Anything Could Happen

The Siege of Aisnyria was finally coming to a end. For nearly three months, the knights and army of Aisnyria defended their city with bravery and courage against the invading Ravyenwod forces. The leader of the Ravyenwod  army, Lord Whittier, looked down from his outpost for many a day at the fortress-town that laid before him, silently cursing the thick, stone walls that blocked his path to power. But slowly, those harsh words turned to a sly smile. The walls were becoming weak, and more importantly, the Aisnyria forces were losing morale. Supplies routes had long been cut off, and with that, more and more people each day were fleeing their war-ravaged homes. Instead, the refuges looked to their invaders for help and support.

That was what grieved General David Stryker so much. To see the people he swore to protect abandon him for his enemies was too much for his heart to hold. Still, there was a small glimmer of hope. At the age of 47, Furnner had seen many battles during his career, and if there was any single lesson he could take away from them, it was anything could happen in a moment's notice. No one could be too prepared for anything, or be surprised at what may occur.

It was because of this knowledge that Stryker was not as startled as his enemies would have preferred when they ambushed him late one night in the dense Forest of Quint just north of the city's walls. Furnner decided to lead a small group of his men through the woods to try to spy on Lord Whittier's tent. The band of five men were outnumbered more than three-to-one, and the situation was grim.

"General Stryker," a tall, broad man said, his voice tired but still strong enough to demand respect. "Fancy meeting you here."

"General Dryke," Stryker nodded in respect, but said nothing more.

"What are you men doing out here?" Dryke asked, slowly circling the group like a buzzard looking at its next meal.

"I should be asking you that question, sir," Stryker said, eyes straight forward. "This forest falls under the jurisdiction of my Lord Ammard."

"Does it?" smirked Dryke. "Your forces can't hold us back much longer. Your people are begging us to take them in. Seems to me they love Lord Whitter more than Lord Ammard. And who can blame them, really; that old man can barely keep his city standing anymore."

"The people of Aisnyria do not go down without a fight."

"Their actions haven't proved that, but perhaps yours will. Gentlemen--attack."

The Ravyenwod forces moved forward in unison while Aisnyria raised their swords in defense. The sound of clanging metal echoed through the night sky, accented by the yells of pain and agony as men honorably fell from battle. Stryker was proud of his men, standing as long as they did and even taking down a few of the Ravyenwod forces. But it was not enough, and soon, he was the last of the troupe.

"Any last words, General?" mocked Dryke.

"Actions speak louder than words, Dryke. So thank you for letting me speak."

The general rushed forward towards the remaining Ravyenwod men, sword firmly gripped in both of his hands.

In battle, anything could happen in a moment's notice. But, more often than know, the most likely event occurs; this was the case with General David Styker's last fight.