The Battle began to shift in the Dekmirians favor. With the heavy armored knights and the Red Knight spear heading the renewed advance. The Ramians were doomed. The Elvish Archers situated on the ramparts unleashed their legendary skill upon the air above the battle. Arrows protruded from enemy corpses and the earth between them for miles around. But the Elves never once struck a Dekmirian soldier. Every Elvish Arrow found its home in the bodies of many hundreds of Ramian Legionaries. Each one protruding out of each enemy soldier like a battle standard for each archer.

The Elvish Archers had cleared away the Ramian Vanguard. And now the Dekmirian Defensive line could charge and break the Ramian Advancing Force. Which was still some seven yards away The Red Knight walked to the front and stood among the Dekmirian soldiers. The forward commander rode to the front and rallied the Dekmirian forces. His chants and ravings of the glory of the Kingdom of the White Griffon echoed as loud as the thunder that dominated the clouds above.

The Red knight rolled his eyes in discontent for the tedious commanders ravings. But his moment of discontent was short lived. As he gave the final line of inspirational banter before shouting "Charge!" His command sent fire through the soldiers veins. Haste and patriotism carried them far across the battlefield steel in hand. The Red knight held the hilt of his sword to the level of his shoulder as he charged. Bending the blade thinwise slightly over his shoulder so as to hide the length of the blade from the Ramain Legionairie marching in his direction.

The Red knight then brought his sword down on the Ramian Legionnaire. Cutting from shoulder to groin. Yet stopped before it could split his testicles. The knight quickly withdrew his sword and parried the strike of another Ramian. The deflection was so strong that it set the Legionnaire off balance and made him trip over his fallen comrade. In a chain of tumbles, other Legionaries tripped as well. Quick to utilize the moment, the Red knight climbed atop the pile of stumbled Ramians and made a downward strike upon more Legionaries.

The Elvish Archers continued to dispatch Ramians with supreme accuracy. The morale of the Legions of the Golden Eagle was in tatters. Their ranks began to falter. In the far back of the Ramian lines. The Ramian Commander sounded the retreat in Tarziquim, the Ramian language "Recaz! Recaz tac het sortaldriz! Recaz tac het sortaldriz! Hastar! Hastar!" The Legionaries began fleeing like a small swarm of flies consumed by terror.

The Red knight turned to the fortress gates when a deep toned war horn belw, and saw the gates open. And out came three companies of armored cavalry. The famous Riders of Harrowmark. Who had been the bane of many a Ramian Legionnaire since the Ramians began their invasion three years ago. Iron willed knights mounting Bannburgian colts. The swiftest horses in the world. The kind that the Kingdom of Bannburg is famous for. They stormed across the battlefield as the Dekmirian soldiers hurried out of the way. So they wouldn’t be ridden down.

The Ramians however. Couldn’t escape the storming riders. Spears and swords laid low the Legions of the Golden Eagle of Ramia. Many were impaled and left in gore. Held aloft by the planted spears. When the riders exhausted their spears, they drew their swords. In a single instant, a third of the number the Ramians that had assaulted the fortress with were destined to seed the ground with death. While their blood sated the thirst of the indifferent earth.

The Red knight looked on as the Riders decimated the retreating Ramians. While the Dekmirian soldiers cheered and shouted in rejoice. The Red knight did not smile, he did not laugh or shout in celebration. His face held the expression of regret. For every soldier that cheered and rejoiced. There were thirty more on either side of the conflict that had been silenced forever. Such were the thoughts of the Red knight. For he did not take pleasure in combat. And held only lament for the young who had died in the name of politics and the lines drawn and redrawn on maps. And soon enough. His expression became one of unbound anger.

The battle was won. And the Red knight was done.

He turned and began walking back to the fortress. Walking past many a soldier and knight mad with joy for their victory. The Red knight looked strange to them. Because he did not display joy or satisfaction in the largest victory of their garrisons time in this war. While celebration filled the air, he strode across the drawbridge and through the mural adorned archway with a great iron lantern hanging in the middle between the first and second gates. As he entered the courtyard, he sheathed his Red Steel sword and and walked straight to the entrance of the fortress halls. His destination was clear, the Garrison commanders chambers.

The Red Knight looked upon this great fortress. The Fort of Krantborg. The Southern most fortress that stood fortified in defense of the Southern Border of Dekmire. A fort built in defense of the Orcish Hordes in times passed. Then in defense of Savage Human Tribals. Now defending against the unending greed of a pretender Empire that sought to bring back the wonders and glory of the Old Empire of Ellicia. That great and irreplaceable Empire that once united all the Races of Men. The Red Knight could see where the ages had come and gone in the architecture. Where the Ellicians had raised the fortress. And then where the Dekmirians maintained it. Making him lament the atrocity that he had witnessed outside.

The Red Knight started for the Commanders Office Chambers. Striding past the fortress servants hurrying to complete their tasks and messengers rushing to deliver their messages to unit captains. He scaled the fine cut stone stairs and approached the thick wooden door to the Commanders office. An armored sentry stopped him. "Hold Red One. The Commander is in a meeting with the Captains. None may enter till the meetings done." the sentry said.

"I don’t care if the Commander is on the privy. I will see him. Now!" the Red knight said in frustration. The sentries moved to stop him. But the Red knight managed to subdue them both without even drawing his sword. The Red knight cought the fist of the sentry to his left and struck him in the right eye. Making him fall flat on his ass. Then he kicked the sentry to his right in the knee before swinging his leg around to the back of the sentrys knee and swiping it back again. Causing him to fall over. Then the Red knight then kicked the sentry square in the face. Knocking him out. Within eight seconds. These two broad armored and well trained guardsmen were brought low by the skilled tenacity of one man.

One sentry attempted to get up. But the Red knight aligned his fist with his face and made sure to knock him out this time. When the sentries were done with. The Red knight forced open the door and walked down the onyx stone hall leading to the office. He could hear the captains talking among themselves. He also heard Elvish commanders speaking in their tongue. The Commander leaned over in his arm chair to talk to the scribe in the room as the Red knight entered. "Read it back to me Nolan. Word for word."

"Yes Commander Dolne." The Scribe Nolan replied before putting down his quill and picking up the parchment that was inscribed with the report on the battle. "To the office of High General Rodrin Kade. I Roymar Dolne. Garrison Commander of Fort Krantborg. Report that the latest incursion of Ramian forces was successfully repelled on this the Eleventh day of Maras in this year of the All-Father Seventeen-Hundred and Fourty-Four, After Ellicia. In addition. This battle was not without casulties. Of our Garrison, some One-Thousand Four-Hundred and Ten soldiers. Fifty-Seven Noble knights. And Eighteen scouts. In total One-Thousand Four-Hundred and Seventy-Five have fallen. Another Twenty-Five are missing as yet. But may yet return, or be found.

Significant quantities of the Garrisons provisions are depleted as well. Medicines and necessary provisions are in short supply. Attatched are a list of such things as well as the numbers required to replenish. May this report find you in good health. All-Fathers Favor." The Scribe Nolan recited and awaited further instruction.

"How soon can that letter reach the capitol?" Commander Dolne asked the Scribe Nolan.

"My carrier Pigeons are ready to fly at your behest Commander." Scribe Nolan said.

"Good. Send it immediately. We can afford no more delays if we are to continue to stand against the Ramian bastards." Commander Dolne then commanded. His voice urging the Scribe with a veterans poise. The kind that a man could only have after decades of fighting. The kind that reflects the losses he's suffered. Losses too significant to forget. Or forgive.

The Red knight wished to speak his peace. But his passions had cooled once he entered the room. And he would not interrupt talks that determined the lives of the Garrisons troops. Though his haste told him differently. The Commander noticed his body language at the entrance and knew that he would not wait long. A Commander of his seniority could read Men without mistake. Commander Dolne then looked to his captains and said "I think that’s enough for today captains. Go and see to your units. All-Fathers Favor."

"All-Fathers Favor." The captains said together. Commander Dolne then looked to the Elvish captains and said roughly "Goadri an braea fillae." Then he held an open palm to the center of his chest against his leather gambeson and then extended it to them with a smile.

One of the Elvish captains then repeated the words with a greater skill of speech in the the Elvish tongue "Goadri an braea fillae." Then did the same gesture of the hand as the Commander had.

In what seemed to the Red knight to be an organized line, the captains departed the Commanders Office. The Red Knight stood at the entrance of the Office and appropriately saluted the captains as they left. His face was lit by a polite ember of restraint. Fighting hard to keep from displaying an expression of disdain and aggression. But his eyes said more than his face could. And they spoke their every grievance to the Commander as he sat in his armchair among the lit trenches built into the wall that illuminated the room. Casting a grim light upon his desk which was dominated by missives, letters, orders, and other such documents. And seemingly held in place by the candle sticks and small lock box that rested on the desks edges.

The commander then rose from his arm chair and walked to the cabinet at the back of the room. Inside were bottles of wine and along with tankards and glasses. Commander Dolne took a glass from the cabinet and a bottle of wine. The Red knight read the label on the bottle. Matouri of the Vines 1233 A.E. An expensive wine from the isle of Del’valnari. The center of strong drink and leisurely goods through out the world. The Commander pours a full glass before returning to his chair.

When the final captain had left the room and pulled shut the door behind him. The Red knight and the Commander could hear the captains wonder why the sentries were on the ground. But the Red knight would not let their muffled voices be the topic of the hour. He wasted no time to approach the Commander and speak his mind. "I’m finished." the Red knight said at first chance. Before Commander Dolne could even conjure a single word.

"What?" Commander Dolne asked in a minute confusion.

"I’m finished! I’m done fighting here! I’ll await the morning. The storm will be long done. Then at first light. I ride north." the Red knight said. Casting aside the veil of restraint and setting free the expression of disdain and aggression. His every word bit the Commanders ears with the fury that the Red Knights words emitted. But Commander Dolne had been through much worse, and was not as easily shaken as the men he commanded.

"And what, Ser Ahrom inspired this sudden decision?" Commander Dolne asked. With no small measure of war hardened composure. An expression of calculating vigilance on his face.

"What inspired it? Do you really need to ask!?" Ahrom asked in outrage. Commander Dolne said nothing in response. He didn’t understand Ahroms outrage. He’d been a soldier for too long to understand the rigid morals of a Paladin. "Those men were retreating. Their morale broken and their best Legionaries dead. Yet still you gave the order to ride them down. To the last of them who were fast enough to get beyond the clearing and elude the Riders." Ahrom explained with a tone of aggression. His voice was on fire, every word was an ember that was carried aloft on winds of lament for the young dead that now saturated the battlefield with blood outside the fortress walls.

"Yes. I gave the order for the Riders of Harrowmark to break the routed Ramians. And I would again. Why would we let them all go? They would’ve bolstered their reinforcements in another assault." Commander Dolne asked with a more aggressive tone to match Ahroms. But Ahrom was unimpressed. He did not falter before the veteran Commanders dominant tone. He held to his beliefs like the final grip on the ledge, hanging above a gaping maw.

"They were boys! They were retreating! Their veterans were slain! What edge could this invasion force have now? They had no siege weapons. No ladders or towers. Nothing! They were done! And still you destroyed them." Ahrom shouted. He would not relent in his point.

"And how many Dekmirian boys did those Ramian boys kill!? How many more would’ve died if they were allowed to regroup!?" Commander Dolne asked. His voice getting louder. Yet his body language was unchanged. His composure was that of a statue standing ready to withstand the fiercest storm.

"How many of them might have been discharged? How many mothers might have seen their sons again?" Ahrom asked. His voice no longer filled with aggression, but drowning in lament. And his hands clinching in the anger that his face had abandoned.

"You are a boy yourself. How old are you?" Commander Dolne asked.

"Twenty and five years. So I’m told." Ahrom replied. His voice becoming more grim.

"So you’re told? You don’t know?" Commander Dolne asked.

"I was orphaned as an infant. My day of birth was never known, but some with sharp minds for determination said I had to have been born in the autumn of Seventeen-Hundred and Nineteen." Ahrom replied. His voice once afire now dimmed by the remoniscence of his past.

Commander Dolne said nothing for a moment. He felt somewhat sorry for him. Though not enough to abandon his point. He then inhaled deep and said "Yet for all your time facing fiercer horrors. You’re still a boy yourself. A boy made into a Paladin. You’ve only ever battled Heretics, Daemons, and Monsters. You’ve never been in a war. Never glimpsed what Men may do to each other for King, for Country, and for the Gods. In war, there is rarely time for righteousness or honorable action. My decision was one such time. And I took no pride in it. But no regret in light of the greater scope either."

Ahrom said nothing. He had no words. Though he still believed strongly in his point that the cavalry chase was dishonorable. He was shaken by the realization that the Commander was right. He was a boy, and a war of Men was new to him. But another realization occurred to him. "But for this. How will history remember us?" Ahrom asked. The lament still radiating from his every word.

"It won’t." Commander Dolne replied. "It will remember that the Kingdom of Dekmire made a stand here. Fighting to keep the tyranny of the Ramian Empire from destroying the peace of the Free Heartland Kingdoms. And our names and what we’ve done will be written upon a single parchment and buried beneath other parchments until even those documents are withered away to little more than dust. And in much more time. That dust will be gone. Lost on a stray wind. They who remember it will die and return to the earth. And we will pass into the obscurity that comes from the endless march of time and the blindness of long awaited peace." The Commanders words weighed heavy on Ahroms mind. And in his words were part of a concept that Ahrom could not accept. But he couldn’t find the words to express his opinion in that moment. His code as a Paladin had been shaken deeply.

"What was it that you saw on that battlefield that had shaken you so? When you first came to us it seemed you were content to defend your country." Commander Dolne asked.

Ahrom did not respond for a long time. He paced between the wall to his left and the Commanders desk which stood between him and the Commander. Ahrom then looked to the portrait on the wall. It was of the Commander and his family. A boy stood in front of the commander and his wife in the portrait. From Ahroms perspective he seemed to be of fifteen years. The boy in the portrait sent Ahrom into a memory of a battle that was fought not one week ago at the fort.

"One week ago. When the Ramians had first reached the border. I fought in a skirmish. A whole company of twenty men against fifty. We fought in the abandoned town just outside the fort. Narrow streets. Most of the men that fought beside me had been killed. But not before taking forty-six Ramian Legionaries with them. I sent the others away. And was left to fight the last of them. The Ramians fought valiantly. I could see the devotion to their Emperor in their eyes. But I didn’t see it in the last man. I found him in a weather worn house. He was avoiding the fighting all together. He stood beside the cold hearth hoping the fighting would stop. Or at least pass over him. As though by some hope, that he would be saved." Ahrom took a moment to stand before the portrait and allow the boys youth to cement the memory.

"What happened?" Commander Dolne asked. His mind picturing every moment that Ahrom described.

"I expected that he was trying to fool me into lowering my guard. Lure me into the jaws of the lion as it were. But as I held my blade to his neck. He didn’t reach for his sword. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t even express hatred towards me like his comrades did. He just stared at me. His eyes shook with stress, and his gaze told me of a grim and unyielding sorrow. Those eyes told me that he missed his home, his family. I didn’t lower my blade. I knew better than to accept what seemed to be a guise of cowardice or submission. But then his eyes stopped shaking. His expression became content. As though he accepted what ever may come. Then. He knelt down before me. Holding the edge of my blade to his neck and said ’Irr eredth equitraz.’ I found out what that meant later. That boy said ’I go quietly.’ Before I could even try to speak to him. One of our soldiers ran in and put his sword through the boys neck and out the other side of his shoulder." Ahrom said. He stood silently in front of the picture. Commander Dolne had nothing to say. He too was shaken by what he heard. Ahrom paced back to the front of the Commanders desk. "The cavalry’s unwarranted slaughter of the routed Ramians was the final straw. When I saw them riding out to kill frightened boys, I knew I was done. I could take no more." Ahrom said.

"You’ve never heard of the Legri Jeztra have you?" Commander Dolne asked Ahrom.

Ahrom was puzzled by the name. "No I haven’t." He answered.

"It means Mock Legion. In Tarziquim. It’s the name for the First Vanguard the Ramians send into battle. It’s a Legion comprised of Criminals and Traitors. A military secret of Ramia. They promise their despots and deviants freedom if they march in a Legion. They’re given a very brief training regiment and then are forced to march straight to the war front. To die. To fool the enemy initially and then return with a true fighting force. Something we learned from one of the few true legionaries we’ve been able to capture." Commander Dolne told Ahrom. And Ahrom was filled with an even greater sorrow. Making him feel like a murderer. Bringing the room to silence.

But the silence was broken again by the sound of loud stomping on a wooden floor. Without warning the chamber door was bashed open. And there ran through a scout made weary by a long run. He sprinted with his last breath into the office and began to wheeze aggressively.

"What is it scoutsman?" Commander Dolne asked the weary scout.

"Sir." Wheezing interrupted his every word. "Captain Ulrann." The wheezing increased. "Sent me!" The scout managed to finish.

"Why don’t you catch your breath scoutsman. Before you kill yourself." Commander Dolne demanded in the form of a minute suggestion. The scout did as demanded. He fought to catch his breath. He eventually managed to at least catch enough breath to speak a single sentence at a time.

"My Lord Commander." The scoutsman wheezed. "Captain Ulrann sent me." He said while grasping at air with all his strength. "You’ve got to come outside." He said.

"Captain Ulrann? Didn’t I tell him to start carting up the Ramian dead and ready them to be shipped to the Ramian camp? As you can see Ahrom. I am somewhat honorable." Commander Dolne asked the scout before briefly looking to Ahrom.

"You did Milord. And we had commenced as soon as he had arrived outside. But. The Ramian dead." The scoutsman said as he wheezed.

"Yes? Speak up! All-Fathers fury!" Commander Dolne shouted. His impatience becoming manifest.

"They’re on fire!" The scoutsman finally blurted.

"What?" Ahrom and the Commander said at the same time. Unnerved and confused by what they had just heard.

"The Ramian corpses have caught fire! They burn with blue fire raging at the air around them. The bodies massed on the carts burn them to kindling. Like bonfires!" The scoutsman said with fear in his words.

"Did the mages set them afire for some fucked reason?!" Commander Dolne asked in a confused outrage.

"No milord. They set afire without reason or warning as we began to gather them up. Please milord! You must come see!" The scoutsman shouted. The Commander arose from his armchair and followed the scout and Ahrom outside.

As they walked down the carpeted steps and down the hall. They saw a strange dark blue light from behind the door. "What the hell?" Ahrom asked rhetorically. As dumbstruck by the light that shined through the door as the others. And when he pushed open the doors, they were met by a large bonfire that consumed a cart of Ramian dead that was parked in the middle of the courtyard. It raged and roared with the fury of beasts. Crackling louder than the lightning and thunder that raged in the sky above. Even the rain fall didn’t staunch the strange dark blue fire. But merely turned to vapor when it met the dark blue fires burning touch.

They could not believe what burned before them. A flame that couldn’t be real. And to the worsen the situation. It came from nowhere. And as yet could not be explained.

"Milord! You have to see this!" Captain Ulrann shouted from atop the wall. Commander Dolne led the march up the steps to the top of the wall.

"Captain Ulrann. How many Ramian bodies have caught fire?" Commander Dolne asked before he looked out to the field.

To which Captain Ulrann answered anyway. "All of them." He said while possessed by the awe that had been born from the sight he now looked upon. The same was so for Commander Dolne, and Ahrom. And they were joined by the other soldiers that stood upon the top of the wall. All were paralyzed. Captured in the grasp of the unnerving dark blue flame that had set the Ramian dead on fire.

Out on the field where the Ramian incursion had just been repelled. Beneath the storm ravaged clouds. Every Ramian body that adorned the field, was now alive with the dark blue flame. Resembling the distant light of the stars beyond counting that dominate the endless night. With the carts of bodies burning brighter collectively. Becoming alike with lesser stars. The fires turned the green of the trees to blue in the light of the dark blue flames. There were no untouched among the Ramian dead. All became lit by strange fire that shined on the field to burn in abscence of the true lights of the stars of the ever returning night.

"Now I have a better reason to leave." Ahrom said. The two turned to each other. The commander retained a look of dumbstruck awe after he looked out upon the field. Ahrom was restrained in expression. Strong in posture. As much a stone as he could manage. Rivaled only by the stone of the fine granite and stone ramparts of the fortress walls.

The Commander had no words for this. All words flew from him when he beheld this madness. A condition made so by the strange dark blue fire that would now haunt his dreams. But for Ahrom. This strange dark blue fire conjured a memory that raged like a storm of lions in the back of his mind. A memory he had hoped to forget. The memory of an unimportant village. Of people that had no renown to speak of. But were robbed of all opportunity for the future by a terror only remembered by song and legend. Songs and Legends accompanied by the same blue fire that now raged before him.