I used to say that love is a snare...and it brings mighty men to their knees. Yet there I stood, awaiting our doom, with nothing but the last moments I shared with my beloved Keiya.

Her soft head rested on my chest, above my belly, and I wrapped my arms around her in a protective gesture. The warmth of her body and the gentle rhythm of her breathing were a balm to my soul.

"I wish we had met under different circumstances," she whispered, her voice low and tingling.

"No," I replied, stilling her lips with a single finger. "I prefer it this way. I prefer that I had to defeat them all to be by your side. And I prefer that I will have to slay more men to preserve you and our child." I rubbed her belly, feeling a surge of love and protectiveness.

"Life would have held no meaning to me had fate chosen someone else to be by your side," I whispered, my voice filled with emotion.

"I couldn't be happier with another man," Keiya replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Shhhhhh...." I interrupted at once. "No man could ever replace me in your life, even if the heavens wished it so. Not even that vile man Dakor!" I hissed, my anger and protectiveness rising to the surface.

"Am here!" My raspy voice filled her ears. She inclined firmly to me, her eyes locked on mine. "You are my world, Dorack." Her smile was as a single ray in a darkened wilderness, illuminating the darkness.

"And you always mean everything to me," I whispered, yet firmly. "What is important to you is dire to me. What gladdens you charges me to keep you so. What scares you, I want to rip apart..."

The sight of a shivering soldier halted my fantasies. I clapped my hands on his shoulders, urging him with fresh motivation. The concept of death wasn't plaguing him alone; the curse was well in our camp. I would purge out that disease by going through them all – each man.

If the gods bid this day well, it would all end – soon, and well too. Then I could return to my beloved's arms – and in one piece. I sighed, rounding up the whole thoughts, and returned to duty.

As I walked through the gate of the stronghold, the cool morning air carried the weight of anticipation. I felt the hovering presence of my fanatical comrades., as we moved through. The Northern gate, my domain, stood before me like a sentinel. Our strategy was to draw the enemy forces to us. The enemies would pour at us from this very gate. This thus was the most sensitive battle point. If our strategy went right, we would funnel them into a killing zone.

A war major amongst Karmadin's court had refuted my strategy, advocating for a more traditional approach.

"Why risk a good number of men and a portion of our stronghold, when we could approach and stop the enemy forces in the field?" he had asked.

I smiled at his myopic thinking. He was shallow to the proceedings of war. I had never commanded a large host as this, but it was all the same. The best strategy always wrought the victory, regardless of the numbers.

"Our forces can't collide head-on with the Amylxone host," I explained. "We would be annihilated. My strategy is what we need to survive."

Few deaths would be the price for glory. I was willing to pay that price.

Every well-honed battle instinct had advised me to prepare for the worst. By fortune, Karmadin had trusted me wholly, and I had reinforced the gate, increased the walls, and readied the defenses. This fortress hadn't seen war in years, but it would soon.

A company of archers stood on the wall, their eyes keen to miss nothing, their wits sharp as a blade. Below, guards stood fierce, shields firm, and spears in hand. Yet, something still seemed wrong with the defenses. We needed more archers than lance men. A distant warfare was better than a close confrontation.

The archway and towers on either side were void of archers. "Pedrel," I called my first lieutenant. "Archers on the towers and archways." I instructed. In a blink, he translated my instructions to his sergeants.

We needed to hold the men out of the gate as much as possible. But if they did make it to the gate, we needed to frustrate their efforts in bringing our mighty gate down. And when they finally broke through...then they would face our wrath. A promise I was sure to keep.

It was always the same – a lure, a trap, a strategy. But prices were needed, and sacrifices had to be made. "Hails on the wall," I told Pedrel, my voice firm and commanding. He discharged men again for the duty, their footsteps echoing off the stone walls.

This city was fortunate not to have seen war in years. It would have been taken even before the fight began, its defenses weak and flawed. Too many flaws had been corrected, but too many yet remained to be spotted. "Burning oil should be set on the walls," I instructed again, my eyes scanning the battlements. "The walls shouldn't be packed, for easy movement when the time comes."

I peered at the battle catapults, wedged strongly on the towers of the wall. The sight of this war machine stirred a gladness within me, a sense of pride and power. I sighed, wiping off the fleck of sweat on my face. Time seemed to be crawling, each moment ticking by with agonizing slowness. Anxiety was a snaring foe, one that threatened to consume me whole.

I packaged every ounce of patience in a body built ultimately for impulsiveness and brutality. But I couldn't be rash now. Our allies, who had gone to lure the foes forth, were nowhere around. Heavens, I should send them aid. The thought nagged at me, refusing to be silenced.

No, I couldn't alter the strategy now. Patience was a virtue, one that I had to cling to. Glory entailed skills as much as good leadership. A true leader had to be patient, and I was determined to be one.

But was I even a true leader now? I had withheld some truths about my strategy from my men. With or without the return of our brothers, I knew they would have served their purpose as a lure. What were they now...a means to an end? Was I then a good leader? I was ready to sacrifice any comrade for my own desires. Had I become a monster for love?

But had doom befallen them? I kicked out the thought of failure. We had to hold on to hope. The entirety of this battle had been staked on hope. Keiya. The thought of her suddenly slammed into me again -- for the thousandth time, perhaps. The thought of how I left her presence came strongly at me.

I remembered her last words... "Dorack..." She called intimately. "I will come home to you, I promise." I reassured her with a smile. She returned the smile softly. "I know you would. But just don't be late." Her kiss pressed on my forehead once she had spoken.

Then I bent on both knees, and caressing her protruding belly softly, I spoke to my unborn child.... perhaps he would hear my words. "I will come home son. But while am away, be good to your mother" I said, placing a kiss on the belly before I stood up to move.

"Dorack," she called to me. "Kill. Kill. And don't stop killing."

It was exactly what I intended to do. Kill. Kill. And keep killing. And soon...return to my right place, as husband and soon father, beside my beloved. From a distance, the king's fort stood out amongst several houses of the city. I peered uncomfortably at the sky-piercing castle -- Blue Clover Keep. Its stone walls seemed to gleam in the sunlight, a beacon of hope and fear.

If we failed and the enemy breached the city wall and advanced past us, many would suffer, death would be unshaken...but Blue Clover Keep would fall, and everyone therein. Keiya. Karmadin. Everyone. The thought sent a shiver down my spine.

I looked up suddenly as an absurd noise banished my thought. "They are here." I grunted. The thick roaring clouds of dust, birthed by the hard galloping of cavalry soldiers, presented a fresh worry. Soldiers! I peeked further at the approaching company. Our soldiers! Quite a number of them remained alive. It was a good thing. Yet where were the foes they were to be luring?

Amidst the turbulence of thoughts making way through my mind, the cry of the watchers filled the air. "The terror has emerged!" they shouted. My heart sank, and I steeled myself for the battle ahead.

Yards from our approaching brothers, their presence now was defined. Like devils, they roared and growled, pressing intently to take us for prey and claim their prize. The sound of their approach was deafening, a cacophony of clashing steel and thundering hooves. Our brothers gained their access into the stronghold, the gates creaking open to admit them before slamming shut once more. But this would only push our enemies even harder.

"Captain, what do we do now?" Pedrel asked, his voice laced with uncertainty.

"We wait!" I simply remarked, my eyes fixed on the approaching horde.

They were confused by my response, their faces etched with uncertainty and panic. There they were, an army of at least four times our number, charging down on us, roaring and yelling and cursing like devils. And here we were on our walls, quietly waiting like the men were coming to pay homage.

Patience. These soldiers would learn this day the essence of the virtue patience. Everything was taking its due course. The host of foes was terrifying, a horde of snarling, snapping warriors. Alas, patience yet would determine our fate.

As they drove well within range, my orders came. "Pedrel," I called, my voice firm and commanding. "Let them have it." The lieutenant smirked as the order was relayed. In a blink, the loaded catapults were triggered. All five battle artilleries went turbulent, slinging off blazing masses upon the approaching company.

The effect was beyond expectation. The enemy lines wavered, but they refused to yield. There were still sufficient men to pick up from the dead men's cause. We wouldn't stop either. More burning masses were slung to the heavens, and with a rigorous thud, they descended upon the enemies.

Alas, they were persistent. Too many men were running past range. The artilleries were becoming less effective. "Nock," I gave another firm order. The archers on all points braced. Patience. We allowed the foes draw closer, and then I let them have it...again. "Fire!" I roared. My men did justice.

"Behold, the showers." I smirked sinisterly as the deathly arrows pierced upon the charging horde. The enemies kept pressing regardless. They had begun to shoot at us as well. Woe, a few of them had made it to the wall. Before the walls and the mighty gate, their struggle to break through came.

"Hails." I cursed. My men justified the orders. It would slacken their efforts. Still, more men were pressing on. It brought stinging concern. "Release the oil." I ordered. The jet black, sticky fluid poured on the foes as soon as the order came. There was no hesitance. An archer nocked an arrow with fire and released in a breath.

The strong orange flame preceded. The wails of scalding foes intrigued me. Our defenses were weakening their persistence. By hails and arrows and fire, we battled the efforts of the foes. But it would surely take more to keep the anxious enemies away. We would use all we have then.

Gboom! Gboom! Their blows had begun. While some fought to ascend the high walls, a team of maniacs held up the blow. By the force of the thick log, they would seek to tear apart the strong gate. Our efforts seemed to have only little impact on them. Their motivation grew as more of their men fell.

This was a plague. We wouldn't hold them much longer. I dashed down from the top walls with my team. Beneath, the assembly of the garrisons waited with anxiety. The gates would come down eventually. They were ready. They had accepted their fate.

"Shields up!" I emerged, my voice ringing out across the battlefield. "Hold strong! Forward!" I roared, leading the march now. Gboom! Gboom! The thunder of the strike was heavy, the sound reverberating through the air. The beating hearts of some of my men were alas heavier, their fear and uncertainty palpable.

The latch was weakened. Few more blows...that was it, and the horde would pour on us. "In the name of the King and Warden of the North. For Kedrone." I roared, while they chorused my last word. "For Kedrone." Gboooom! The deafening thud pronounced our fate. The gate was bridged.

A wild displacement of struggling men who still pressed on the gate ushered the terror in. The enemies. They were ravaging, anxious, desperate, and eager to have a feel of our flesh. They assaulted. Our shield wall was formidable. Casualties were yet inevitable. The enemies lashed, their blades sliced through, catching up with bones and ligaments.

They sought more. They had yet the worst perception to what they were falling into. It was upon this ground we had plotted their demise. The City Garrisons were an Elite class of fighters, made as the last contenders in events as this -- adversaries seeking to acclaim the city.

It was then without saying their level of attainment and in fact conduct in this war. They were fighting strong. But our foes were unending. They would pour at us at all angles. They were enveloping us. If the fighting lasted any longer, they would most certainly have the better of us. We wouldn't be able to hold them longer.

"Pedrel!" I turned to my comrade amid the whole fighting. "Let the signal be given now!" My eyes shone with eagerness. He turned from the fighting, and as quick as his legs could carry, he left for the signal. He had made it to top of the wall again. A simple gesture to the Watcher on the highest tower told it was time for the blare.

The anxious soldier held up the piece, and without hesitance blew. It was strong and piercing. The strange blare halted soldiers of either parties. Each one unclear of what this signal meant.

But nothing changed. There was no new movement, no shift in atmosphere, no shadow of mystery. The Watcher wouldn't stop. He let the turbo blare out once more to the heavens. Terror cold as ice still struck the enemies. Alas, nothing yet changed. My eyes sparked with confusion. From miles high, the Watcher peered down at me with the same distress.

I urged him with a simple gesture to press on. He turned back with the piece strong in hand and was now meaning to blow again... Zing! An arrowhead shot through the Watcher's throat. Spouting blood, the dying man staggered and then dropped from high, down with a dull thud.

My eyes widened with bewilderment. The enemies took this as fresh motivation and began another extremely fierce attack. "Get to the tower. Let the conch be blown." I roared to my comrades as we struggled to survive the enemies' fresh assault.

A blade swept past me. I ducked beneath the slash and stabbed the enemy to the throat. Panting, my eyes shifted suddenly to a band of enemy soldiers. They had ascended our walls and were intently proceeding. Their ways were mysterious -- crafted with hatred and obscurity.

Their purpose was darkened with malicious desires. No. The artillery. Gboom! It was late. The vociferous thunder hit within our walls with a tremble that forced us all off our wits. Darkness. My senses went blank as I took to the destruction within our walls. Death alas.