The Will Of The Kings.

Alliance.

As ever, Sansarriss perched on his horse uneasily. The Sarriss were no horsemen and Sansarriss' seat had become raw from riding. He had shunned the idea of riding at first but it soon became clear that it would be the only way he could stay in touch with his captains when they were on the move. He was dressed in an impressive chainmail coat, under which he wore a lightly padded jacket. He wore the customary high boots of soft leather, which were brown green in colour.

Sansarriss had taken up a position directly west of the nearest fort of Farnbreth. Even the casual eye could see he was not at home in the open plains, on a beast of a horse they had no use for in his homeland. He was the King of his people. Their home lay south of the Black Water within a vast forest which sat between two peaks of the White Mountains. His people had grown strong under its canopy, and few would even dare to try and breach its borders. It could be questioned why such people had not carved out such a kingdom that was found in the north, but they had not been blessed with leaders necessary to take them to such heights. Their numbers were formidable, and their warriors were skilled in the bow and in the short sword. They were dexterous and nimble, all things needed to fight within the dense forest. In the open, they were still a foe to be reckoned with, but a steady commander would meet them with heavy warriors, strong amour, and great swords. They would hem in the Sarris with horses, and time and time again they had met with defeat. Sansarris recognised his people's strengths and weaknesses and was now allied as one of the four.

He scanned the landscape and watched two companies run into position on each side of the main approach to the fort. More companies glided past them, heading north to meet the retreating mass of Firmanor's cavalry. Firmanor was another of the four. He had been ordered to send horses to the east of the city to secure the surrounding land, but they had run into trouble.

Sansarris was happy with his initial deployment and turned his attention to the rest of his accompanying force, which was now approaching from the south of his hilltop position. The Sarris army marched in companies of fifty men, three abreast. The warriors wore what seemed, at a distance, to be uniform, but a closer inspection would reveal that only the colour was uniform and that the style and condition of each warrior's clothes were almost unique. Each one carried a bow and sheaf of arrows. A small, round shield was carried on their backs and a short sword at their side. Below Sansarris, his remaining force formed a huge block with a distinct gap between each company. A formation favoured them when his light troops were in the open.

Word had reached the four's main force, which now lay south of Farnbreth, that Firminor's cavalry had become trapped and had been compelled to fight their way out. Borrock, one of the four and the commander of the army, had ordered Sansarris to march, to support Firminor's horse. This would give whatever remained of the two hundred and fifty, who had ridden out, a chance to rejoin the main force. Sansarris had used half his strength and marched hard for four days to reach them.

"Captain Coher," asserted Sansarris. "Take four companies and secure our way back". Coher nodded his understanding and left. "Captain Dawi, form the rest of them up around the hill. We will wait and gather the cavalry here, then march out as quickly as we can."

"My Lord" captain Dawi acknowledged and was gone.

Sansarris was nervous about being caught four days' march from any other support. "Captain Tico, find the commander of Firminor's warriors and bring him to me," he continued.

Sansarris finally dismounted and stretched his legs, cursing to himself as he tried to stretch out the aches and pains of the ride. As he waited, he continuously scanned the horizon. Finally, Tico returned, followed by a worn-faced man who walked with a limp, and legs bowed from years of riding. His armour was dented and blood-splattered with spots of rust that were beginning to come through the usually well-maintained suit.

Captain Tico introduced the man. "This is Sir Berob, commander of the remaining horse."

Sir Berod limped forward and gave a bow. "We are grateful to see friendly faces."

"It's good to see we have not wasted the trip Sir Berob," Sansarris replied.

"How many horses still stand under your command?"

Just over two hundred, my Lord," Sir Berob replied formally.

"And their condition?"

"Tired and hungry, but their mounts are in good health," Sir Berob added, clearly eager to confirm what would have been expected. Any horseman knew that the health of his mount was as important as his own, and in some cases more so. When fleeing from an overwhelming enemy that fact was highlighted and proven.

Sansarris smiled for the first time. "Good, we have food and your warriors may rest a while before we move off. Gather your men east of here, I will send three companies to guard that position."

Sir Berob returned the smile, "Thank you, my Lord. My warriors and I are at your service. May I enquire as to your plans?"

"We head back south. It has become apparent that our friends", Sansarris nodded towards the fort, "are stronger than we had anticipated. So south we go and in the south is where we will smash the resistance".