“May the powers be with us,” Bravham said.

Uldar drew his weapons, the signal for all others to do so. Swords, daggers, axes, war hammers, maces, and many others etched in the red power were placed at the ready. Uldar could smell the mixture of steel, sweat, and horse as the tense Prophets stood at the ready. The Reds reflected their crimson blades in the setting sun and looked an awesome host despite their numbers.

Many in the city cowered in fear, but the too-proud soldiers stood their ground. Grundar had never faced Prophets. Till now they were just fairytales, whispers of a strange, distant power. The men in chainmail and plate armor merely waited for these fools to come within range of their blades and bows. Even so, they stood still and hoped to their walls for protection. Uldar knew those high, gray stone walls would serve them well.

Uldar rode his horse up the ranks, spread out to make them harder to hit. “My sisters, my brothers, hear me now!” he shouted. “No oath or promise holds you here. If any of you wish to return to fight evil in another land on another day, then do so now. None that leave should feel shame, nor will have disappointed us in the slightest.”

Uldar waited, galloping up and down. As he expected, none left.

“We’re with you, Uldar! Let the Reds triumph!” cheered Yern, a warrior woman with a small, dark axe. That axe had seen blood before and would again very soon.

Uldar calmed the cheers. “This day will be the last for the Red Prophets on this planet. But if we can make it to the Iron Palace, if we can breech those walls, our sacrifice will have saved countless more lives,” Uldar said, riding up and down the lines, encouraging his host. “Let it be known from now on that on this day, at this hour, the Red Prophets would not stand for the conquering and enslavement of others. Let it be known that here we denied the arrogance of Severdom. And let it be known on all the seven planets that we, the Sevens Prophets, fought here not for conquest or revenge, but for a message of peace that is more powerful than even Heartsflame itself! Let it be known before the sun sets that that message is worth dying for!”

The King of Severdom wept in that hour. For it was said that a mighty cheer rose up from the Red Prophets and could be heard all the way back at his city. And Uldar, the second most powerful Red Prophet ever born on the planet Triumph, called the charge.

They rode forth at a gallop, their horses sensing the urgency. Uldar raced out front but the eager Bravham and her Shalemite horse sped past him. Soon they were all spread out, heading as fast as they could toward the gates.

Within moments, the Prophets struck first blood. Uldar, and the rest who could shoot with power, fired beams of red light from their blades. All of them were skilled riders and held their balance. Archers and fighters fell all around the walls, struck either dead or stunned from the blasts. Uldar rode clenching his knees so he could fire both daggers at once. Like red lightning streaking from the ground, the blasts flew at the city walls of Steel. It seemed the whole wall was alight with crimson flame, and but for their pride in Grundar’s glory the soldiers would have fled in terror.

Then the arrows came. Hundreds flew at the Prophets, who deflected the arrows with their cyclone-fast blades. Arrows shattered as they neared Uldar, his daggers twirling like fire. A spark singed his hair as he hit an arrowhead and he sent a blast back at the wall, barely seeing a small shape fall from the wall, crashing soundlessly to the ground below as Uldar shattered another arrow.

But some arrows hit home. Uldar knew when a brother or sister was hit. In the half mile distance between them and the gate, over thirty of the riders were shot down in the rain of arrows. Those who were not shot dead either remounted or ran on, not quitting as long as their hearts still moved. One Prophet seemed prickled with arrows but ran on, her small mace balanced on her ruined shoulder. After another hit her in the stomach, she collapsed, this time unable to rise. Thankfully, they soon made it to the gate.

Uldar and the rest quickly dismounted. At the massive, square-towered gates they deflected the now dwindling arrows and struck many Grundarians with their powerful shots. The Grundarins shouted down in defiance at their attackers as they were hit by blinding red flashes. More soldiers rushed to take their place and many more Prophets fell to the relentless bowmen.

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Uldar approached the giant, steel-reinforced gates. They had planned this out before and under the cover of the blasters he and those who could drain touched the gates. He saw Bravham shoot a man off a parapet and just in time deflect five arrows from hitting her head, her curved saber twirling with expert skill. He did not want to see her die.

Then Jarin, with his red hammer, and others with the needed power came forward with their weapons. They, along with Uldar’s small but powerful daggers, struck at the gates with a tremendous force that made the mighty mass of steel ripple and tremble. A few soldiers fell off the walls, shaken to near collapsing. With a second great stroke, the weakened gates shattered like glass. Jarin smiled as he took a step forward. But as Uldar ran into Steel’s streets, he saw an arrow pierce the strong man’s eye. He couldn’t stop, and ran on, hoping to see the man again soon.

Awaiting them at the gates were over five hundred of Grundar’s warriors, positioned in ranks. The troops of Grundar were well-disciplined and prepared to take whatever came through those ruined gates. Uldar led the charge with the remaining sixty Prophets. He fired into the mass of armored men, their large square shields and longswords standing at eager readiness, and when he flew into them he swirled his daggers with deadly speed.

Before the men could move, their throats spewed blood. Weaker weapons that came down to deflect Uldar’s blows shattered before the power of his weapons. He cut and dodged and slashed. A man was barely cut across the hand, his sword falling with an inaudible clatter. Such was the power of Uldar that before the soldier could lean down to pick up his sword, he fell over dead, a killing blow from a tiny cut.

But the Prophets weren’t fighting to kill all of these men. They just needed to get through. And the Reds cut a path of blood through the multitudes. Many Prophets were killed there, either too slow to keep up before the men flowed in to replace the fallen, or struck down by a highly skilled warrior, which Grundar had many of, swarming amidst the sword and spiked shield-carrying soldiers.

Uldar almost felt happy there, and saw Bravham hew her way through with her blood-stained saber. A Shalemite warrior, she’d left her beloved stallion to live behind her. The woman turned in a near dance-like way as she pulled her sword up, drawing it across a soldier’s chest and then down across a throat and through a sword.

As Uldar broke out from the ranks of Grundarins and ran on past the soldiers, he turned back and saw Ramis. The young Prophet followed Uldar and brought his sword down on a man’s head. In that split second before he could run, a Grundarin sword pierced his arm and he dropped his weapon. Then another split through Ramis’s back and the young man went down with an inaudible cry. Uldar could see the swords swarm around the teenaged Red.

“Go on! To the citadel!” Uldar cried as he raced back to the now pursuing soldiers and Reds running into the city. He fired into the soldiers then cut his way to Ramis’s body. He was a tornado of steel and blood as he swiftly moved through the soldiers. He collected the fallen red banner and swung it round to knock down a few men in his path. Then he charged through the rest and killed the cursing and bewildered soldiers, leaving a few stunned and wounded Grundarins behind.

Carrying the banner, Uldar raced forward. More arrows flew at the Prophets from sporadically assembled archers. The Reds moved slowly without their horses, left behind at the gate. But they fought better without them. Arrows shattered all around and blasts were fired behind into the pursuing soldiers. Orin went beside Uldar, the Sevens Prophets banner waving in the run with many arrow holes ripped into it. After chopping through the gates and dozens of soldiers, many in one stroke, Uldar’s heart froze as too many arrows to count flew at only Orin and himself, the flag-bearers. Uldar dropped the banner and ducked down and blocked all the arrows. As he picked up the bloody flag, Uldar looked back and saw Orin running with an arrow through his chest. He kept moving and hewed a fully armored attacker who tried to block their path. Two more arrows flew into him and Orin slowed and died with the fourth and fifth. Amidst his followers, Uldar could see Bravham pick up the Sevens Prophets’ multicolored banner out of Orin’s dying hands as she disposed of his killers in one motion. The two banners remained firm in defiance to the king’s men.

The Reds cut their way through the city. They encountered a few bodies of fifty or more soldiers, but they sliced these to ribbons under their powerful blades. There were still too many, though, and the Prophets lost numbers with every encounter. And not every arrow could be blocked. They were dwindling and the king’s army seemed endless, spilling out of buildings without warning and seeming to spawn out of nowhere down side streets.

The shrinking band soon reached the citadel gates and prepared to collapse them like they’d done with the city gate. They only shattered a small part of it in the first stroke, but they had no time to waste. Through this small hole rushed the Prophets with Uldar as the still assembling army rushed in behind them. At the steps of the Iron Palace, they saw a hundred soldiers rush forward. They were trapped between two forces greater than their size.

“Go on! We’ll hold ‘em here!” Yern cried to Uldar, her axe shining red.