Older men retired from the ways of war, but fired up by adrenaline and the righteous cause for survival that they fought for sliced into the less experienced Zoarinian ranks, as if they were once again hardy warriors of thirty five and not seventy and older. The rust fell from off their old but sure blades, as talents won over a lifetime of war, came back to them, as if greeting an old friend long unseen.
Farm boys of fourteen and sixteen made strong by hard work and a proud heritage to uphold, smashed away at the enemy soldiers, as if they were but ripe sheaves of corn ready to fall under the swings of their scythes.
Moments after the militia hit the enemy line, the full column of charging cavalry under General Nadero's command, smashed into the enemy's rear. There was an almost visible shockwave across the enemy formation as it absorbed the impact of the charging cavalry. Completely unhinged from their defeat at Kingdom Pass and this new brutal twist in their sad tale of invasion the enemy broke and ran screaming for their lives, too hysterical in their terror to even defend themselves.
It was a slaughter that none were allowed to escape from, for fear that they would regroup with the main body of the army and inform them of the loss. Before even all the enemy had been mopped up General Nadero separated out from the fight to gallop towards the city gates in the distance.
"Open the gates!"
The gates clanged open and out poured a collection of carts and wagons of every conceivable description. Some were pulled by teams of horses others mules and even oxen, while spare teams were herded along by outriders.
Their drivers were old shop owners, widows and anyone who could hold a pair of reins and drive a team. In a frenzy of action General Nadero issued orders to load the carts with the militia members still able and fit to fight. His actions were almost panicked as he was anxious to rendezvous with Roric's forces on time.
He was already several hours behind that schedule by his calculations. He had lost time having to divert and travel out of the way of the Attorgron forces coming down from the north. The hastily put together misfit caravan groaned and creaked its way out of the valley in a flurry of its own dust as it was escorted by the cavalry northward towards the Shrine of Remembrance.