Later that evening, Garalt found himself sitting on a boulder on the outskirts of camp, watching the sun slowly set into the western mountains of Ikros.  His mind was filled with thoughts of the upcoming battle, whether his plan was used or not, he knew that it would be a dangerous fight.  Some of his comrades, some of his close friends could be killed.  His thoughts then turned to the very real possibility of he himself being killed, run through by some undead horror, only to be raised up again to fight for the Horde.  He, the most inexperienced of the Knights of the Lion's Crest, hell, the most inexperienced of all of Ulmerad's knights, if anyone would fall, surely he would.  He shuddered at the thought.
    Garalt's brooding was interrupted by a hand touching his shoulder.
    "If you're cold, you should go off and sit by the fire," Kullvox said, sitting down next to him on the rock.
    "Huh?" Garalt stuttered, coming out of his day dream state.
    "You're shivering, if you're cold you should go sit by the fire and warm up."
    "Oh... no, sir..."
    "Kullvox," Kullvox interrupted, "no 'sir', just plain Kullvox.  I'm a man, just like you, I deserve no more respect than you do."
    Garalt smiled at him.
    "All right then, Kullvox."
    "So if you're not cold, why were you shivering?"  Kullvox turned slightly and looked at Garalt, still looking into the horizon, now ablaze in red.
    "Oh, I was just thinking of the coming battle."  Garalt let out a heavy sigh, "Those undead creatures, they all used to be warriors, like us?"  Kullvox looked out at the sunset as well.
    "Most of 'em, some are peasants, killed for their service, some are just people dug up from cemeteries."
    "I was just thinking, that I might become one of them if I fall against them..."  Garalt spoke softly, running his fingers nervously through his hair.
    "Aye, you most certainly would become one of them."  Garalt's face dropped at the thought.  Kullvox lightly hit Garalt's arm, "But it won't happen."
    Garalt looked at Kullvox carefully.
    "It won't?"
    "Of course not, you'd have to have orders from Lord Ulmerad to die in battle, and he hasn't given out that order yet," the elder knight said with a smile.  Garalt smiled slightly and turned back to the horizon, all red now turned to a light blue as night began to completely overtake the land.  Garalt began to think to himself once more, throwing a small stone off into a dry bush a few feet away. Of all of Ulmerad's knights, Kullvox was always the most kind to him.  At times he had been like a guardian angel, always defending him from attacks from the other knights, especially Wiegar's wicked tongue and blade.
    Before Garalt had become a knight, Kullvox had chosen him to be his squire.  A marvelous opportunity it was, learning, following, sparring with one of the best of the Lion Crest.  Kullvox had taught him never to enter a fight without a plan, that his brain was the most important weapon in his arsenal.  Sir Haleron had said different, that skill and instinct was more powerful than any plan, for any plan can be undone.  But Kullvox seemed more stable that Haleron, and although not as skilled at fighting, he always gave Haleron a challenge.
    "Oh by the way," Kullvox spoke, startling Garalt, "after reviewing the maps, his majesty and Lord Daravon have chosen to use your plan."
    "Really??" Garalt blurted out, excited at the proposition.
    "Yup, we head out at first light, and there's only two more things to figure out."
    "What's that?"
    "One, who will be the bait to lure the Horde into the river bend?"
    "And second?" interrupted Garalt eagerly.
    "And second... who will lead the first charge against the Horde once we have them in place?"
    "Are they trying to decide that now?"
    "It's all up to you, Garalt.  It's your plan, and Lord Ulmerad wants you to choose," Kullvox looked at his former squire and winked.
    "ME?!?!" Garalt stood up quickly, with Kullvox slowly joining him.
    "Your plan my friend.  Lord Daravon is waiting for you in the war tent.  I suggest you find the time to visit."  Garalt bolted away toward the war tent, followed by bellowing laughter from Kullvox, slowly walking after him.  This was the his big chance, but now he had to decide quite possibly the fate of two men's lives.  Who could he choose?  How could he choose?  Certainly all Lord Daravon wanted were suggestions, not orders.  Yes, that was it, Daravon wanted a simple suggestion.  Who does Garalt think would be best suited for this task?  Nothing more than that.
    "I can't put someone's life in danger like this..." Garalt muttered under his breath.
    Garalt stopped at the entrance to the war tent, which was actually nothing more than four wooden poles holding up a linen roof.  A single candle lit the table the tent enclosed, illuminating the gray hair covering Daravon's head and the shining sword at his side.
    "Milord," Garalt uttered nervously.
    "Ahh, young Sir Garalt, come, join me," Daravon said in his gruff, aged voice.  Daravon always seemed distant and separated from everything, certainly this was a man without fear.  Terror Shadow seemed to glow as Garalt came closer, somehow reacting to his presence.  Daravon looked down at his sword and then at Garalt with a smirk on his face.  "Terror Shadow knows you, it can see into your heart and find your most hidden fears, you know."
    Garalt swallowed hard, the tent seemed to be getting smaller.
    "S...Sir?" he stammered.
    "Terror Shadow is not any ordinary sword," Daravon said, slowly pulling the sword out of its sheathe, pointing the silver blade directly at Garalt, "Your king's sword and my own are unique.  They are not only magical, but they have a will of their own.  Terror Shadow speaks to me, in my mind, it has told me that you are absolutely terrified of me.  I already knew this, but it never hurts to have a second opinion, don't you think?"
    "Y...yes Milord..."
    "So it was your plan to draw Ethelred's army into the river bend..."  Daravon sighed, lowering his sword to his side.  Garalt nodded quickly, Daravon returning a slow nod.  "As sound plan, assuming the Horde isn't protected by magics to be washed away."  Daravon forewarned, tracing his finger down the drawn image of a river on the map on the table.  Garalt could do nothing but follow the finger with his eyes.  Daravon repeatedly tapped the map where the river bend was drawn hard, "All we need now is bait, and a man to lead the charge.  Your king decided that it is up to you to decide."
    "Yes Milord."
    "Have any idea of who should be the first to see battle?  And who should risk his life and soul to start this whole thing off?"  Daravon spoke quietly, starring into Garalt's eyes deeply, as if to try and find a glimpse of his soul.
    Garalt opened his mouth slowly, but no sounds came to him.
    "Well speak up lad," Daravon barked impatiently.
    "Sir, I would like to volunteer to lure the Horde."  Garalt couldn't feel himself say it, it seemed too much like someone else speaking for him.  Daravon chuckled softly.
    "Very well Sir Knight, and who will lead the charge?"
    "That would be me again, Milord,"  Garalt said sternly, finding some hidden cache of strength.
    "You?" Daravon chortled, "How will you do both of these things?"
    "I will ride away from the horde and turn at the bend, and then I will spin around and charge, pulling our waiting army with me."
    "And what about your horse?  She might become to tired to do both these things."
    "If need be, if Milord will grant it to me, a second horse could be waiting for me with the army."