“It’s a trap!” He screamed and spun his mount around. To his dismay he found their lines of retreat already being cut off by the now spreading formations of Massi infantry, some of who were now slaughtering the Knights a foot and others who were screaming with bloodlust and racing in his direction. The screams of the Massi infantry sent chills up his spine; they were the screams of vengeance, the screams of imminent victory. Hothgaard looked to the north and south but those avenues were also quickly being sealed.
‘It is not possible,’ he thought, dazed. ‘Defeat! And by a band of infantry…it’s not possible.’
“Form a line on me!” Hothgaard yelled dismissing such pessimistic thoughts. But he knew now that their only chance was to form a strong line and charge hard and fast before the Massi moved in too close. Without a strong line they had no hope of driving a wedge through the mass of foot soldiers that were quickly surrounding them. In moments several hundred men gathered around the Captain’s position and though Hothgaard could see the rest of his Knights disintegrating around him, he did not hesitate. He and his men charged directly for what they believed the weakest Massi position; they charged directly toward Gwaynn and Vio.
But Gwaynn did not get to meet the approaching threat; instead he was quickly jostled backward by his own men until he was safely behind a strong line of halberdiers. The men immediately planted their halberds into the ground and angled them up to meet the oncoming charge.
Under normal conditions the fearsome warhorses of the Knights would have crashed into the lines with fury, but all across the battlefield came the screams of dying horses, this plus the random panicky movements of the many rider-less horses, filled the air with the scent of fear and caused the charge to falter well before the two lines even met.
“HOLD!” Gwaynn yelled in his most commanding voice. The Knights were defeated he knew that now. Only a few hundred were still mounted at this point in the battle, and all around him the Knights afoot were being surrounded. Those who were still fighting were being systematically slaughtered, but many others realized the battle was already lost and were throwing down their arms in capitulation.
“HOLD!” Gwaynn yelled again and slowly the pockets of violence within the sound of his voice began to diminish. As the cries and shouts of battle began to die away the atmosphere slowly began to change to one of inaction. The battlefield was filled with the dead and dying, but also the living. The Temple Knights remaining were now utterly surrounded by the much more numerous Massi and Toranado infantry.
“Sir Knights…do you yield?” Gwaynn cried out over the short distance between his position and the last of the mounted Knights. The Toranado were approaching slowly from the rear and on all sides the infantry was closing on the only large group of mounted enemy.
Captain Hothgaard, who was among the Knights still a horse, looked wildly about in disbelieve, thinking the outcome of the battle was somehow a very big illusion and soon he would spot the rest of his army riding to the rescue. Seconds later he did spot a large formation of cavalry riding toward them from the south of Claymont. Instantly his heart soared, but then he spotted the flag flying at the head of the column, it was a white eagle flying on a dark blue field; the flag of Massi.
‘It could not be…we destroyed them!’ Hothgaard thought.
“Sir Knights…the High King is dead. Lost at sea. You are fighting alone, King Weldon Palmerrio is our prisoner and the Deutzani are destroyed,” the young man behind the formation of spears spoke loudly and directly to Hothgaard. The Captain blinked rapidly at the news.
‘Could it be true? Could the High King be lost?’
“Yield and no more harm will come to you…your wounded will be attended,” said the voice and after a brief moment Hothgaard felt his beating heart slowly calm in his chest. He rode forward away from his confused and disheartened men; most of those around him were unbloodied and had in fact killed no one. For them, as well as for their commander, the battle seemed unreal, not like any other engagement in memory. How was it possible to lose a battle while so many were without wounds, or to be victorious without drawing blood?
“Who speaks?” Hothgaard asked, feeling strangely cool now that the specter of defeat was accepted.
A young man moved out of the crowd and through the forest of spear points. As he cleared his men, Hothgaard found that he recognized him…or rather the likeness of him. The Captain knew without a doubt that this was the son of King Arnot of Massi…this was Gwaynn Massi.
“I am Gwaynn Massi,” the young man confirmed. “And I give you my word that if you yield no more blood need be spilled in this war.”
Captain Hothgaard looked down at the tall, straight-backed young man and actually smiled. He was tired of war…the Massi had won and for some reason the fact of defeat did not cause as much pain as he feared it might. Suddenly he was smiling and he actually chuckled at the thought. In truth, he had never considered defeat…at least not until he arrived on the shores of Massi.
“We will yield Prince Gwaynn Massi,” Hothgaard answered.
“King Gwaynn!” A lone shout came out of the crowd. There was a moment’s pause and then thousands repeated the call. “King Gwaynn! King Gwaynn! King Gwaynn!” The call went on and on and on before finally dying out.
“Very well,” Hothgaard said with a bow of his head, “King Gwaynn,” he conceded and unceremoniously threw down his lance. After a moment’s hesitation the Knights around him did likewise and the final battle, which had gone on for a little less than an hour, was abruptly and decisively over.
Captain Hothgaard dismounted and walked slowly to Gwaynn, when he was close he slowly drew his sword and rested it on his upturned palms.
“My sword,” he yelled for all his men to hear. Gwaynn nodded and then slowly reached out and took the hilt and pulled it up and away from his enemy…now suddenly his prisoner. He thrust the sword up into the air and instantly the army around him shouted their relief and joy to the sky.
“You are?” Gwaynn asked as the din slowly subsided.
“Captain Hothgaard of the Temple Knights,” he answered solemnly. Gwaynn gave a curt nod indicating that he had heard of the leader of the Knights.
“Follow me,” Gwaynn commanded. “Bring your horse,” he added and the two made their way through the living and the dead. Hothgaard was cheered by the fact that though a great many of his Knights were a foot, they were alive. However there were many that lie dead in his path…including Captain Tramm, whose eyes were wide in death, the back of his head cracked open like an egg.
Hothgaard stared at his former friend and comrade, but once he was passed he began to turn his mind to those who were still alive. Defeat was a new experience for him and he was unsure how to handle it.
“My men?” he asked the young man walking beside him.
“Will be treated well…as long as they present no resistance.
“Is the High King truly dead?” Hothgaard asked as other men and women joined in their march from the battlefield, some of those around him the Captain recognized as Tars from the Island of Noble.
“He is truly,” Gwaynn answered finally breaking from the rear lines of the Massi army. They were moving slightly uphill toward a group of men who were overlooking the battle. Somehow Hothgaard had always assumed Pr…King Gwaynn would be among the men controlling the battle, the fact that he was in the very midst of the fighting raised his estimation of the youth dramatically.