Yonnis’s skin prickled. He peered into the grime, not knowing which way to turn his horse. His eyes and nostrils were stinging. He tried to salivate to reduce the pungent taste of gunpowder smoke. Rhythmic musket fire and the cries of men were fading, and, most chilling of all, he could not hear the drums. This did not make sense. His tactics always worked. His men always followed his lead. Was he deep behind the enemy lines? He must be. He had felt fear in battles before, but this was something worse. It was dread.
Yonnis started to pray. “Eternal Spirit, my light and inspiration, please forgive me my many wrongdoings, help me to endure my passage to the afterlife, and grant me everlasting rest.” He felt a flicker of warmth in his heart. He had given his all for the Doctrine of Truth. The Spirit would not forsake him.
Thunder cracked ominously. Rain followed—a pitter-patter at first, and then, suddenly, a downpour. This might disperse the smoke. He urged his horse to step round again. There was something not far off. The smoke swirled, and he caught a clear glimpse of a conical helmet.
Instinctively, Yonnis urged his horse into a canter towards the helmet, his sword raised. If these were his last moments, so be it. He would go down fighting. As he closed in on the helmet, he could see a huge man underneath it, encased in heavy armor and sat astride a well-padded saddle on a finely caparisoned horse.
Yonnis’s stomach lurched with hatred. It had to be him. He tried to suppress it. He shouted, “Sir, surrender yourself to the Army of Truth! Your cause today is hopeless! You are greatly out-numbered.” Yonnis hoped that this was still true. He had no idea where his men were.
The metal head turned slightly towards him. Was this the chance that his gut urged him to take? Yonnis’s head shuddered with memories of the screams of the Day of Lamentation. So many innocents wounded and dying, and somewhere in that cacophony had been his beloved wife, gasping her last breath.
Slowly, as if he might be conceding, the figure raised his gauntlet. He opened the visor of the helmet. Then he bellowed, “Never! You diabolical god-killer widower of a whore!”
