It was dark upon the misty moorland marsh where the men lay in restless angst. No moon was there to ease the shadows, for it and its celestial neighbors had relinquished the skies and had drawn over themselves a veil of cloud so that they might be blind to the act that was to be done below. The armored men would have been visionless in the night but for the white mist that presented vague silhouettes of the tall grasses, the still horses with their still riders, and the crouched footmen with their boots in the puddles. Spears were held forth and ready. Helmets were securely drawn. Crossbows were fed and waiting. All was set, save for the soldiers in their apprehension.

Yet despite the fervent prayers of the warriors that naught should come to pass, the enemy was sure in advancing. The shod hooves of the approaching horses slipped through the water. The quick pace of the coming enemy soldiers sent ripples slithering across the marsh to beat against the soldiers of the sitting army.

Then came a still silence, and a wait. The chorus of nocturnal insects faltered and stopped. The snakes slunk into their holes. The mists began to thicken in the air, wherefrom sprang arrows in abundance in whistling descent.

The cries of men gave flavor unto the air, and blood gave color unto the water and grass. Commands from harsh tongues of authority thrummed in the ears of the feverish soldiers as bows were emptied and armed again. Spears, held firmly in sweating palms, swept forth upon toward the charging wave of dark shapes who were heavily burdened with plates of dented steel and blades broad of berth and fine of fringe. Steel and steel, once brethren in the belly of the mountain, met as enemies in the open air of the cold night. Flesh was split, souls released, and heroes made. The moon revealed itself.

Thus ended the battle, whose result was little else than tarnished metal, splintered wood, and heretofore-thriving lives suddenly vanquished. It matters not as to who was the victor and who was the loser, for the soldier that lived to see the end had now to proceed unto the next battle, where his fate was as uncertain as the swirling mist of the moorland marsh.

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