Kell's Legend

and ranks.
    Kell strode back to Terrakon and Lazaluth. Terrakon had a nasty slash from his temple to his chin, his whole face sliced in half, but he was grinning. “That was incredible, man! I have never seen anything like it! You turned the entire tide of the battle!”
    Kell grinned at him, face a savage demon mask. “Horse-shit, man! I did no such thing. I simply gave the cankers something nasty to think about; the infantry charged in and did the rest.”
    “Such modesty should never be trusted.”
    “Such bitterness should never be concealed.”
    “You’re a vile, moaning goat, Kell.”
    Kell rolled his shoulders. “That’s a nasty gash to your face, Kon. Might need a few stitches.” He grinned again.
    “Fuck you, you old bastard.”
    “Old? I’m ten years younger than you!”
    “Ha, well it’s all about condition, Kell, and I look ten years younger than you.”
    Around the two men soldiers were chuckling, but the sounds soon dissipated.
    “Here come the infantry,” said Terrakon, humour dropping like a stone down a well. He switched his blade from one hand to the other, rolling his wrist to loosen it. “Damn arthritis to hell!”
    “Now’s a good time to bring in those archers,” said Kell, prodding Lazaluth. “Go and tell the king.”
    The albinos marched out, in perfect formation. Their black armour gleamed. It began to snow from towering iron-bruise clouds, and the battlefield became a slurry of blurred men. A pall of fear seemed to fall across the soldiers of Falanor; they realised they had lost hundreds due to slaughter at the claws of the cankers; they were now at the disadvantage. It would be a hard fight.
    “Chins up, lads!” roared Kell, striding forward to the head of the centre battalions. They had reformed,most with shields, all grasping their short swords in powerful hands. These were the veterans, the skilled soldiers, the hardcore. Hard to kill, thought Kell with a grim smile, and he bared his teeth at the men.
    “Who’s going to kill some bastard albinos with me?” he roared, and a noise went up from the Falanor men.
    “WE!” screamed the soldiers, blood-lust rising, and slammed swords on shields as behind Kell the albino battalions spread out into a straight line. Kell turned, and laughed at their advancing ranks.
    “BRING IT ON, YOU HORSE-FUCKING NORTHERNERS!” he roared, and behind him the Falanor men cheered and roared and banged their swords, as Kell moved back and slipped neatly into the front ranks at the centre, taking up his position alongside other hardy men. He looked left, then looked right, and grinned at the soldiers. “Let’s kill us some albino,” he said, as the enemy broke into a charge in perfectly formed squares, their boots pounding across churned mud. They did not carry shields, only short black swords, and each had white hair, many wearing it long and tied back. None wore helmets, only ancient black armour inscribed with swirling runes.
    The snow increased, filling the battlefield with thick flurries. I hope them extra divisions arrive soon, thought Kell sourly to himself; the snow would be superb cover to hit the enemy from behind, to crush them between sea and mountains, hammer and anvil. But then, nothing in life was ever that easy, or convenient; was it?
    The albinos charged in eerie silence, and Kell again felt fear washing through the ranks. This was nonormal battle, and every man could sense a swirling essence of underlying magick; as if the very ground was cursed.
    Distant drums slammed out a complicated beat. Kell tried to remember his old military training, but realised it would be useless. They would change the codes before any battle in order to confuse the enemy, and hopefully negate any information passed on by spies. But Kell realised what was going to happen; Leanoric had explained. They were going to fight, then retreat; draw the albino army back into the ruined city of Old Skulkra, fake a panicked break of ranks and charge through the ancient abandoned streets where nearly a thousand archers waited, hidden in high buildings and towers to rain down slaughter from above.
    Kell smiled, dark eyes locked to the charging albinos.
    It was a good plan. It could work. At first, it had been a plan nearly devastated by the unexpected cankers and their attack. The panicked breaking of ranks had very nearly been a reality; if that had happened too early, before archers took their positions, the battle would have been lost…
    Kell could