And into the valley of death rode the Five Hundred, fearing no enemy for their faith steeled them as armour. A line from The Ballad of The Companions, one that she had often thought of before making her own way into each and every scrap she had ever participated in. In a supreme display of bravery, The Companions had ridden into battle with a forgotten enemy clad only in festival clothes. It occurred to her that the ones forging into this particular valley of death rode only Shanks' Pony, charging forward with little regard for their own safety to engage foes many times their size and strength, a display that at least rivalled the story. It was insanity. Suicide.<br/><br/>With fascinated horror, unable to look away, Daria could simply watch as the Allied line surged forward at the urging of it's commander, heading into certain death on an order and a prayer. She wouldn't have hesitated to do the same, she knew that, and there was a small measure of professional respect filtering into her conscious mind at the actions of these national troops, amateurs though they were. But still she couldn't bring herself to imagine the slightest chance for victory. She doubted her lancers could either. But nor would they imagine running. This fight was to the death.<br/><br/>To her shock, a rare enough occasion to cause comment, as the hopelessly outmatched humans reached the hulking shapes of the Drorghans something utterly incredible took place. With serried roars of indignation, if the beasts were capable of such complex emotion and it wasn't simply anger at being unable to get the proper leverage to crush more soldiers, the great monsters fell... Straight down. It was if the earth had just given way beneath their feet, swallowing them up to the point where they were now within striking distance of the hand weapons of the infantrymen. They were still a significant threat, as evidenced by the intermittent rise and fall of the boulders chained to their wrists, but one by one the Drorghans died. Hardly the last barrier to triumph, but definitely a significant one. As yet another otherworldly weather strike ploughed through the nearby Tutar and the humans fell back, Daria had the distinct impression that something about them was wrong, as if they weren't quite being held back by the laws of the world like normal people. She dismissed the thought, banishing everything from her head but the task at hand.<br/><br/>Nudging Stepper from her place in the front rank she walked him forward about ten steps, just far enough forward to be able to still see her entire force, and turned to face them. One hundred files wide, five ranks deep. The steel clad heart of the fist that aimed to save the world of men, to hammer their foes until breaking upon an anvil of courage, determination and cutting edges. If they weren't so desperate she might have been proud. Even with her visor up only her eyes were visible, her face protected by the chain ventail laced into her coif. Staring back at her were near on five hundred faces in similar states, some covered, some not, some with visors up, some down. Time to give these dead souls their rites.<br/><br/>"Heart Guard! Eyes front!" Pitching her voice to slice through the clamour was a trick she had learned as a Sergeant. It was essential as far as she was concerned.<br/><br/>"You have been called to give your lives for greater purpose! The time is now! Will you answer? Will you fight?" The Founding Words. Said before battle. Everyone knew them. Few knew the why. All knew the answer.<br/><br/>"UNTIL DEATH!" It was a promise. Not only to friend and foe that they would never flee, but to themselves. They would die in battle or in bed, but until that moment came they would fight with every ounce of strength left to them. It was an odd sentiment for those who fought for coin, but some things were better left unquestioned by most. The cry was accompanied by the semi-melodious ripple of warhorns. Now THAT part was the challenge directed at their enemies.<br/><br/>Satisfied with her troops, Daria turned once more to face hell again, sat at the head of five hundred lances which in turn sat ahead of thousands more. It was only lack of orders holding them back now. Down there waited the worst enemy ever to trouble humanity. Her ancestors had decreed their enslavement wrong, but killed them anyway. She doubted the Tutar would take that into consideration when they killed her. So it fell to her and people like her to finish the job, as impossible as it was. They were ready.<br/><br/>"...to Spit in the Eye of the Void on the last day." At least that if nothing else.<br/><br/><br/><div><hr style="height:2px; width:100%; border:0; color: white;background:white;"/></div><br/><br/>Two riders approached from the carnage ahead, battered and bloody from the fighting. She didn't recognise one, but the other had something of a reputation that was impossible to miss. Plus he matched the descriptions she had heard of him. Prince-Commander Barth Krinwulf, leader of this Alliance, had an air of command. One that was only slightly dampened by the the layer of viscera and dirt that caked him. Daria favoured him with a short nod as he passed by on his way to Resuran. Nothing more. There would be time for pleasantries later, when she was in less danger of having her head forcibly removed.<br/><br/>Whatever he had to say was incredibly brief. The prince wheeled his steed and waved them forward, not sparing a single look for the Lord Knight who he had rather forcibly ejected from command. The man seemed to take it well. Still, he was a Lebi Knight. He could be plotting revenge for the brusque mannerisms already.<br/><br/>Cavalry, unlike infantry, don't start their march all at once. The horses won't respond instantaneously, riders may miss the initial order and so on. This all makes for a rather ragged start to any advance. A good cavalry unit is marked by their ability to recover and then hold formation for their run. This time was different. This time Daria witnessed thousands of horses stepping forward as one, causing a thunderous thump to echo around. With a murderous grimace no-one could see, she slammed her visor shut.<br/><br/>Dropping back into the formation was like coming home. The feel of the knees on either side of her, the stink or horses, fear and oil. The clank and clatter of plate coupled with the rattle and jangle of chain. Next to her the massive white silk square, emblazoned with a flaming heart, that served as the company standard started to catch some breeze. Soon it would fly. The warhorns hammered out a cacophony of overlapping sound, driving them on. Three hundred yards left. The entire formation shifted into a canter. Riders started leaning forward. Swords left shoulders where they had rested, lances angled forwards in ready positions. Without thinking and without any conscious coordination the Heart Guard's officers slipped into another warcry, this one spoken in the gibberish that was combat cant, a meaningless language that relayed orders by set key phrases. Two hundred yards.<br/><br/>"Los valdar Cuebiyari!" One hundred and fifty. Now to the gallop, lances couched, sword points forwards. A wall of steel and flesh bearing down on a foe that held them in contempt.<br/><br/>"UUUUURRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!" A wordless scream of defiance. They crashed home.<br/><br/>In reality to Tutar stood very little chance against formed and charging cavalry. Their lack of armour made them vulnerable. They lacked the appropriate skills or desire to defend themselves. Those that had spears still, used them ineffectively. They were outmatched here, their advantages taken away in the face of those with greater mastery of them. And they died by the dozens for it.<br/><br/>The first impact sent a brutal vibration up the iron reinforced lance in Daria's hand and it speared through the neck of the first Tutar she hit. The lance head ripped through and kept going, leaving the dying monster to be crushed under the weight of those that came behind. She skewered more as they came into range, aiming to puncture vital organs in the upper torso or head to maximise her chances of retrieving her lance afterwards. They swept further, making sure to keep to the flanks of the giant sinkhole.<br/><br/>But it was not all going their way. Daria felt more than saw her lancers falling around her, felled by hastily thrown or braced spears or by the treacherous ground underhoof, so muddied and blood soaked as to occasionally trap a horses leg and send both it and it's rider crashing to the ground to die under the hooves of their comrades. There were probably even more deaths amongst the less armoured Lindenians and Lebis, though the Knights might have fared better than most. The sobering thought that Prince Barth may well have been killed leading this effort crossed her mind on more than one occasion, floating across the emptiness within like a firefly on a clear night. The calls from behind to close on the centre were becoming incessant.<br/><br/>There was no time to dwell on that though. Battle had been joined. They would have to start being clever soon, start pulling back to reform and charge again. But for now, there were monsters to kill.