under rulers less wise than either boasted currently, fought and struggled with a constancy that defied modern understanding. Either King had been madly desirous of ruling all the land that the world had to offer. Those were dark times, with further-bygone days of widespread allegiances between Humans and other thinking creatures, and the then-present times of lost trade routes and forgotten secrets that were only just being re-discovered. Tens of thousands died, and acts of black magic with twisted alchemy were employed upon the field, such as to render it no longer suitable for growing green things or grazing herds. Even wild animals avoided it, and it was said that to linger overlong upon its surface was to invite boils, fever chills, and a warping of the mind.
It is the perfect place, King Edward thought sadly, as he sat resplendent upon his armored stallion at the head of his newly-bolstered army, for so vile a thing as a battle.
The High Marshal and King Edward sat upon their horses in fully armored regalia, leading two columns of cavalry. Behind them were two ranks of infantry, with a corps of archers behind those. King Edward had hoped to parlay with King Ulthwe, and perhaps avert the need for any bloodshed at all but scarcely had the ruler of Canton appeared on the battlefield than he was charging directly towards them, his own massive charger snorting with, or so it seemed, its own sense of derision. So intent was he on taking the field quickly and decisively that he led his cavalry directly into a rain of Daventry arrows.
Daventry's archers were skilled and precise. They happened to contain the majority of the Kingdom's veteran soldiers, as bowmen with great precision were quite highly prized, and were paid well. They were able to fire two volleys of arrows as the armored knights of Canton bore down upon Daventry's forces, aiming far enough ahead of the charging horses that the arrows struck home when they landed. The whistling shafts found purchase in armor and flesh, and men and horses alike fell screaming onto the barren soil... but there were still too many knights left for the archers to take care of them all, and a third volley was waved off by the High Marshal himself.
King Edward and his High Marshal each led a column of armored knights, though they were considerably lighter than Canton's heavily armored troops. They fought with sword and shield from horseback and at a word from Edward, a trumpet-sound called the men to a charge with the two cavalry leaders leading their mounted soldiers onto the field of battle. At first, they sped directly towards the onrushing Cantonese knights... but at the very last moment King Edward veered to the left, and the High Marshal to the right, and their respective columns of men followed, sweeping around to either side of the Cantonese charge, and rushing headlong into the troops that were behind them. Though heavy infantry sported broad shields and heavy hand-weapons, there was nary a spear nor a pike to be found among them. “For Daventry! To Victory!” said King Edward, and the special magic of his shield carried his words across the battlefield, amplifying them such as they echoed loudly in the ears of all of his men.
The King and the High Marshal clashed with the Cantonese infantry first, their horses crushing through the first rank of troops entirely as they cleaved and struck at those who came behind. The cries of the terribly wounded and dying on both sides (mostly Cantonese) rose above the ringing clash of swords on shields and armor as the footmen were almost instantly routed. They struggled to regroup, but meanwhile in the dry dust behind them, the Cantonese knights had met with the Daventryan infantry, whose second rank carried long pikes, measuring nigh twenty feet in length. They left these lying upon the ground until the very last moment, then quickly seized them up and raised them, bracing each pike against the instep of an armored foot turned sideways. By the time the Daventryan cavalry had clashed with Cantonese infantry, the Cantonese cavalry had charged directly into a forest of firm, long spears and as they struggled trapped, the two ends of the Daventryan lines closed in about them. The first rank of infantry held hand weapons, and these rushed headlong into the mass of trapped horsemen, cutting and striking mainly at horses but not turning down a man when he presented a weakness in his armor. It was a bloody carnage, but the Daventryan forces pressed their advantage until the Cantonese cavalry was utterly routed and scattered.
The special magic of King Edward's shield next manifested itself in a rallying call which drew the Daventryan footmen to charge across the battlefield, roaring cries of “Daventry!” and “Freedom!” whilst the enemy cavalry commanders were unable to make themselves heard over the terrible din. The Daventryan cavalry lines were weakest in the center, and the rank of footmen armed with hand weapons formed themselves into a delta-shaped wedge, the first footman flanked by two others, to either side and slightly to his rear and so it went. The pikemen swept around to either side of Daventry's cavalry, and forced themselves into the flanks of the Cantonese infantry. It was soon only a matter of time before the Cantonese infantry leaders were struggling to rally what remained of their men together. A few of the mounted Cantonese cavalry did individually turn and charge back into the fray, but their numbers were quite few, as most of their ranks were already fleeing back across the border into Canton.
The battle was won. Even as King Edward and the High Marshal found each other in the midst of the terrible, bloody carnage, they were able to look about and see that the Cantonese forces had been massively reduced. As was inclined to happen with the shield of King Edward's father leading the way, the men had found that extra stroke of courage to keep their hands steady and their feet carrying them forward. As what remained of the once-mighty Cantonese army turned and fled from the battlefield, a reluctant salute from King Ulthwe was visible even as he attempted to rally his scattered horsemen for the retreat. King Edward gave a rallying cry of his own and reined his men in from pursuing the Cantonese forces across the border; he then sounded a victory cry, which was picked up by his army's trumpeters and drummers, and was echoed from the throats of the thousands of Daventryan soldiers to have survived the great battle unscathed. A terrible number of Daventryan men had fallen, hundreds of bodies littered the battlefield, and the moans of the Daventryan wounded filled the air with a terrible sound; the King and the High Marshal turned their men's attention towards helping the battle-wives and the clergymen who had followed in the army's train to tend to those whose bodies might be saved, and to give some semblance of peace to the dying and to the dead.
A graveyard was built, though any markers were for the time being built of wood and piled stones out of necessity. Arms and sigils were, where possible, laid atop the graves to provide for the identity of those who had carried them, that they might later be recognized. Cantonese and Daventryan were laid to rest side-by-side, in a great graveyard which spanned the breadth of the barren lands that comprised the border region between the two nations; with any luck, King Edward thought, future generations will be thus robbed of their foolishness, and we may no longer have any further warfare seen upon the face of this scarred and ancient battlefield. Daventryan forces continued this work, the King and the High Marshal both pitching in and lending a hand in their own turn until the following morning. The victorious armies of the Kingdom of Daventry then broke camp, turned, and headed for home, and well were the men ready to leave that dreadful place. Subsequently, it belonged only to the dead, in their counted thousands... with nearly seven thousand men lying beneath the field who would never again leave it, though fewer than nine hundreds of those were of the Kingdom of Daventry's folk.
The men returned to Daventry to a victory celebration, to great parades and feasting. It seemed for a time, that many people were relieved of the anxiety which had so plagued the population upon hearing of the loss of the magical mirror. However, as he approached the royal castle, the King was accosted by Master Falkreath, who came out on horseback and pleaded with him to ride with all haste, and attend to the Queen in her apartments. “A wicked thing, Majesty,” cried the alchemist: “a Cantonese agent did somehow spread word that you yourself had fallen in battle. The Queen already most unwell, was stricken by the news. She had barely be
en out of bed my King, and is now returned to it; the physicians and the nurses are attending to her. My potions have been of some relief, but I have been unable to cure”
The King was already urging his horse onward; in fact, they were barely able to open the gates of Castle Daventry in time to afford his admission. Once he was through, King Edward cried out his wife's name, shedding armor and other gear as he took the steps up the winding stairs of their private tower several at a time. He burst through the doors into their private rooms, startling physicians and Ladies in waiting; “My love!” King Edward cried, “I do yet live, you have been most cruelly deceived.”
He stopped at the sight of his Queen, so beautiful... but pale and wan in her bedclothes, her eyes swollen, and nose and mouth puffy. There was sadness but also a fierce and burning sickness upon her and try though he did, to throw himself upon her and embrace her, he was restrained from doing so by the assembled physicians. It was perhaps, a small mercy to the horror of the situation that, with his cries, she awoke