Gill and Olivier created a small hideout by ripping long branches from overhanging trees and loosely weaving them together between two larger branches. When they were satisfied they had sufficiently hidden themselves and their horses they sat down besides one another taking their ready positions in their arboreal shelter. Gill faced in the direction that Chaval should be coming, and Olivier faced slightly in other, back toward the clearing, just in case Chaval had got wind of their plan and was going to attack from the rear. They sat motionless, not talking; this was not the time for words. After a while the waiting for the signal started to play tricks on their minds. Gill began to wonder if the signal would ever come, should he stand so he could see what was happening. Slowly, as they waited, the sun fell and the air cooled. Both men moved to try and find a more comfortable position; their lack of movement was beginning to make their joints ache. Gill clenched his fists trying to warm his hands and to get blood pumping through them again. They needed to try to keep their bodies relatively warm in order that when called on it could react. The sun fell tuning the sky black, punctured only by shards of glass broken from a crescent moon, illuminating the woods and mountains with a grey atmospheric light. Gill moved from his seating position to lie, in order that he could look up at the celestial magnificence: then he heard it, thump, thump, thump, thump. Very quietly at first but the vibrations running through the floor, resonating through his body, told him instantly what it was, marching. He lifted his head up and looked at Olivier to see if he had heard it: Olivier’s face evidence that he had. Thump, thump, thump, thump, every thump gradually getting louder. Gill’s grip tightened around his sword. The clang of metal against metal, armour on armour, then the calls of the army generals.
“Stay together, one, one, one, two, one.”
Gill strained his neck so he could see the brow of the hill through the edge of the forest; the direction from which the noise was coming. He could see nothing, but the noise was getting louder. Then the first line of heads appeared, then shoulders, slowly showing themselves as they marched over the hill. The warm sensation of fear filled his body. Then the next line, and the next, the rows of Chaval’s men stretched from as far as he could see in one direction to as far in the other, then another line would reveal itself, a black shadow slowly casting itself over the hill as they moved forward. Gill could hear every word now. He slowly changed his laying position to get even closer to the ground that was rumbling like an expectant volcano beneath him. Chaval’s army, rolling out like a blanket of tar, removing the life from whatever it passed over. Closer still they came. Lit by the moonlight, he could now make out their faces. They walked in front of him, touching distance away from his face. Gill held his breath. And the feet kept coming and coming. Gill estimated there must have been a few hundred rows. He had begun to count them but the ever-increasing numbers scared him, so he tried to focus on his mission instead, why he was here, what he had come to do. And still they came, with death in their eyes, rage dripping from every pore; a putrid acrid smell of war filled the air. Thousands, all in uniformed lines, armed to the teeth. Then the horses came, followed by the trebuchets, ‘they have not just come to overthrow Avalon’ Gill thought to himself ‘they have come to destroy it, the city would never be able to withstand an onslaught of this enormity, we must do our duty, we are it’s only hope.’
The last of the huge trebuchets passed, followed finally by the last line of soldiers. Gill looked back up the hill in the direction the army had come praying there were no more. To his relief all that remained at the brow of the hill was a small batallie of soldiers, no more than a few hundred. Gill could also make out twenty or thirty on horseback. He tapped Olivier on the arm and pointed in the direction of the hill, it was the first movement he had made in a long time and it sent a searing pain up his arm. It was their target, the royal party and their protection.
“I know,” Olivier whispered back.
They slowly stood up and carefully got back on their horses without making a sound. A flaming arrow flew through the air above their heads, it came from behind them, it was their call, the sign; the moment had come to fulfil their destinies. The knights smashed through the edge of the forest on their horses and out into the view of Chaval. Gill turned to see all his allies appear from the forest. All had seen the signal and were riding at full speed toward the top of the hill, to their target.
A wave of heat hit Gill making his horse bolt. The first part of their plan had been executed. Without noticing Chaval’s army had walked right into their trap. The knights had laid a wide stream of oil that began at the edge of one the woods where they were hiding to the other. Chaval’s men had marched right over it, not noticing in their thirst for blood. Two of the knights had set fire to either end of the line of oil and now there was a wall of fire separating the king of Chaval and his party from his army. The wall of fire also acted as another signal for the awaiting archers on the battlements of Avalon to action the second part of their plan. In unison they lit the end of their arrows and fired at another river of oil that had been laid across the front of the city. A second wall of flames went up. The flames rose to at least half the height of the city’s wall and appeared from where Gill was to be lapping against his beloved city like a blazing tempest. Now Chaval’s army couldn’t go forwards or back. Their horses were bolting, trampling their own men in the melee. The Captains of Chaval’s battalions were looking for orders, but the king and the army generals had been separated from them, and couldn’t get their orders across. “Fire,” came the order from the wall of Avalon. A wave of burning arrows flew from the city wall raining down on Chaval’s disorientated and vulnerable men. “Fire,” another wave was sent out, and another. Avalon’s catapults came into the fray, their molten boulders smashing into the oncoming army, scattering bodies and stoking the panic. Chaval’s men couldn’t attack, or retreat. “Fire,” “Fire,” “Fire,” the calls kept coming from inside the city walls, the barrage was relentless. Some of Chaval’s men began to run East or West, but those charged with keeping the men inline would strike down anyone that tried to brake, some of the fortunate ones escaped, the rest had no option but to try and charge the city, jump through the wall of fire, avoid the arrows falling on them like a swarm of killer bees, few would survive. Chaval could see from the top of the hill what was happening, and realised the trap that they had walked into. A corridor of flames that burned the height of an oak tree now blocked his bloodthirsty army from attacking or retreating. Avalon’s knights, to the north of the corridor of flames now had clear sight of their target. The charging horses formed a line, so close that the stirrups of the knights touched the horse of the knight’s that flanked them, and began their ascent to the top of the hill, to take the king.
“Tell your men to stand firm. If we cannot take the city I want all their knights dead,” came the order from Chaval as he looked down the hill at the knights charging in his direction.
“Ready men,” called one of Chaval’s generals. The front two lines of the few hundred soldiers that were protecting Chaval kneeled down and pointed their spears toward the moon, jamming the end into the ground creating a protective wall. The preceding rows of archers took an arrow from their quiver and placed it carefully in their bow, closing one eye, resting the flights on their cheeks and taking aim on the oncoming attackers.
Gill whipped his horse trying to get more speed from him. The knights had now formed a two hundred strong line stretching from one of the woods to the other, two hundred of the finest soldiers Avalon had to offer. They were ready and now charging at Chaval full speed, finally set free, allowed to protect their homes and rid the land of the man that had put so much fear into the hearts of their families.
“Stay straight and firm men,” called Gill’s Captain, but they didn’t need telling, they had trained for years for this moment, and they were now running on instinct. They could see their target, each of the knights passed their horses reins into the hand that was holding their shields, and drew their swords with the other. The first wave of arrows fired by Chaval’s men flew at them. Gill noticed out the corner of his eye a couple of horses fall; he decided he would not look left or right again. Another wave came, and then another. They were closing in. Chaval’s archers could not reloaded quick enough to slow down the onslaught. The knights dropped their shield to the floor and drew another weapon with the hand holding the reins. Gill unhooked his mace, Olivier another sword, and with one swing of the knight’s arms the front row of Chaval’s soldiers were out of the way, the following row of archers scattered by the charging horses. The knights cut through Chaval’s soldiers, not taking aim, or humanising over their enemies. Gill and Olivier stayed focused on the group at the back of the pack, the ten or twenty men on horses that were obviously the king, the Prince, and probably army generals and some knights. The horses continued to stampede, crashing through Chaval’s soldiers as if smashing through waves as they crashed on the shore. Gill, took a quick glimpse to his left and right, the temptation was too much. To his relief the majority of the knights were still riding, all heading in the same direction as he was. Gill noticed ahead that the king and his pack were beginning to move. The men at either end of Chaval’s line were waving large banners that Gill presumed must be the signal to retreat. ‘They are running away, we’ve got them,’ he thought to himself, but none of the knights were letting up. They knew that they had to get the king, or they would have to live in fear of attack for another twenty years, this was their opportunity to rid this land of Chaval for good. Gill noticed the pack turning and beginning to ride back in the direction of the mountains and Chaval. Gill knew that if Chaval reached the mountains they could easily find a place to hide, they needed to get to them before they disappeared. The number of soldiers in their way was subsiding and the knights were able to pick up pace, finally able to break free and begin their chase for the king. Gill flew through the last remaining soldiers like a swallow through its flock. Instinctively avoiding all that was in front of him. Most of the knights were unable to keep up with his swiftness, and he was now leading the attack. He went over the brow of the hill and realised that only a few of the knights were still with him, but it didn’t matter he must keep riding. He was gaining on the pack; Gill guessed he had maybe five other knights now for company. The pack in front of them separated. Gill kept focused on the king and the Prince. It was obvious from where he was which was the king as he sat smaller on his horse than the others, and the two largest of Chaval’s knights were staying close to him and his son, evidently ordered to protect their king and the Prince at all costs. Gill looked around to quickly assess the situation; he was now chasing the king the Prince and two others. Some of the chasing pack followed those that separated from the king’s group. For the first time in his life he felt the freedom that he had always desired: his mind was clear and true. He rode his horse as if they were one, gallantly charging to set his people free, Gill realised now what it must be like to be one of the seagulls he had envied. He had learned to fly.
Yah! a loud scream came from beside him, it was Olivier urging on his steed. He glanced at Gill, smiled, and then whipped his horse again. There were two of them now, chasing four. They reached the king’s two protecting guards first and cut them down easily with one strike of their swords. It was now just Gill and Olivier against the king and the Prince.
The Prince peeled off from his father. Gill looked at Olivier his long flowing hair dripping with sweat.
“The Prince is mine,” Olivier shouted. “You take the king.”
Gill was closing in. It wouldn’t be long before he would be able to touch the king’s horse. The king attempted to lose Gill by heading into the woods, praying that the trees would offer him a place to hide, but Gill was too close now to lose sight of him. The king turned and looked over his shoulder to find out how far away Gill was, their eyes met, the eyes that his father had trusted before he had his death sentence bestowed on him. By turning around Chaval had not noticed a low hanging branch, and before he could react he rode into the branch at full speed. It hit him across the chest throwing Chaval from his horse. Gill pulled the reins as he galloped past the fallen king brining his horse to a halt. He slowly turned and rode back to where the king was laying, crumpled on the forest floor. Gill dismounted. Still with his sword in his hand he walked over to the king. The king rolled on to his back. Gill saw clearly for the first time the pallid evil face of the man that had brought so much misery to so many people in this land. Gill thought he would be angry, would want to pierce his sword instantly through the king’s chest, but the site of the weak old man that lay gasping for air, blood trickling from his mouth only made him feel pity. The old man looked at him.
“My name is Gill. You killed my father, and made my mother a widow and I will now take you back to Avalon for your punishment.”
As Gill uttered these words he could see the last remaining colour in the old man’s face ebb away. The life had gone from his eyes; fear had stamped out evil, he knew he was beaten. Chaval rolled on to his side still gasping for air. Slowly with his right hand he started to feel inside his chest plate. It looked to Gill as if the king was trying to relive some of the pressure on his chest; but it was not until too late that he realised what the king was doing. With a swift move Chaval pulled a small vile out, removed the bung off the top with his teeth and swallowed the liquid. Gill leapt forward and kicked the bottle from the king’s hand, but it was too late, the poison had been drunk. The king looked up at Gill and smiled a menacing smile as he let the poison take hold of his body.
“No,” Gill screamed, the king could not escape like this.
“It’s too late Gill,” the king said as he lay on the floor. “I have won. You can take back the land for your pitiful people. You can rebuild the cities that I burned to the ground.” Slowly, his gasping for air got worse, his body started to convulse, foam began to form around the corner of his mouth. Gill stepped back and watched the macabre scene play out before him
“You have not won,” said Gill. “You lay at my feet dying. I have avenged my father death. My people are free. We have won Chaval.”
“But…” gasped the king. “I am the only one who knows where your father is.”
“What?” shouted Gill. “What do you mean?” Gill fell to his knees and grabbed the king by his chest plate and started to shake him, desperate for the king to tell him what he knew, but it was too late. The king’s convulsing had stopped and his eyes rolled as his head fell back. He was dead, their mission was complete, but what did the king mean. Gill dropped the king on the floor and began to cry. Still on his knees he looked up at the stars and screamed, “No!” What had he done? Was his father not dead?
Gill stood and lifted Chaval’s lifeless body on to his horse, and slowly started toward the battlefield. He needed to get back, to speak with his grandfather. He contemplated the enormity of what had happened: he knew the welcome that would greet the returning heroes, but he didn’t feel like a hero, all he really wanted was to see his family, to find out what Chaval meant. Many men had worthlessly lost their lives today, all due to the greed of one man, and he now knew there was a chance that his father might still be alive

It took some time for Gill to reach the battlefield again, and the returning journey gave him time to think about what had just happened. He came back over the brow of the hill and into the view of Avalon, and for the first time he could see the catastrophic remains of battle. Dawn was breaking, and the morning mist covered the grass giving a ghostly complexion to the landscape. It looked almost as if over night the city had started to sink into the sea. The final embers of the walls of fire that had so successfully caused the downfall of Chaval’s army were slowly dieing out. The surviving knight’s of Avalon were making funeral pyres of Chaval’s dead soldiers. Gill counted at least twenty of the ghoulish mounds of bodies waiting to be burnt. He continued walking in the direction of the city. Mercifully he noticed one of the knights he recognised, then another. Both rode over and began to form a line either side of him. Then another two knights joined, and then more, soon there was a line of probably eighty of them, Gill did not count.

A cry went up from one of the guards standing on the battlements of Avalon. Through the thick plumes of smoke he had noticed a line of knights slowly riding back toward the city. “They’re coming back, they’re coming back,” he screamed.
The news echoed through the streets of Avalon resonating like the concentric ripples in a puddle after a stone has been dropped in. People who had barricaded themselves into their homes, hidden behind furniture, began coming from their strongholds on to the streets to see if their nightmares had finally come to an end. Soon the streets were full of expectant city folk, all trying to find out more information as to what had happened on the other side of the city wall. The guard that had brought the initial news to the cities attention tried to relate back what he was seeing.
“Let him talk,” shouted a man from the crowd, trying to bring quiet to the noisy expectant townsfolk.
“I think I can see, fifty, no sixty, hang on their maybe more.” His estimate was understated. Nearly a hundred knights had now formed a line either side of Gill, and were making their way home. Those knights that had been injured were picked up by the able and carried or put on horseback.
“I see you caught up with him then.” Gill spun around to see Olivier by his side again.
“Thank God Olivier I thought…”
“I’ve told you before Gill, you think too much sometimes my friend,” Olivier smiled and lent down from his horse and placed his hand on Gill’s shoulder.
“What about?” Gill didn’t have to finish his question.
“His evil finally caught up with him. Your father can now rest in peace.”
Now was not the time to ask questions of what had happened after they had split last night to chase the king and Prince separately. That time would come: besides Gill still felt in a state of shock regarding what he had heard from the king and would not be able to convey it to Olivier yet even if he tried. As the line of knights drew closer to the city the relief started to relax their muscles. The city gates slowly creaked open.
“You can leave him here Gill,” said the Captain, pointing at the king who lay across Gill’s horse. Gill pushed the king’s body off his horse and it fell unceremoniously to the ground. The king’s body wasn’t a trophy, just an unwanted memory of a life they were all eager to forget. Gill mounted his horse in order that he could ride the final part of their return to the city.
“In line men,” ordered the Captain. He led the way with Gill to his right, Olivier positioned himself next to Gill, and another knight took his place next to Olivier completing the front line of four horses, all the other knights fell into line behind them. As they moved through the gates a roar erupted, louder than anything any of the knights had ever heard before. Gill could see for the first time as he looked over his shoulder just how many of the men had survived. From the two hundred brave men that left Avalon yesterday at least one hundred and twenty had formed in rows of four behind them. Those that had not returned had died to free Avalon.
The procession rode through the city gates and headed toward the castle. Flowers were being thrown on the street in front of them. Men and women would break from the crowd to shake their hands and thank them. Gill smiled and waved, and then he saw her. She stood back from the crowd leaning against the wall of a small house. Their eyes locked, his body shook, lightning passed through his veins. She smiled. Gill needed to stop, talk to her, and find out who she was, but the horses continued. Gill turned around, straining to keep her in view. Olivier had been watching and tapped Gill on the shoulder, but Gill’s eyes remained locked on the girl. He smiled at his young friend, and leant over and whispered in his ear.
“Come on Gill, you can find her later.”