The Beginning...

(Word count 297)

Diego ran a hand over the intricate moulding of his breast plate, each chink of armour slipping smoothly over the lip of the adjacent piece like so many scales on the belly of a FISH. It was his farther's armour, complete with the family crest in gold filigree above his quickening heart. For two years it had sat it in its travel chest as they made their way along the Silk Road. Now finally it could shine in the sun and do the job for which it was intended, strike fear into the enemy and leave Diego all but invulnerable. The artisan who designed the piece had woven a mail that could deflect the slash of even the sharpest KNIFE edge, and yet was light enough so that Diego would fly into battle.

"If you keep touching yourself like that and smiling brother the men are going to wonder what you have under that armour that pleases you so."

Pero, laughing, slapped him on the back with his giant, gauntleted fist and both their horses rocked beneath them.

"What do you think they intend to fight with? I see no pikes, no shields even."

"The scouts say all they have are those metal sticks resting on their shoulders. They call them gunnes or some such."

"But they're tiny." Diego marvelled. "They'll barely put a dent in me."

Pero grinned back at him. "Shall we put that to the test? Come on. It's their funeral."

With that he began a slow cant towards the enemy line, Diego quickly falling in beside him.

As they picked up speed and began to charge, Diego whooped and rose up high in his saddle, eager for the slaughter.

He heard just one strange cry from the enemy commander, "FIRE!" And then nothing.