Hear ye, O hear ye, O scholars of history,

  For what I tell you is true as true can be!

  Tis a tale of derring-do and a tale of mighty thrill,

  Hear you now of the Battle of Barber Hill!

  Upon a lovely day did the queen of Cara ride,

  Unaware of the peril afore her stride,

  Afore them they saw the spearmen ahead,

  Arrows did loose, and the coachman was dead!

  The roar of hooves came thundering down,

  As enemies wicked the carriage surround!

  Strike of Red Lightning!

  With thunder so fright-ning!

  The commander was dead,

  The horses in panic fled!

  Strike of Red Lightning!

  With thunder so fright-ning!

  A song of hope went rising high,

  A turn of the wheel and archers die,

  To elvish spell and manly sword,

  Did fall to a man the enemy horde!

  Strike of Red Lightning!

  With thunder so fright-ning!

  The queen was saved,

  The deeds were done,

  At Barber Hill, the battle was won!

  - The Ballad of Barber Hill, by M.K.

  An Excerpt from History of Cara

  What follows is an historical accounting of a brief but crucial battle fought during the somewhat ambiguously termed "Black Order War." The Battle of Barber Hill is named after the most prominent geographic feature in the nearby area, though it did not actually occur on Barber HIl itself; rather, it took place at the foot of a smooth hillock around which wended a fairly well-kept if rarely used road. During this battle, a modest contingent of royal troops transporting Her Royal Majesty Queen Arabelle III came under attack while she was en route from visiting her in-laws.

  The forces arrayed against her were larger in number, and had a tactical advantage due to ambush conditions. The route had been chosen at random, and was only known to members of her court - this information leaked from the inside. The queen had six elite guard with heavy shields protecting her wagon, walking abreast of it three to a side, four light skirmishers on horseback, and thirty infantrymen, ten on each flank and ten in the rear.

  The enemy forces numbered sixty, ten of whom were archers wearing gambeson, twenty of whom were spearmen with brigandine, and thirty of whom were cavalry wearing chainmail armor. At the head of this enemy force was Commander Rasso il Talsy, a woodborn elf wielding a wicked spear and powerful magics.

  The cavalry hid over the crest of the hill, invisible to all traversing the road, and the archers hid in the bushes waiting for an order to loose a volley of deadly arrows from elf-crafted longbows. Enemy spearmen lay in wait at the mouth of the narrows in order to prevent the queen's coachmen from spurring forward and evading their cavalry. Because of the hill blocking the coachman's line of sight, the queen's retinue did not see the spearmen until it was too late; once around the blind corner, they were forced into a halt, and then a rain of arrows came down from their right flank. Once the signal was given, a volley of arrows was loosed and enough of them found purchase to take four infantrymen and one light cavalry out of the battle immediately. Then the cavalry began their charge, but just as they had gained perfect momentum and were on the verge of crashing into the unprepared ranks of the queen's left flank, something unexpected happened.

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  There was a sudden roaring sound, and from a hole in a nearby earthen embankment issued a red chariot of iron not pulled by any sort of horse. As the chariot rode by, there were several alarmingly loud noises; the horses were startled, many riders fell, tripping others as they went. Commander Rasso was the first casualty on the side of the attackers, having been thrown from his horse and his neck broken; the attackers suddenly found themselves bereft of magical support. Others followed him, as they, too, were trampled by panicking beasts.

  Additionally, some hidden trench opened up underneath the hooves of the cavalry just a few inches shy of the road, and more riders crashed to the ground. Meanwhile, the strange chariot had stopped some five hundred feet away from the queen's stagecoach, but only for a moment, for it returned to the fray once more - going at an even faster pace than it had before. The archers had time to loose arrows one more time, but a wall of wind had somehow appeared between them and the carriage. Confused and bewildered, they did not realize until it was too late that the chariot was right on top of them - every last archer on the side of the attackers perished in this unusual cavalry charge.

  The demise of the archers and the fouling of the cavalry charge had given heart to the defenders, and so they rallied - those on the right flank moved to the front, while those on the rear joined the left. The elite shield wall remained in place, stoic as they defended their precious passenger. The Queen's spearmen made short work of the enemy horsemen who had managed to avoid falling into the trench. Eventually, the enemy was routed and tried to flee; but every last one of them was hunted down.

  All told there were six fatalities on the queen's side, including her coachman and one light cavalryman, and zero survivors from the attackers - there was a competent healer nearby who prevented a further ten of the queen's men (and one horse) who had been severely wounded from perishing that day - with numbers such as this, the Battle of Barber hill can not in good conscience be called anything less than a decisive victory. It also goes to show that, as the old idiom says, "there is no accounting for red lightning".

  Queen Arabelle

  Oh my. I am afraid that my goose was nearly cooked today; I was saddened to learn that we had lost some of our most loyal and trustworthy men, but was relieved to learn that the others, whose blood I had seen spraying everywhere, had survived. How did we get to this point, you ask of a queen? Very well, we shall indulge you. A long time ago there was a crown princess born in Caer Caradon, and as she grew up she developed into quite a charming lady, beautiful and elegant, trained to be a stateswoman early on as she was the king and queen's only child after the passing of her elder siblings…and the royal couple themselves. Passing is such an odd euphemism, dearies, they suffered and died horribly. It was a plague that ravaged the palace, the workings of a necromancer if I recall correctly - yes, yes, I believe they almost never caught him, but some private eye did solve the case; that fellow was given a peerage, I think. Thankfully the magical ailment didn't spread to the city proper, thanks to the quick thinking of the majordomo at the time - alas, he too succumbed.

  The sole princess lived to tell the tale, but only because she used to be rebellious, and was in her running away from home phase. Indeed, she was at the adventurer's guild, trying to join at her age, can you imagine? But alas for days of adventure and excitement - they came crashing down with the demise of the royal family, with she, a child of ten summers, the sole heiress to the throne. A girl could inherit the throne, providing of course that she got married and her husband was adopted into the royal family, taking on its name - it rarely happened except in extreme circumstances such as this, but the princess had to learn how to run a country from some stuffy officials. While mourning her family, no less, how abominable.

  Eventually, the princess fell in love with a man - the third cousin twice removed of the prince of Balero; already royal by blood he was a shoe-in for the new king. Plus he was quite handsome and a little handsy, dear me. She thought perhaps that if a king took over she could finally get some rest - but the work of a monarch is never done. Once wed, she became queen, and an heir was born less than a year later. The king and she had five adorable children - three energetic boys and two lovely girls, but the king died rather young, having fallen victim to his own habits - we would prefer not to speak of it, we miss him so. Thirty years have passed since that scared young girl assumed the throne, and all of her children are grown; yes her youngest daughter's eighteenth nameday draws nigh and so too does the jubilee ball. Indeed, suitor selection was well-underway for Princess Felicia.

  Wait, what do you mean I didn't need to delve that far back into mine own history? We are not amused, dearie! Oh, oh, you meant how did we arrive at this point, where I, a queen, am sitting at a campfire, upon a log, and taking unusual confections together with my usual tea, while a pair of adventurers discuss things with me? We are just as lost as ever, dearies. All I knew was that as I was on my way home from visiting the relatives of my poor sainted husband, I came under attack. I saw the first volley of arrows, and a shower of blood, but then my special forces covered up the windows with their bodies and shields. I was frightened.

  I thought that I'd never live to see my daughter get married. We'd delayed finding her a man for such a long time because we wanted to choose a good one; I'd even considered reaching out to the elvish kingdoms for a marriage of alliance. I thought perhaps Cara would fall, would my boys argue about who should succeed? Surely I'd raised them better than that, but in that moment, the anxiety was quite palpable. Suddenly, there was a great deal of clamour outside, roaring, some kind of orchestral music, and a rallying cry - the day was won, beyond all hope. What had happened, I knew not, and later I discovered that a pair of heroes had come to my aid unbidden, and seeking no reward.

  Naturally, I wished to greet my saviors and so once things had settled and we'd made camp, I resolved to visit them. Well now, here we had a darling elf girl, a healer I gathered by the accounts of the troops, and a handsome human fellow wearing a long coat, a broad-brimmed hat and - what is this? Brigandine with a most unusual device; a field of thirteen stripes, alternating white and red, and a field of blue with fifty silver stars thereupon in the top-right corner of the red and white field. Why, here I thought that I was familiar with all manner of heraldry and yet I'd never seen the like! He had arrived in a crimson chariot of iron, and introduced himself as the party leader of "Red Lightning".

  They'd immediately offered me sweet treats, sweet fire-roasted fluff and chocolate betwixt a pair of sweet square biscuits, which put me in the most delightful of moods; the lovely young lady also requested that I allow her to cast "comprehension" upon my royal brow. I was given to understand that "comprehension" was an enchantment that a magic-user could only apply to his own personage, unless extracted as a potion; the things one learns when dealing with foreign diplomats. Ah, she is blessed by the elf goddess? That certainly explained the matter, yes, those chosen by the divines do have certain gifts that bent the rules of magic a little. I permitted the charming lass to use her powers thusly:

  "We will allow it."