Agala combed the battlefield, donning an imperial aura. This was his fiftieth victory on the battlefield and he was only twenty six. Other men would have counted themselves unlucky to have been born during this time of war without end, men whom Agala regarded as men of straw. He, Agala had thrived in this turmultous period. He had quickly risen through the ranks as a result of his exploits in the wars he had fought in and was now a general. One more victory, he thought as he trod upon the palm of a fallen enemy soldier, one more victory and he would become supreme commander of the Kabaka millitary. He smiled as he watched a crow tear out the eyeball of a dead enemy soldier. 'Feast, he thought, feast, you birds of flesh, feast yourselves to obesity, I am pleased to be your host'. He watched his men go about their duty of gathering the fallen of his own men for the funeral pyre with devotion and utmost discipline and smiled again. The iron discipline he had instilled in his battalion was the key to their invincibility in the battle field. Last night had been a blood bath. His...