The White Exile (Prologue)

Prologue          
         
From atop the rise the refugees made the dirt seem alive, crawling inexorably across the valley floor. The sun shone brightly in a cloudless sky, the mountains bathing in the golden rays.
         
Calvin mounted his charger, a large brown animal nearly eighteen hands tall and adorned in heavy plated armor; dyed blue and red, the colors of Bivia. It took a few seconds to steady the steed, but once he did he turned to face his men. Six mounted heavily armored knights were in an uniform line, listening to him as he spoke.
         
“All of you are well aware of your orders. On my command we will charge.”
         
Moments of silence passed before a large bearded man spit.
         
“So this is the glory of knighthood; hunting down farmers,” he mocked loudly.
         
Calvin knew the man very well. Nigh a year ago he had attended Jorat’s wedding. It had been much better times back then, but now it was as Jorat had said in his outburst; they were hunting farmers, as well as woman and children. As much as Calvin despised his assigned mission, and however much he would dread the moment of the charge, he would not fuel the flames.
         
“That’s enough, Jorat. We will do as King Rayland commands.”

The other knights exchanged hesitant glances, but Jorat only gave a loud sigh of contempt.

Where had he gone wrong? There had been a time where his high ranking had meant something. A time when the sigil of commander on his breastplate was more than a mere decoration. He had been in battles, and important ones at that. Now, however, those times seemed so long ago they were but a hazy memory. He sat atop a mound with six of the finest knights Bivia could hope to offer, but assigned a mission best left to condemned criminals seeking freedom through enrollment in the military. Still, an order from the king of Bivia was more prominent than any written law. It was an option between two choices: life or a painful death. Chastisement for disobeying Rayland was so brutal few dared to even think of it.

Calvin removed his helmet and placed it under his arm as a soothing breeze blew across the terrain. The coolness met his sweat-drenched light-brown hair and proved to be quite invigorating. The last of the refugees were passing by now; when they all were a good distance away he would give the order. The refugees were, in fact, fleeing from Bivia's army: his king's army.
         
He restored his helmet and waited patiently, trying his best to ignore any conversation taking place behind him. Being a soldier, he knew that when morale was low insults to commanding officers flowed like wine.
         
After a deep breath he raised his fisted hand, signaling the charge. Simultaneously, they moved forward slowly, and accelerated as they raced down the rise. Calvin’s men all wielded white lances streaked with blue, he proving as an anomaly with a slender long sword. It took nearly a minute for the first refugee to notice the oncoming stampede. The panic swept through them like wildfire and pandemonium hit the multitude like a falling tree. Youths were trampled as women and old men ran for their lives. The cries were deafening as Calvin and his company closed in on the scattering mass. The first man to reach the fleeing refugees took an old soiled woman in the back of the neck, snapping it and killing her instantly. More were cut down, Calvin delivering his own fair deal of death strikes with reluctant strokes. As the chase through the valley continued the surface narrowed until the two mountains were but five feet apart, before opening again. Many refugees had already passed through, and more and more were making there way towards it.
         
Only one horseman could pass through at a time. A knight made his way to it, determined to be the first one through.
         
Everything happened suddenly; as he rode through the narrow pass a flash of light took his steed in the chest, causing him to be thrown of his mount. Seconds later another flash of light decapitated the fallen man.
         
In the pass stood a gleaming figure. The man’s silver armor shone so bright in the sun Calvin found himself squinting at the long black haired man. In the lone man’s hand was a huge blade, four feet in length, with a hilt of fine ivory with interweaving vines engraved  around it. Calvin caught the man’s stare and quickly turned away. That scowl drained him of all of his security and left him riddled with fear. A quick look about his men showed they had suffered the same fate as he.
         
“Who are you?” stated Calvin with such bravado that his voice quivered.
         
The man remained silent while he raised his sword and balanced his stance; the screams of the refugees had ceased.
         
“I will ask you once more, who are you?”
         
“Leave him to me!” shouted Jorat as he charged his horse forward, already having a large gap between himself and Calvin.
         
“No!” yelled Calvin, to no avail.
         
Jorat closed in on the man and struck at the stranger with his lance. With surprising speed the warrior sidestepped the attack and pulled Jorat off of his horse after seizing his arms.
         
Calvin let out a roar and surged forward, his men following behind. He had to save Jorat, there was no other option, the man was the only man who he could even consider calling a friend. They had drunken together, laughed together, gone whoring together; they had known each other for nearly three decades.
         
Jorat recovered quickly and drew his blade; just in time to parry an attack by the man, but the force behind the silver armored man’s attack forced him to take a few steps backward. After a small number of attacks desperation took hold of Jorat as he could do nothing but parry as best he could. His sword was batted aside and a downward stroke by his opponent took his right arm off at the elbow.
         
Calvin screamed as Jorat was finished off by the blade being driven into his chest.
         
He picked up the speed by kicking his horse and galloped towards the man who downed Jorat. With his blade held out he reached the man, slashing at his helmless skull. He was parried and rode past unharmed. After putting a safe distance between him and his combatant he turned and witnessed his men reach the conflict.
         
They weren’t graced by the same fortune as himself.
         
The man rolled forward as the horsemen came upon him, extending his sword arm. The sword cut through the front leg of a rider’s horse, causing it to topple forward; the rider landing face first in the dirt. The three remaining knights turned themselves as best they could, the swiftness all but great due to the weight their mounts bore.
         
Calvin charged again.
         
A rider’s horse reared as the lone assailant’s sword slashed across its chest. And as another knight attempted to flank his opponent the man’s reaction timed seemed uncanny as he hurled his sword at him. It hit the man with such force that he was driven backwards into midair, the blade embedded up to the hilt in his chest, before landing powerfully. The remaining knight backed away to attack with Calvin.
         
Calvin knew his mission was a failed one before he even was within striking distance. Everything about the stranger emitted supremacy. From his face that seemed to be carved from stone to his thick gleaming armor that made his body an impregnable fortress there was but perfection.
         
This time his attack was parried and he was struck by a lightning quick riposte, opening a gash in his shoulder and throwing him from his horse. He was unable to see his fellow knight’s fate as he hit the ground hard, but he heard a grunt, shortly followed by a thud. He raised himself to his feet, even knowing that nothing but death awaited him, and charged towards his adversary, who was standing over a downed knight.
         
If there was a God he knew his crimes were too shameless to give him an eternal life of pleasure, and as to Hell… nothing could be much worse than his current state.
         
The man noticed Calvin charging and raised his sword. Calvin smirked and readied to attack….