“Oh pure and virtuous Lady, you have summoned us this day, to defend your honour and protect this sacred place. Grant us your blessing and protection that we may serve you. Let our lances win you glory and if we must fall, then may our blood sanctify this hallowed place. So be it!”

In unison the host chanted in response “SO BE IT!”

As Armand and the knights were mounting their steeds a sudden rustling erupted from the forests on the far side of the clearing, maybe half a mile distant. Several multi-coloured birds, disturbed from their hidden roosts, flapped into the sky, squawking loudly in protest. And then they were visible, marching rapidly towards them. Lizardmen. Foul abominations! They walked upright on two limbs in a mocking parody of men. But these were no men. Little better than beasts, their cold blooded hearts devoid of any concept of mercy or honour. Yet they were dangerous, they were fell and dweomer crafty. If only he had a damsel to grace his ranks. But there was no damsel. This day would be won at the point of a lance. Let their foul shamans do their worst, the Lady would protect them.

He watched as they marched relentlessly towards his line, his skilled eye taking in their deployment and assessing their intentions. Hah! he thought, observing the sudden change of direction of the main body of Saurus warriors as they wheeled and moved further away from his left flank. They hadn’t expected such a large force of archers. Good, he thought. They are moving towards the deceptively weak right flank held by only one lance of knights. But these were Grail knights, living saints. He had fought with these noble warriors before, if never in such an exotic and oppressively hot environment. His mind flashed briefly to the icy windswept wastes of northern Kislev as these same companions stood side by side with him to face the swarming, gibbering hordes of demons. These knights knew no fear. Yielding was not a word in their vocabulary. They had sipped from the cup of the lady as had he. If they prevailed they would win glory and honour in Her name. If they fell they would go to Her embrace.

Armand knew that no words of encouragement were necessary for warriors such as they, but the trembling peasants needed words to bolster their quailing hearts and remind them of their duty. They had just seen the flapping monstrosities that had soared over the forest canopy and were even now gliding rapidly towards them, following the course of the stream. Pterodons, creatures straight from a fevered dream. The Knights of the Realm could handle those, he thought, as he addressed the restless peasants.

“Men, the foe is before you! Fear them not for the blessings and favour of the Lady are with you. Show no mercy for you can expect none. Let us show these monsters what it means to be Bretonnian! Let us show them the keenness and strength of cold Bretonnian steel!

The advancing Saureans were getting closer. In front of them scampered smaller lizard things clutching blow pipes and just behind these little skink things lumbered three huge beasts. Snarling as they lurched forward, like ogres in stature. Kroxigors! Standing twice the height of a man, clutching clubs like tree branches, these beasts could not be underestimated.

Then it happened! With no warning at all the reeds and rushes on the river bank exploded in a flurry of chittering squealing sounds interspersed with the cries of dismay of peasants and the whinnying  of horses! Armand realised in an instant the source of his unease, ambush! Swarms of skinks had burst forth from the reed beds and were showering the Knights of the Realm with shortbow darts. Horses and men fell where they stood before they had time to react. Armand was appalled. How could such puny darts cause so much carnage? There was only one answer, poison! Where these despicable and cowardly lizards completely devoid of honour? The Knights, overwhelmed by the devastating volley, balked, wavered, then, to their undying shame, they turned and fled! Armand stared horrified. Never had he witnessed such a shameful act from so called knights! His eyes flashed with fury. To fly in the face of the enemy was intolerable. To fly before ones own peasants while they stood fast was inexcusable! And what of the peasants? They had been abandoned to their fate. Their lives, and his left flank were now forfeit, and he was too far removed to be of assistance to them. No matter. He would take as many of these vile creatures with him as he could before he was flanked and overwhelmed. His plan of a pincer attack from both flanks was now in tatters. Still, he and his companions would make an end worthy of a song! He spurred Effrenus forward and the companions of the Grail galloped towards the advancing foe.

Armand glanced over his left shoulder as he advanced, expecting to see the peasants fleeing before the enemy. He could expect no more after the cowardly departure of those knights. To his surprise they still held fast, and he was rewarded with the sight of a veritable cloud of longbow bodkins blanketing the skink ambushers. They fell in droves, broke and fled through the reeds and into the stream beyond. The flank was holding for the moment, but those flying nightmares, the Pterodons were already swooping upon the peasant spearmen, who had suddenly become the anchor for his entire flank. The dread beasts fell upon the wavering peasants, snapping, biting, buffeting. Men fell screaming, clutching at massive wounds riven into their lightly armoured bodies, but bunched closely together for support, spears set to receive the charge they held. The front rank was scattered, torn apart, broken bodies crumpled in the mud. However, driven by despair, the second rank lashed desperately with their spears, lunging at the beasts in blind desperate fury. Bretonnian steel piercing the leathery skin of the reptiles as the mass of humanity pressed forward. Flight was not an option now. It was fight or die.