The dreaded sound of war drums and trumpets fills the air as we make our way through barren, and wasted land. The marching of our feet rings out in unison, an endless drone accompanied by the clattering hooves of the knights' horses.

We pass through many villages, or more, what is left of them. They are burned, and charred remainders of living, thriving communities.

Fields have been set afire, receiving the same treatment as the buildings. I still hear the screams of terrified people through the hissing of fire, still see tongues of flame rear high into a night sky, darkened even more by heavy black smoke.

The sickeningly sweet stench of burning flesh mixed with that of ashes still fills my nostrils, turning my stomach over and causing nightmares of the people I've killed.

War. Until now, I have never known the true meaning of that word. War always meant glory, defending you homeland.

At least it did before my eyes saw, my ears heard, my nose smelled, my mouth tasted, and my hands felt the truth. Now it means torture, death, and a reign of darkness and despair.

On my way to battle I see famine, disease, and death. I wonder how it could come this far. Then I remember: It was caused our hand.

The emperor of Harein is power hungry, always wanting more of what he already has enough of. He sends us, his soldiers, out to conquer more land, and try to satisfy his insatiable greed.

We are the army of death. That is the name we have received from the people of Harein. In the beginning I carried the name with pride. I served the country now, nothing else mattered.

I am eighteen now, and am considered old for a soldier, for most die within the first two years of their service. I on the other hand, have served the army for four years.

Of course I've been hurt before, and carry many a scar as a reminder, but I have not yet been crippled, and I live.

Sometimes I feel so much older than I actually am. A feeling of unbearable weariness overcomes me then. I don't want to fight anymore. I tell myself that I will drop my weapon in the next battle, and let myself get murdered.

But when I get the actual chance to do so, I'm too afraid to seize it, and drop my sword.

I'm not sure if I ever really wanted to be a soldier. The thought of glory and fame was always something to arouse the longing to serve the army of Harein, but I still have my doubts it was because of that.

Perhaps it was because of my childhood playmates. They had always dreamed of being a soldier, and I did not want to appear an outsider.

Or perhaps it was because of Sianon. I was always out to impress her. She had the most enchanting smile, and the sweetest nature to be found.

I was head over heals in love with her, and still am. I wanted to win her favor, that was all. I believe every lad acts that way when a lass catches his eye.

I never cared if my friends noticed, which they did. I didn't even care when they started running around the village like lunatics, yelling, "Ian has a fancy for Sianon!"

Actually, I found it quite amusing. Don't ask me why, I just simply thought it funny.

The day I left, she kissed me good-bye. It was something I'd never thought possible, but it's true. Sianon kissed me, Ian, son of Oran and Zarah, good-bye.

"Promise me you will come back, Ian," she whispered, for only my ears to hear.

"And you promise to wait for me."

A second miracle happened then. She promised, as did I, even though we both know we'd probably never see each other again.

I wish thoughts of Sianon and my childhood could cheer me up, but they don't. I have the feeling that I will not live to see the next sunrise.

Casting a quick glance sideways at my fellow soldiers, I continue at the monotonous pace. The rhythm of the marching has become as throbbing as a heartbeat, going on and on, never faltering, never hesitating.

Over the head of the man in front of me, I catch a glimpse of the battle field. The enemy is already in line, completely in order, waiting for their leader to give the signal to attack.

Their lines seem to go on forever, their ranks going from swordfighters in the first four rows, the knights in the next two, and the archers bringing up the last line.

Not the least bit of humanity shows on their faces. No emotion, nothing. They are ruthless, ready to give anything for victory. No one, and nothing can stop them.

I can feel it; this is the end. This will be the last battle I'll ever have to fight.

But somehow. somehow, I don't want to die. I promised Sianon to come back to her. I am foolish, I know, but that thought has kept me alive all these years. It has kept my by sanity, while others have turned into drooling, babbling lunatics.

The enemy, the Kiryadans, watch our every move as our leader assembles us. There is no need to tell us in which ranks we belong, we have done this too often to forget.

Some are lucky, and belong into the ranks of the archers. Others, like me, aren't and belong to the swordsmen. When the enemy charges, we get hit first. That is one of the main reasons why most of the new soldiers usually die within the first two years.

The drums have long stopped beating, and the trumpets are still, too. The battle is about to begin.

A deathly quiet lowers itself over both armies. This is only to be a small battle, compared to others I've fought. But it will not be any less bloody or violent, I fear.

I wish I had listened to my mother's pleadings, and stayed at home in safety. There I could have been a farmer, or a blacksmith, or anything else. I wouldn't have had to kill hundreds of humans and animals alike.

I wouldn't be haunted by their screams of death at night, wouldn't have the thick stench of blood in my mouth and nose. I wouldn't have had to thrust a heavy sword into the chest of an innocent man, who was merely defending his home.

Not for the first time, I regret.

I regret being a soldier, and 'serving' the country. I regret having killed so many people. I regret the fact that I let my friends, who have long been dead, convince me of this job.

I am a fool, for I let others control me. I hope I am not the only fool here. I hope I am not the only one stupid enough to let his friends control him.

Already an aura of death settles over the battle field, harmonizing with the looks of the Kiryadans, who truly look like an army of death. Their black uniforms and the silvery glint of their swords make a sharp contrast, giving off an air of confidence I've lost long ago. They all look clean, having not even a speck of dust on either their brown leather boots or their uniforms.

Compared to them, my companions and I look shabby, and worn. I do not know when I last had a bath, or a proper shave for the matter. Our uniforms are dirty, and stiff with sweat that wasn't washed out. The bright forest green has faded, is now covered with dust from endless roads, and mud from the days of rain. The emperor is greedy, does not waste even a coin more than he has to.

Our leader has ridden up front, ramming a pole that carries the flag of Harein into the ground. He lays claim on the Kiryadan lands in the name of our emperor. But no matter how high he carries his head, he looks no better than we do. He is just as worn, just as weary as we are. We are all weary of battle.

I stare blankly at the Kiryadans, my right hand slipping to grip the hilt of my sword. It gives me a strange sense of comfort I cannot explain.

I don't know if I will have the courage to shout, "If I die, bring my body home to those I love!" to my companions, once I'm out on the battle field.

The trumpets blare once, twice. The battle is on.

With one fierce cry, we draw our swords and charge. The knights spur their horses, and the archers draw their bows, waiting for the Kiryadans to get into shooting range.

This is it, there's no turning back now. No running away, no resigning. Just charging, always heading towards the unknown.
I can't back out, can't turn around. I'm caught between fellow warriors, and the enemy. From the front Kiryadans advance, from the back members our army rush forwards, eager to prove their bravery.
There are a lot of new ones, which explains the eagerness. If only they knew what truly awaits them.
An arrow buries itself in my left shoulder, causing me to stagger for a moment. Quickly I gather myself, ignoring the pain and the feel of blood trickling down the front of my chest. It took me by surprise, but that won't stop me. I'll fight to the bitter end, and a puny arrow will not hinder me from doing so.
With more aggression than I've ever known before, I hack away at the Kiryadan soldiers in front of me. White hot fury has taken over, anything that stands in my path is doomed.
Another arrow finds its mark, this time in my swords arm. I clench my teeth as not to cry out in pain. It's nearly unbearable. It feels as if someone has set my arm afire.
The pain spreads out through my entire arm, until I can't take it anymore and yank the arrow out. Although it hurts even more, I can at least fight properly again. The arrow hindered me from using my arm as I should.
My blood flows freely, soaking my uniform, leaving dark stains on the ground unto which it drips. I face a particularly large Kiryadan now. He is nearly a full head taller than I am, and I'm a fairly tall man. He is wider, too. All in all he looks a lot stronger.
Around us the battle rages, soldiers from both armies have fallen, and are wounded. But for this one Kiryadan and me time seems to stand still.
My fury is replaced by a mixture of caution and fear as my gaze falls upon his badge; the Kiryadan leader. If he falls, they are lost, and the battle will be at end. No more blood will be shed, no more lives will be wasted.
This is my goal. This is the person I must slay. If I fail, someone else must do that job. But I will try my best.
Tensing, I wait for the Kiryadan leader to make the first move. I'm prepared for everything, even trickery.
He seems to do the same, until he realizes I want him to start. His emotionless expression turns into one of pure mockery, and a self-satisfied smirk spreads over his battle-scarred face. This is definitely not a good sign.
In a motion so fast I only see it as a blur, he unsheathes his sword, and strikes. I barely have enough time to back away a step, and parry.
Bloodstained steel meets bloodstained steel with a loud clashing sound. An old, familiar chant breaks into my blank mind. A chant I kept saying to myself when I was yet an apprentice. Duck, strike, parry, strike.
The four years of training and experience pay off, and show I do stand a chance against this bear of a man. Yet I keep hearing a young boy's voice, cracking in places because the boy is coming of age, chanting those words to engrain the deeply, make them an instinct.
I try to ignore it, for this is not combat training. This is a life or death matter.
The Kiryadan catches me off-guard for a moment. Our swords connect, but my hold on mine isn't strong enough. My blade slips off his, and next thing I know, I feel the other man's sword bite into my side.
Any other person might have dropped his weapon, but I don't. Blind rage runs through my every vein as I clutch my left side, yet keep a firm grip on my sword.
How dare he! I believe he didn't count on me reacting this way, so I have the element of surprise on my side.
Perspiration plasters a few lose strands of hair against my forehead. I grit my teeth, and glare fiercely at the Kiryadan. He will pay!
The smirk is wiped off his face when he notices the way I look at him. It is replaced by something that almost looks like fear. Most likely he had expected me to fall to my knees, begging for mercy.
If I were smart, I would do so. But I'm not, and I'm far too proud. I refuse to beg for my life. I also know he would kill me anyway.
We stare at each other for a few moments, then I attack. I throw all my weight into one single blow. An error which I regret immediately. I let my anger control me. I can't think clearly, nothing.
The smirk returns to the Kiryadan's face as he knocks my sword out of my grip, sending it spinning high into the air. Next, he brings down the hilt of his own blade into my back. The blow sends me sprawling onto the blood soaked ground.
I shake my head to clear it, when a shadow falls over me. I look up, already knowing whom I will see.
He stands there, a tall demon-like form against a clear sky. He wears an evil grin on his face, standing over me with a self-satisfied air about him. I swallow, hard. He is about to kill me.
I feel panic cut off my breath, and reach for a dagger that lies nearby. The weight of the small weapon gives me comfort. I don't know why, but it does.
A fierce cry erupts from the man as he lifts his sword, aiming straight for my heart. At the same time, I tighten my grip on the dagger. I wait, taking a deep breath. I will not give him the pleasure of seeing my fear.
An indescribable pain rushes through me as the Kiryadan drives the blade into my chest, through my heart. It knows no end, almost forcing me to scream. But I bite it back.
As he pulls it back out, I nearly faint when I see the blood drip from it. My blood, crimson and thick, drenching my uniform and the ground beneath me.
I gather the last of my strength, pull myself up, and drive the dagger into his stomach at full force. His eyes widen with shock, then glaze over. I hear him mutter something, which sounds like a curse. Then he falls, to lie in the pool of his own blood mixed with mine.
I cough, causing blood to sputter down my front. The thick, metallic taste sickens me, I want to throw up. It's hard to breath. I can only cough, spewing more and more blood.
I know it, I will die soon. But first I will end this battle.
I bend down, reach for the Kiryadan's sword. I nearly break down, for my strength is seeping from me like my blood is. It takes a lot of courage to pick the weapon up, and raise it high into the air for everyone to see.
"It is over!" I yell the best I can, only to fall to my knees, coughing more blood.
The battle stops without warning. A moment of silence sets in, but is broken when a cheer rises from my army. A cheer loud enough to be heard in Harein's capital. Yet I don't care.
Blackness creeps into my vision, as my wounded heart slows. Blood keeps flowing. I break down completely; feel the hard ground beneath me.
An image flashes through my mind, Sianon. I draw a rasping breath, and close my eyes for a second.
"Sianon, please forgive me for breaking my promise . . ." My hoarse whisper trails off. A shudder runs through my body, then I feel nothing. Blackness engulfs me, and death claims me for eternity.