Legacies

Prologue

There is black, there is white

There is night, there is day

There is wrong, there is right

And between it all we stand and say...

The balance must be,

the balance must serve

the balance is all we see.

Creed of the Grey Order

Elovar was trapped and there was no possible chance of survival. It had taken little more than a few minutes for the tide of the battle to change almost irreversibly. His foremost spear men although relatively intact were dangerously exposed. He had lost the last of his archers more than an hour ago and both his remaining mage and knight were trapped, hemmed in on both sides by a screen of cavalry. Elovar's eyes drifted over his remaining assets but no one unit was in the proper position to counterattack. He had always been taught that attack was the best form of defence but as a young acolyte in the order, he had found this somewhat counterintuitive.

He had always been a cautious commander, unwilling to take the kinds of risks that turned simple unit commanders into generals of legend. Elovar despite his training and his current posting never considered himself a soldier at heart, he was a soldier of convenience or perhaps necessity. He had cut his teeth in the Orders forces during a few skirmishes in the Ducal States of Arafis. He knew that he was considered bright enough to lead a troop of men but lacking in the innate inspiration to become anything more, his Master-Captain had told him that when he was awarded his first promotion. Never one to seek inspiration in the troops the Master-Captain had led by fear and brutal honesty.

At almost fifty years old, most of Elovar's equals in the Order would be in key command positions making a name for themselves but he remained here in obscurity and destined to remain unremarked, invisible to history, a position he was eminently comfortable with. He returned his wandering attention to the situation at hand. Perhaps his second rank spear men could move forward to reinforce his front rank but that risked an enfilade by the enemy swordsmen and directly opposite the enemy still fielded three Pashan mages that could obliterate both ranks in one strike. This wouldn't be his first loss; it wouldn't even be his tenth nor even his hundredth and that thought whilst not encouraging was strangely comforting. He found solace in predictability. He rose at the same time, ran through the same drills, and ate the same food. As commander in chief, he felt it important to lead the way even if the others in his command had lost their own drive and passion. He was a member of the Grey Order and that still meant something to him.

His opponent, his army arrayed before him, was being duplicitously cordial. He was allowing Elovar to consider his plight and truly understand the position he was in. He knew as well as Elovar did that the battle was over but was patient like a viper waiting to strike. He wanted Elovar to feel that sting of defeat, the rising despair of being unable to do anything to change the situation, to truly feel the depth of the loss.

Elovar stroked his bearded chin, it had been jet black when he had first arrived on the island thirty years ago but now it was snow white, just like his thinning unruly hair. The action had a calming effect on his tumultuous mind and for a moment he thought he saw a way out. He had a reserve of cavalry that could be deployed and if they could sweep... but no the Knights still blocked the way. He glowered over the scene, 'The Hand' was toying with him, any move, any single move would lead to slaughter and eventual defeat. Elovar sighed deeply and reached over to do the only thing he could possibly do. He grasped the obsidian smooth King's piece and lay it on its side.

"The game is yours," he said leaning back in his chair a melancholy smile crossing his features,

"As it was ever destined to be" 'The Hand' said with a throaty chuckle,