After all the troops had eaten their evening meals, the trumpets sounded, ordering them to assemble in their ranks. The king, GarGar the Beloved, rode a big white charger, and he paced it back and forth before the men as they scrambled to reach their appointed positions. The knights, in their armor and on horseback, gathered in their own area, eschewing contact with the lower classed infantry. Archers, the elite of the foot soldiers, stood behind the ranks, bows in hand.
When the last man had taken his place, the trumpets sounded again to announce to the army that their general and king would now address them. Helmets were doffed. GarGar stilled his horse front and center of the great gathering. That one sickly soldier, to be found in every legion, coughed convulsively over the chatter of thousands of manly voiced tinged with fear. Suddenly, all was quiet.
“We attack at daylight!” Shouted King GarGar who then pulled his sword from its scabbard and pointed it at the sky. “No prisoners!” He continued. “Kill them all!” The men took up the call, shouting until they were hoarse, “Kill them all! Kill them all!”
