The horse archers were on the roll, moving purposefully across the battlefield. Divius, training since age seven for this moment, rode atop his steed with bow in hand. As the first wave of horses thundered into the enemy flank, he loosed an arrow from fifty yards and watched it stick into an enemy thigh. Another arrow was sent on a journey, this one lodging into an enemy skull. At a furious pace, his horse entered the heart of the fray, horror written on a hundred faces. Divius smiled and nocked another arrow. It pierced an enemy chest, the body falling, hands clutching the heart.
Then he was airborne, soaring vulture-like above the field of war torn bodies.Read More