Chapter the Twenty-eighth

Music rang across the battlefield.
Even the winged monsters glanced up. They did more than that. They shrieked and screeched and buried their heads in their arms- but they couldn’t drown out a single note.
It was a fairy song, a song that banished shadows. And Tamello led it, playing his worn guitar.
"We come through the clouds
To aid in a war!
Who are we?
Reinforcements!

We come with a fury
To protect the Llores!
Who are we?
Defenders!

I wrote this after my family and I watched the movie “Gettysburg”.

She rode on a white horse,
that unforgettable day
she sat, back straight
head held high
the reigns in her hand
dressed all in white
like the lady warrior
she had pride in her eyes
a fight in her spirit,
our Joan of Arc

She rode on a white horse
and led us,
we marched,
flags waving, banners high
our hearts beating defiantly,
strength and hope and pride
and our warrior rode
like she was riding into battle
so brave,
our Joan of Arc

The Greek army also consisted of men from several other Greek states while the Spartans took up three hundred of the total of four thousand men. Most of the men of the army took the chance of escape and all who remained were three hundred Spartans and seven hundred of another place in Greece called Thespiae. Among those to stay were Menegal, Luvilia, Ebhali, Havam, Wixtil, Dislin, Ranfia, Gravan, Taniva, Rilvay, Hilfarey, and Leonidas.
Menegal walked up to Luvilia after Leonidas had left.

Ebhali watched the fog roll in and the sun being clouded in a thick shroud. He was getting uneasy about Menegal and Luvilia. He knew they were gone to the watch, but the emptiness on the left of him was not reassuring. The other men around were quiet. No one had spoken or moved since in moved the fog. The hours dragged by slowly, while the sun began to tear through the clouds. Ebhali’s ears had been sharpened as he lay in silence, and he heard far off yells and battle cries.
“Do you hear those yells?” Ebhali asked another soldier that lay near him.

“Watchers! Grasp hands!” commanded Vafi.
“Flohad! Your hand!” said Menegal, groping to the right.
“Here it is, Menegal,” said Flohad, putting forth his hand into Menegal’s unseen one.
“I cannot see you, Wixtil. Where is your hand?” cried Luvilia, fumbling out to the left.
“Right here and would stop shouting in my ear?” said Wixtil, putting his hand in Luvilia’s.
“Watchmen grouped?” yelled out Vafi.
“Yea!” cried all the watchmen.
“Renew watch!” shouted Vafi.

Thirteen years later.

Coming to a halt for evening’s camp, Menegal wearily set himself down on the ground to rub his ankle that had swelled up again. He had walked mainly in silence for the ending of the march for he was thinking about Golwitch. Memories of playing in the lake that was in the valley where they had lived as children came into his mind, and of the hunts they had enjoyed together. Taking a deep breath of sorrowful memory, he stood up, and went to work setting up his tent. Before he started, Ebhali came over to him.

Marching up to his post with a heavy heart, knowing that Golwitch’s place would be taken, Menegal saw that a new soldier was already there. The soldier was taller than he and looked older. He had blonde hair and fair skin with a stern face. His eyes were a deep blue that seemed to reflect the mountains before him. Taking his place beside him, the leader of the company, Ranifa, walked up to them.

Going inside the tent of Tanvia, the Greek councilor, he found that Tanvia was talking to Leonidas. The two men were sitting on the ground on a richly colored mat. Tanvia matched it well. His clothes were orange, red, gold and deep blue. His eyes matched the inside walls of the green tent, and his face was smooth and without beard. His hair was shorn short and brown. Menegal was about to back away when Tanvia called him over to where Leonidas and he were sitting.
“Your name?” asked Leonidas, kindly, signing him to sit.