Like a Phoenix Rising

         Hundreds of thousands. That is how many came against them, and still they did not waiver, they did not despair. Unwashed hordes clambered at their gates, and still they held strong. Fanatics and madmen screeched to their heathen god, and still they held their faith, they did not weep, they did not fear. Though death and defeat were inevitabilities the Knights of Haltaera stood their ground, and held their posts. They fought against the unending tide as hard as any group of men have ever fought.
         The civilians had been evacuated days earlier, and the streets of Haltaera’Pan Vara, normally lush with beautiful gardens and so full of laughter, seemed dead and gray. The siege had taken its toll, and even the temple of Haltaera, goddess of wisdom, echoed with a dull emptiness, its shelves bare, having been emptied of its countless tomes of wisdom and reflection.
         “The gates will hold no longer, Commander,” said the messenger. The statement was issued with a passive acceptance with no hint of sorrow or resignation.
         “Tell Watcher Montin that I expect it to hold for the remainder of the day,” Commander Diaran Wailan said as he gazed out across the endless sea of barbaric warriors from his position at the top of the central tower, a place once reserved for meditation and reflection.
         Diaran was a distinguished looking man, though he was rather young to be the commanding officer of the esteemed Knights of Haltaera. Large in stature, but lean and strong from a regime of constant training, Diaran was easily one of the mightiest warriors the city of Haltaera had ever produced. He exuded an aura of supreme confidence, and any who served under him would follow him into the jaws of death itself.
          His gaze still held its fire, even after five days of constant fighting. “Tell him that I will accept no less, not a minute less.”
         The gate held through the day. The knights constantly reinforced it with materials from the city’s buildings. The knights knew their time in this world was nearing its end, and each prepared his mind for the journey. They did not fear death, for they knew that the goddess was with them, their cause was just.
          As darkness fell, Diaran climbed atop the rampart overlooking the courtyard. Just inside the gate stood all that was left of the esteemed Knights of Haltaera near to one hundred men, weapons at the ready, calm determination in their eyes. Diaran looked down upon his soldiers, the source of all his pride and confidence, and in the face of death he smiled.
         “Here we stand ” he bellowed. Raising his arms he indicated the once beautiful city they had sworn to protect. “Here, in our home, this is where we stand, and this is where we will fall.” He said this not with fear or sadness, it was simply a fact."Tonight we will die, my brothers. Tonight these vicious animals, who wear the guise of humanity, will tear down the gates to our beloved city. They wish to kill us and pillage our homes. All in the name of their heathen god.” His eyes blazed with that same fire that made each man feel full of righteous fury. “We could have fled, and relinquished our walls without a fight, but we would be forever running. Better to stand and die in the face of evil than cower and flee from it ” At this the Knights let out a roar that drowned out, for an instant, the hum of the thousands outside their gates. “There will be no rescue, there is no salvation for us in this world. No bards will sing of our heroics, for there will be no one to tell them of what we do this day, but we need not that glory, for we will find our own in our hearts We, the Knights of the goddess, we who stand for all that is right and just in
the world, we shall stand before this tide of darkness, and we will not falter. Lets them see the resolve of who they now face, and let them feel the fury of the goddess Tonight we die my brothers, my friends, tonight we find glory eternal in the arms of the Haltaera!”
         With a mighty roar, the lead Knights tore the supports off of the gate and heaved it open. The stampede that began lasted for hours to come, and the knights killed hundreds per soldier lost, but they would need to kill ten thousand to a man to put a dent in the force pitted against them. After four hours the final twenty soldiers, battered and bloody, many with broken shields and bent swords, prepared for what they knew would be their last moments. Pinned down in a small shop, surrounded by the pulsing mobs of enemies, courage showed its purest form. With a cry of exultation to the goddess, Commander Diaran Wailan charged into the fray, his massive greatsword cleaving no less than three barbarians in half with each swing. For an eternity it seemed he slew any who came near him, and even when the last of his men lay dead he did not pause. The hordes swarmed upon him, clubbing and slashing at him with their crude weapons. He stumbled over a body and went down to his knees. His greatsword was torn from his grasp and an immense club swatted him about the head. Crumpled and broken, but still full of fire and fury, Diaran had just enough strength left to raise his head, and spit blood upon his killers feet. Then darkness took him, and he felt no more.