The Road to Rolbury
Brondold made for the stables with haste clutching tight to the parchment bearing the Imperator's orders. He had already memorized them but he was awash with anxiety. It was to be his first engagement, his first marching order and the beginning of what his life was to become.
Kell to Rolbury, Kell to Rolbury he kept repeating to himself. Rolbury, was that west?
The road to Kell was a short one and he held position closely behind the army. He heard shouting coming from the front; banners spotted on the horizon, his heart began to pound.
The army marched slowly in formation and soon came upon the small contingents of Thalmarkin and Reven; poised and ready to draw blood. Brondold exhaled with relief and gave the order to stand down. He watched the battle closely and saw the Reven cavalry charge recklessly into a torrent of arrows. He could not understand why such an order would be given. Even he, a new cavalry commander himself wouldn't dare such a maneuver. The fools! He thought to himself.
The army began to move once more towards Rolbury with the Gilded Sun taking position as rearguard. Brondold made a point to keep an eye on the road behind them, glancing every now and again to be sure there were no banners in sight. As they strode through dawn he could still hear the wailings of men and beast as they sought to cling what life remained. It is a sound he would not soon forget. A sound that no doubt awaited him in Rolbury.
A war horn droned and the Army of the Vales quickly took to formation. It was a much better display of military discipline than the previous encounter Brondold had witnessed in Kell. The infantry snapped into their columns as the archers locked arrows and readied their shots. To Brondold's he could see Marshal Owain; mounted confident and proud bearing a rather odd shield, perhaps from some forgotten kingdom.
There were shouts among the troop commands to hold steady as the throngs of peasants began to amass. There was another long blow of the war horn ushering the infantry to advance. Strangely enough, through the thicket of imperial banners, there could be seen a lone contingent from Reven also moving forward. The archers released their volley, the sharp iron rain sinking into earth and flesh with thick thud.
Three short bursts, once more horn and with it the Melody of Destruction began to charge. The Gilded Sun followed suit, their galloping now sounding of thunder. They tore through the peasantry, again the sounds of man and beast howling, screaming and dying consumed Brondold's ears. This time louder and longer than before. Dried earth had been kicked up in the charge and now veiled the battlefield in a brownish haze.
It all seemed, on one hand, to last forever and on the other surprisingly short. Brondold could not recall the details but did remember a few of his horsemen panicking and leaving the field. As dusk gave way into night and after the dead were gathered Brondold found himself tired, dirty and in need of strong drink. He strode through the encampment in search of reprieve.
