The soldiers poured out of the temple, wailing and swinging their curved swords.
“The king! The king!” one of the guards cried. His comrades formed a tight circle around the horse with golden barding, pointing their spears at the oncoming men.
The two forces crashed together, the sound was deafening.
The conquered men hoped to die in battle, to avoid the shame of living under foreign rulers.
From his besieged keep at the top of the mountain, the lord cried.
“Don’t cry for like a baby what you couldn’t defend like a man,” his mother said, disapproval on her face.