How did we get here? Is this really happening? We can still stop this, can’t we? Three questions that seethe up in the gullet when you first confront the armed forces of your enemy. The sight of that great host, thousands upon thousands of armed soldiers, horses, chariots, war elephants, lancers, spear throwers, archers, all gathered in this field for the sole purpose of your destruction—to kill you, in other words—will strike fear into the heart of even the bravest of the brave.
For young Shvate and Adri, it was the most terrifying sight of their lives.
Adri, who couldn’t actually see the field of battle or the armies arrayed upon it, was even more terrified than Shvate. However terrible the reality of a situation, imagination can always find a way to make it seem worse. To him, the strange sounds and smells of the enemy forces, the raw animal stench and peculiar noises, the very theatricality of the entire enterprise, all merged into one contiguous nightmare following on from the horror of his weeks in the forest hermitage. He had thought that was the nadir of his short life. But this was worse, much worse.
For him, the three questions that rose in his gullet like acid were desperate pleas to escape this situation. The inevitable panic that strikes every warrior head-on when faced with the stark reality of war.
How did we get here?
By grandfather Vrath’s chariot, yes, but how did we get here? All of us, Krushan and enemies, on this field, in this situation, facing mutually assured destruction?
Is this really happening?
Denial. The refusal to believe that anyone could be foolhardy enough to actually go to war. That I could actually be here today, on this field, spending this fine summer day trying to stab, puncture, hack, and otherwise injure other warriors while they attempt to do the same to me and my fellows. Surely it’s just a bad dream. Or a hallucination. Or . . . Sacred Goddess, it isn’t really real, is it?
We can still stop this, can’t we?
Bargaining. There must be some way out of this that doesn’t involve me killing or being killed? There has to be. Because. I just. I can’t. Stop it. Somebody, please, stop it. Before it’s too late.
But of course, it was already too late.
The three questions were moot.
The field was set. The armies were aligned. The blades were drawn. And blood would be spilled.
All the three questions really did was force you to confront the ugly truth of your situation. After that, you really only had three choices: Panic and run. Die. Or endure.
Shvate endured.
Adri . . . struggled. But he managed to endure too.
They were crown princes of Hastinaga. They were the future kings of Hastinaga. Their entire army was looking to them for leadership. They couldn’t run. Dying was not a preferable option. They had no choice but to endure.