From "The High Kingdom" by Philip S Weeks

Carlton fought alongside a company of armed men. He felt that he knew them well, although as yet he couldn't identify them. As they battled on together, surrounded by flames, and orange and gray clouds of smoke, the heavy stench of sulphur reeked in his nostrils.

The air was rent with screams and inhumanly deep threatening growls, while steel met steel with resounding clashes like giant anvils ringing, like hammers the size of planets beating mercilessly upon them, fashioning destruction with every blow.

Carlton fought with every ounce of might he could muster. But forced back by the fury of the onslaught, he retreated grudgingly, until his feet found he had reached the edge of an uncrossable chasm. He pressed his full weight forward upon his shield once more in a vain attempt to gain some space on which to stand. Still he felt himself pushed backward.

His unsighted opponent lifted him effortlessly as if he were made of straw and tossed him up and over the edge into the chasm. He began to fall, and to spin as he fell. He cried out, as he did in every dream, the name of his sovereign liege. "For the Scattered Realm, and for the Prince!"