Although the rain had stopped, the air was cold and damp and the sky was the colour of lead. General Vas Calaan kicked his horse into a canter up the muddy slope and rode along the never ending line of men who stood hunched and huddled along the ridge. Their leather curass was becoming mildewed and fetid, their chain mail and spears brown and rusted, a drabness echoed by their sullen eyes staring from dark dejected brows.
Steam rose from the snorting mare as she was reigned to a halt, half rearing, her head shaking at the bit digging into her mouth. Vas Calaan sat tall in the saddle, pulled free his long sword and faced his men. His hair was matted and slicked with rain, framing his war-warn face. His eyes were wide and full of the savage flame of war.
As he thrust his blade aloft, a thin sliver of sunlight fought its way through the cloud and bathed him in a golden light. It glinted off rain slicked armour and made the dull red of his age weary cloak seem as a fire that sheathed and wrapped around him.
Those who gazed upon him that day felt, in that instant, a shiver run through them. It was as if the Sun God himself stood before them, and they felt His warmth and strength bolster their failing bodies.
As he spoke, his voice rolled like thunder and carried down the line. He saw his men straighten and stand tall, one by one, group by group, until all were intent upon his every word.
We stand alone on this field of slaughter, under this Raven sky. We stand amid the bodies of heratics whose names will not be remembered, and amid our fallen friends, whose names we will never forget.
We stand against all that is evil and tainted and twisted. We stand for righteousness we stand for hope, and we stand for truth, valour, honesty. And we stand for revenge.
This land is yours, my friends, and your childrens, and your childrens children. And it shall remain yours, defended by your blood and your valour and your faith and by the glory of God. We shall walk this field of Shades today as Reapers on the Wind. We shall wield the Sword of God and we will strike them down as they stand, as wheat before the sythe.
His eyes burned bright, as the shaft of sunlight faded leaving his visage deep in shadow. A last flare of bright sunlight kissed his cheek.
And though I ride with you, at your lead, this field is yours, you righteous ones. This hour is yours, you Children of the Sun.
Vas Calaan turned his horse to face the massed lines of the enemy and started down the slope. Behind him a cry went up and as one, five thousand spears marched to claim their destiny.
