forwards towards the front lines of his army on the ridge that overlooked the Doomsgatian camp, closely followed by Patch and his royal guards.

Arriving in his position overlooking the camp, it was apparent that it stretched far down the river, yet Sadon could still see the edge of it; there must've been around three thousand men camped here, three thousand men that would meet their deaths tonight. This wasn’t a battle. Even without the flaming arrows, this was still a butcher. The honour in Sadon stirred; it made him almost sick to think of how unarmed men would be cut down like a boar in a hunt. Nevertheless, this had to be done. These men weren’t innocent; they'd raided and pillaged, raping the lands and defiling the common people, and if left to their plans they would take the heads of his family and all the people he loved and cared for, let alone end the lives of the people his father had sworn to protect. If this had to be done it would be done as honourably as possible Sadon thought to himself. He had already made sure that the plan of attack would be done as honourably as could be and that if they surrendered they would be taken prisoner and not executed, yet still it troubled him.

Lights flickered in the camp and men could be heard laughing and talking to each other as if this was just another normal night for them. They were there drinking and eating while behind the shadows lurked their end. Hearing a noise behind him, Sadon turned and watched Lord Aster trot past Patch and his guards before stopping next to him. He rode his horse with pride. Sadon knew it was time. The battle was about to begin.