I stand the height of my wielder, armed of spike and blade alike. Guards love me, yet cavalry despise me. I stand high atop the king’s blade, yet always in his shadow. What am I?

A strategic move to guard the king, protected by his tower; A home surrounded by a ring of stone, a seat of power. The first may have a checkered floor, the second overlooks the poor.

Encased in history a long, long time ago, I am the ancestors of modern day warfare. I pierce the air, hard as stone, finishing one off with a final blow. One hand can guide my way, but once you wish, I won’t delay.

Originally known for my love of the hunt, now my notoriety has gotten a shunt. No mention of the sting that I felt, for now I’m most known because of my belt.

Found underground, or in the depths of the sea, I tell of stories old and none of glee. Tragedy wrought by fire and ash, brought about by a mighty clash. Uncovered, I say do better, yet those in power don't heed my letter.