The drums began with a slow, steady beat. Those on foot stamped in time together. The effect was uncanny. Although the enemy outnumbered the tribes almost two to one, the foreigners trembled with the earth. They looked to the head of the opposing army, where Jarl Beinir Rhyne stood, exposed and unafraid. It was he who had united the tribes.

Rhyne smiled beneath his beard. With the enemy focused on him, his plan could work. He spoke one word and held up his hand, and his standard-bearer raised the flag in response. Immediately, the drums and stomps ceased. Animals had fled the site of upcoming battle hours earlier, and only creaks of armor could be heard this side of the field.

Unwilling to give up their position at the edge of the forest, the enemy waited for the tribes to begin the battle. Silence dragged on as the sun began to warm the day. The enemy grew restless.

When Jarl Beinir Rhyne gave the command, a single word that left his lips, it didn't matter that the empty air carried the word to the ears of every man and woman on the field with him. None of them moved. The leader rode forward, alone. His beard streamed wildly behind him giving the impression of a lion's mane. Watching the single man lead a charge, the enemy responded to the fool with the full force of their numbers.

Rhyne's standard-bearer raised his flag and pointed it toward the enemy. Suddenly, the drums began again, and the horde of shields came alive, streaming forward even as their leader slowed enough to be swallowed by the moving sea of his army. Someone passed Rhyne his helmet, and once on, his distinctive mane no longer gave away his position.

"Rhyne, Rhyne," the tribes chanted in one voice. Whatever the insanity of Rhyne's initial charge, his people obeyed his command. Convinced that the unity of the tribes would break once their leader had fallen, the enemy spread out, seeking Rhyne. Their formations had broken in the quest to achieve the glory of taking Rhyne's head.

"It's not only their formations, the enemy gave up their position," Evie said, nodding to herself.

"Shhh!" Several children turned to glare at the girl who had spoken.

Jorri cried, "You're ruining the story!"

Evie muttered, "We've heard it a hundred times. It can't be ruined." She shook her head. "Why do you always ask for this one? I want to hear about Ran the Warrior Maiden," Evie pouted. She crossed her arms with a harumph. Most of the girls and some of the boys nodded with interest at the mention of another legend.

"Nuh-uh," Jorri replied. "Master Teller only comes once a year," he said, giving the respected name common in these parts. "And the festival only started twelve years ago."

The storyteller spoke in the voice that silenced armies. "If there are no more interruptions, I will finish this one, and then tell you how Ran honed her skills."

Eager to earn two stories for the night, all of the children complied and quieted down. The storyteller smiled beneath his beard. He anticipated great things from these bright young minds of the future.

Introduction Story to the town of Freebird's Glory if you want to read more. Festival stories and information to come.

NA E Kingdom of Vornair forum post if you are interested in our kingdom.