Spell Casters Vs Royal Army

• Taranga Prendergast
• Short Story
• 2016

It was a glorious day; it wasn’t either unpleasantly hot or freezing cold, with not a single cloud to be seen in the sky. A sweet, crisp scent lingered in the air, carried forth on a mild breeze.
At the foot of the castle the King’s army was assembled. A battalion of the finest warriors, sat astride their heroic horses, armed with weapons and awaiting their orders. Anticipation of their soon-to-be victory rode high in the air, but an element of self-doubt persisted. How were swords of mere metal supposed to contend with magick, the unseen weapon? Their Commanding General still believed in their abilities, so there was nothing to worry them with. The Spell casters finally appeared on the horizon, after what felt like hours. Thousands of men in richly coloured robes, many of white and green, some of fiery orange and a few of red and navy blue. They spilled down the side of the valley, approaching the castle with alarming ferocity. The soldiers glanced at each other, with fear in their eyes cumulatively readable. They were severely outnumbered. It looked as though the entire Spell caster population were directing down upon them, possibly six or seven Casters to each soldier. Did the soldiers make it out alive? Nobody knows…