The flight of gryphons leapt skyward, light from the twin suns gleaming off their steel-shod talons. Prince Haldred thrust his hand outward and a bolt of energy crackled after the retreating dragon. The troops gathered below cheered their prince and began to regroup around their company standards in preparation for a final charge. The Prince widened his stance and held both arms aloft, outstretched. The wind whipped his midnight blue cloak.
“I am Death come to wreak vengeance on those who dare attack us!” His cry boomed unnaturally from the surrounding hills. The army gave voice to another raucous, rolling cheer that ebbed and flowed until it resolved into a mighty chant.
“Haldred! Haldred! Haldred!” they went on and on. A golden aura wrapped the Prince and drove his followers to even greater ecstasy.
“To the attack!” Haldred ordered. The army turned as one and charged after their enemy who was already in disarray. The aura subsided and the Prince lowered his arms, but he remained planted on the edge of the hill, resplendent in power.
“Excuse me, my Lord,” a small voice said from behind. Haldred turned to see his father’s oldest advisor, Malarol, perched like a child on a giant roan charger.
“What is it,” the Prince sighed, turning his back on his triumph.
“Your father requests that you return to him. The battle is won; we have carried the day. Let the army finish their work.”
“The army needs me, Malarol. The people need me. Tell my father I will return when I have personally sealed the victory.”
“Your father, the King, orders that you return to him at once, my Lord.” Malarol turned his head away, glancing sidelong at the Prince, and hunched as if ready for a blow.
Prince Haldred studied Malarol for a moment in thought, then turned his back on him to survey the field below. Malarol dismounted and scuttled around to face the Prince.
“Well?” Malarol queried with equal parts supplication and exasperation. “Shall we go?”
“A warrior belongs with his army, Malarol. Not behind the lines hunched over a bunch of maps scratching about like a hen, waiting for others to report what he should be seeing with his own eyes.”
Malarol straightened at this last remark. Haldred thought he seemed taller than he remembered.
“You are right, my Prince,” Malarol almost sneered at him. “It is always good to see with one’s own eyes.”
Malarol raised his hand to cover his face for a moment, and as he lowered it with a practiced gesture, Malarol’s features dissolved into those of the King, who grew even larger still. Malarol’s foppish courtier’s clothing changed into the King’s famous silver chainmail, with an ermine cloak matching the white hair that swept from his brow. The hilt of Sunspear, his mighty greatsword, protruded over his left shoulder, twin suns engraved upon the ends of the quillon.
“Father,” Haldred exclaimed, with a slight nod of the head. “Forgive my hasty words. The heat of battle still rages in me and I spoke rashly.”
“Heat of battle?” the King snorted. He reached a hand toward Haldred’s forehead and parted his golden hair. A simple leather band circled his head, and at the front pulsed a blood red jewel, power seething in scabrous veins running throughout. “How could you?” he whispered.
“How could I not?” countered Haldred. “Would you see our lands in ruin, vanquished? One of us had to do what was necessary, and we both knew it would not be you.”
“Fool!” the King roared. “You have no idea what you have done!” He turned and marched towards the Prince’s field pavilion. The Prince scrambled to deflect him, attempting at each step to interpose himself between the King and the tent, but the King brushed past him.
Ten paces from the tent, the King thrust his hands, palms out, towards the pavilion. The cloth ripped away from the ropes as is from a mighty tornado, revealing a gruesome scene. Haldred’s mentor, the Wizard Embry, stood drenched in blood. A smoking brazier smoldered with the remains of his horrific sacrifices. Three enemy soldiers stood: bound, blindfolded, and shaking. The rest of the space was filled with the bodies of enemy soldiers, each one with a gaping hole in his chest. The flicker of the dying flames in the brazier mirrored the pulsing jewel on the Prince’s forehead.
A wordless scream leapt from the King’s lips. He pulled Sunspear free with a single fluid motion and grabbed the hilt with both hands. The three soldiers fell to the ground at the great sound. Embry cast a quick spell and his body became shrouded in a shimmering green haze. Haldred stood helplessly by, feeling himself once again a child at his father’s knee.
The King rushed the tent while Embry added to his defenses, shining as brightly as the twin suns. Sunspear whilred overhead in a might arc and cleaved Embry and his defenses in two as easily as a scythe reaps the summer grain. Embry’s falling body knocked the smoking brazier into the dirt.
The King sheathed Sunspear, which was already spotless, having burned off all traces of the foul Embry. He walked slowly to where Haldred remained rooted and puts his hands gently on his son’s shoulders.
“I fear that this victory has come at too great a cost.” He turned, head bowed, and walked away.