Chahin

It is now a fight to the death.

“The peal of bells and choir song. Angelic voices rising to the sky. And the sun greets us. Greets a new dawn. And they say the gods anoint the new king as the clouds part and Chahin stands at the great golden gate overlooking the city, glistening in a shaft of purest light; and his people cheer and the crowds part to let his fine white horse proudly make its way among the throng.

“And then silence, not song. The silence of ordinary days. And then silence no more. For when the flagons and the platters are cleared from the Great Hall, and the robes are packed away and the crowns melted down into coin to pay the soldiers, a different sound emerges.

“For there is a drumbeat now. A dreadful pounding rhythm leading us to war. I hear it in the parading of soldiers, the clop and the clip of hooves on stone, and the clang of hammer on anvil as Chahin’s blacksmiths set roaring the fires of preparation. A noise meaning readiness for war.”