Trumpets rang out into a deafening howl, their wave of sound slamming into southern forces, playing sounds of dread, from somewhere beyond, the lyrics sung by fervent monks and priests, agitating chimes, all of it coming from a place the soldiers could not see, facing the ranks of the dead, the first shines of morning had already come, the battle had already begun a few hours ago, but neither of the two small armies had yet to move, livings archers anxiously tapped wood and pinched their bowstrings, not only because of what they were facing, but also because it was their king in person that was commanding them.