The column marched steadily along the dusty road as the bright morning sun grew warm. Silence reigned as each man, grim and silent, thought of his role in the upcoming engagement. Each man knew this was not to be a battle. This was to be a punishment, an example. Their lord and sovereign had commanded it.
At the head of the men, Varigan, a sun-burned and well-built man of 40 walked on, his hand ever on the hilt of his sword as he marched. He was a man who had seen many battles and had overseen many “punitive expeditions”. He trusted no one and always suspected a trap. Varigan turned his scarred face to his left and smiled grimly at Calen, his lieutenant. “Always the same dust and blood, isn’t it?” Calen looked at Varigan and smiled slowly. “Aye”, he replied, “blood, dust, and gold”
This familiar exchange between the two men was well known to the rest of the soldiers. They shouted in unison, “Blood, dust, and gold!” This was the motto of His Majesty’s elite guard, The Hand of the Throne. They were small in number for a fighting force, only 50 in number. Each man had demonstrated his ability to kill ruthlessly and face the greatest of hardships. Their light, black armor was known and feared throughout the small kingdom. When the Hand of the Throne was dispatched, death followed close and swift.
Varigan contemplated the small village off in the distance. He could see smoke rising from the chimney’s of small, humble homes and hear the braying of livestock in the distance. What had these people done to deserve this, to deserve HIM? His Majesty had not deigned to tell him. Varigan did not know, and he did not care. Justice must be swift, cold, and exact. His Majesty had commanded the village to be “corrected”, to be punished. Varigan knew what this meant. He had carried out many such orders over the years and there was no doubt how as to how they were to be executed.
Varigan reached to his side and grasped a steel mask. It was an exact likeness of His Majesty. The man leading the Hand of the Throne always wore this mask signify that, though absent in the actual slaughter, His Majesty was present in spirit, doling at swift justice as he saw fit. Varigan held up his hand and the men halted. He placed the mask over his face, laid his hand on the hilt of his great sword, and turned to address his company.
“For whom do we fight?” Varigan shouted. “His Majesty!” the men shouted in unison. “Why do we fight?” Varigan demanded again. “For blood, dust, and gold!” came the reply. “Fight with the strength of many, win honor afforded to few, and spare none!” Varigan’s words were met with a terrifying shout and clattering of weapons. Varigan turned, waved his hand, and the march toward the village continued. Varigan smiled as he regarded the bright sunshine. It would soon shine upon earth stained red.
Fantasy
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