Garinor decided to join the battle. He sprinted ahead and followed Ilion closely until the sounds of shouting and slashing were very close indeed. One hill away, the battlefield opened wide to Garinor’s eyes.
On the eastern side was a mass of warriors, all clad in different types of armor and looking more like a band of ruffians than a set of seasoned fighters. They battled fiercely with an inner pride and each stroke was proudly dealt. Each man and woman fought from the heart.
On the western side was another group of soldiers. They appeared to be more experienced than the others. They wore matching components to their individual armors. Their sword cuts were precise and accurate and deadly.
Looking at them, Garinor felt tremendous fear. There was no way he could run down there and join in the fighting. There were many wounded warriors; some were clearly dead. His knees gave way and he couldn’t move.
Ilion’s bloodlust was complete. He dashed onto the battlefield, swinging his sword, and began hacking away. Garinor thought he heard cries of greeting from the mismatched warriors and the words, “It’s Shadow!” Apparently, his guide was known to them.
The lanky young man’s agility was an asset as Ilion dove and weaved through the battle, nipping with a slice here and parrying with a thrust there. Garinor couldn’t help feeling impressed at the man’s battle prowess and he found that his odd countenance didn’t match the grace he showed on the field below him.
The sun sank down in the sky as the battle wore on and an ear-splitting blast echoed through the air. Garinor grabbed his arms over his head until his ears stopped ringing, but even when he looked around he couldn’t see who had blown the horn.
A cease had been called and the combatants pulled away from each other reluctantly. Garinor could sense that some wanted to continue the fight until no one was left standing, but the others saw the wisdom of ending now. If the battle went into the night, each side would undoubtedly end up harming their allies. With waning daylight, they were able to tend to their wounded and to cart off their dead.
Garinor waited in silence, disbelief on his face at how the entire scene could change so suddenly. There were no more weapons or angry attacks, only solemn retreating.
Garinor searched for Ilion, wondering if the lanky man would abandon him for good or would resume the promised journey toward the king. It was only then Garinor saw the tall, lean warrior being dragged away and set with a pile of others to be buried. Agility and all, Ilion had fallen.
Anger rose in Garinor then as he watched the two forces pulling away from each other. The warriors leaving to the west had slain Ilion, whose only crime was that he had wanted to help. Garinor wanted to pursue them and make them pay.
But also, as he looked and saw the other troop leaving the field toward the east, he thought of Ilion and wondered if he should follow those he had died defending. He wasn’t sure what he should do.