Man in black

The preparations began months ago. Both sides knew it would be a fight to the finish.

'No prisoner will be taken and no quarter will be given.' I used this line to keep the morale of my men high.

War was never more raw. Troops charged at each other. Battle cries rent the air. Arrows flew, swords flashed and bodies fell.

Although the war started only a few hours ago, it seemed like days. My men were left dead in the wake of the enemy's advance. We were routed.

There was a cloud of dust in the distance.

It was the enemy's supreme commander. Dressed in black, with a black horse to match, he was a fearsome sight to behold. I knew he had come for me. After all, victory is when you achieve either one of two- kill the enemy king or capture him alive.

I stood my ground, bloodied and alone. A lone dagger adorned my fighting arm. My footmen were too few and too far to be of any help. The black horseman knew it too. I thought I saw an evil smile flicker across his face.

He was but a few steps away from me. Three, to be precise. Would he charge and drive his lance through me? Or would he dismount and challenge me to an honourable duel?

I gripped my dagger, prepared for anything.

He charged.

'Checkmate, mon ami.'