by Jake Yaniak
When they entered Corhen they immediately positioned themselves along the western wall. There were many archers positioned along the ridges above the valley, lying in wait for the goblins. Sion and Daryas had taken their place upon the top of one of the eastern pinnacles, after a somewhat treacherous climb.
'From here we will not easily miss, and we will be invincible from the devices of the goblins,' Sion said.
'Unless the valley is lost,' Daryas said with some worry in his voice. 'Then we will starve atop here or be caught and slain below.'
The goblins took the bait and marched boldly into the valley. 'It is certainly true what they say,' Faros said as he saw them enter, 'These fools have no mind for open war.'
When the goblins entered, with their orc captains at the lead, Faros blew a loud horn from the top of one of the ridges. At that moment Cheft Rahm and Cheft Lonos appeared from a hidden path and marched behind the goblin force, driving them through the pass and into the valley. The goblins that were crowded into the pass became defenseless to the arrows of the Noras who stood above them shooting arrows and hurling spears and stones upon their heads. Those goblins that entered the valley were driven by a wall of shields and spears to the cliffs edge where many hundreds of goblins met their ends.
From atop their rocky platform, Hassan and Daryas rained down arrows on their foes. They shot with care and wasted no arrows. Fifty goblins at least were slain by each of them. From up there Hassan slew one of the orcs with an arrow that slipped between his breastplate and his helm, piercing his throat. He fell with a heavy thud on the cold stony ground. Upon seeing one of their captains fall, the goblins were seized with fear; many tried to rush out of the valley in a ferocious panic. Now there were goblins trying to enter, driven by the swords and axes of Rahm's men, and there were also many goblins trying to flee from the arrows and the cliffs. The whole force was trapped in the pass without any hope of escape. Many tried to clamber up the steep rock wall, but to no avail. The Noras archers shot them down and they crashed heavily on their fellows, crushing many beneath themselves.
Even the mightiest stone, however, cannot forever withstand the rages of the sea. In time, the mightiest warriors weary and must rest from battle. As the sun began to sink that day things turned once more against the Galva Army. Goblins are masters of the night, and they were now gathering in hordes in the open places in the west and the north, preparing for the descent of the sun.
Unexpectedly an enormous army of goblins descended upon the scene and crashed into Cheft Rahm's men. They were wrathful, and there was, as I said earlier, no semblance of human mercy within them. A spirit of bloodlust seemed to fly through their ranks, whispering in their devilish ears of the spoil and the taste of human flesh. They chomped and bit at the swords that cut them, and raved like madmen across the battlefield. So dreadful was their onset that Faros at once called a retreat. He was too shrewd a strategist to allow the losses of the first battle to be repeated. He had anticipated such an assault, but he was taken quite aback by the ferocity of the goblins warriors.
They gnawed the bones of men still living; they dug their filthy fingers deep into the throats and faces of their prey and carried off with them trophies of tongues, eyes and scalps. With a few blasts of the ram's horn, the Noras were in flight. Those Noras who were within the Corhen valley rushed over the mound of goblin dead and through the pass. They rushed headlong into the fray and drove hard against the fresh goblin troops. But they were weary and they could not withstand them. By nightfall the Noras were in full flight.
As Faros passed Cheft Rahm's forces he shouted out, 'Cheftan of Noras! Flee while there is still life within you.'
But Cheft Rahm responded, 'If we yield our position there will be nothing to turn away the hordes and nothing to stop them from slaying us one and all in the passes. Fly, my lord. We will follow when the army of Galva is safely beyond their grasp in Megd-u-Coran.
Cheftan Rahm Cossirne
At the vanguard of the Noras army, remaining as a last protection against the army of goblins, stood Cheftan Rahm Cossirne along with his nephews Ander Cossirne and Silos Cossirne. They stood fast against the goblins like a mighty oak against a spring zephyr. Can any man number the goblins that lay dead at their feet ere the end? Legends were made on that mountain in that day, and stories that would be retold in Noras for many ages.
The goblins were driven into a mad rage. They sent many orcs against Rahm and his men, slaying many of them and driving away many others. In the end, all that remained was Cheft Rahm and his nephews, surrounded on all sides by goblins of every shape and size.
'They have been impressed, sons of my beloved sister. They will not touch us,' Rahm said as he lowered his bloodstained axe. His nephews followed suit. Indeed, the goblins did not strike; they now kept about a stone's throw away from the three warriors, but hemmed them in on every side. There would be no escape.
'What will become of us then?' Silos asked.
'They are waiting for a hob-goblin or some orc-hero to challenge us. One by one he will fight us.'
Then I will face him first, uncle,' Ander spoke, 'for I am unafraid.'
'No, brother,' Silos spoke, 'I am elder and I am unharmed, you're hand has been cut badly.'
'Fools,' Rahm said at last, 'Men of courage and honor, blessed am I for knowing such kinsmen, but fools nonetheless. I will face him first. If the gods grant me victory, the goblins may release us. And if it is my fate to die here, then in the very least I will drain from him so much strength that he will fall more easily to you.'
'One last thing,' Rahm said as he checked his armor, set aside his axe and drew his sword, 'No matter what the gods decree, do not anger the goblins by interference. For they will then close in about us with such hatred that there shall not be any bone or tuft of bloodied hair remaining of our corpses.'
No hob-goblin appeared that day. The western edge of the goblin ring parted and a path appeared. Entering the field they saw, to their great surprise, the figure of a man. This was no goblin, for his gait was too refined and his posture too straight. His armor was all black and he wore a cape of crimson that hung down behind him, blowing in the breeze as he walked. Upon his shoulder there perched a large black crow. The goblins carried in piles of wood and lit bonfires to light the darkening mountainside. The evening gray vanished away in a moment and they stood in an orange circle with the horrible silhouettes of goblin warriors dancing upon the mountain walls.
The man approached them swiftly with his blade already drawn. It's edge gleamed like a shooting star in the bright light of the bonfires. The great bird leapt from his shoulder and flew away toward the east. Screeching as it sped away.
'Son of Cossa,' the man said through the faceplate of his helmet. 'You have fought well, worthy of many songs. But here your tales must come to an end. Neither you nor your army will leave this mountain alive. Such is the will of Lady Arie.'
'They may make songs,' Rahm said as he lifted his blade into the air. 'But by Pelas I pray that you at least will never live to hear them.'
Rahm lifted his blade to strike. His sword clashed against the blade of his foe, sending sparks flying in every direction. Cheft Rahm was a master swordsman, but the armored man blocked each blow effortlessly, holding back the fierce warrior's strokes with one hand. After less than a minute he turned swiftly aside and dodged one of Rahm's strikes altogether. He struck the old man in the temple with his elbow and drove his sword deep into his heart.
Silos shouted and sprang from his place, sword held high. Though his blade was sharp and his skill unparalleled, he too met his end by the sword of this strange man.
Ander lowered his blade and sunk to his knees. A stream of tears flowed from his eyes. 'Come for me, and I will end your sorrow also,' the man said in an almost kind voice. Ander raised his blade and furrowed his brow prepared to meet his kinsmen in death. 'Or perhaps you may be of some further use,' the man said coldly and thoughtfully.
In the distance could
be heard the howling of wolves.
Chapter V:
The Usurper of Peiraso
Chastisement
Revere traveled swiftly over the plains of Falnor, which lay between the Falsi River and the Libron. At first he kept off the main road, but as he made his way east toward Daevaron and away from Noras he used less caution and even, at times, walked along the road openly. It had been eighteen days since he had 'warned' Cheft Faros about the Conjurer, and he had spent almost every waking moment of that time on the road, putting as much distance between him and the 'doomed band of fools' as he was able. He was a skillful traveler and he came a long way in a short space of time. He passed through the Bridge Town of Belnan within two days of his interview and was now traveling northeast along the Old Noras Highway which after passing the Libron River and continuing east for some seventy leagues or so turned abruptly toward the north, following the coast of the Great Lake Gaenorin toward the city of Daeva.
When he was young, Revere always dreamed of being in command of an army. But as he grew older he came to discover that he was not gifted with any of those things that make a man a Captain. He felt he was too soft-spoken to shout out orders, and not proficient enough a warrior himself to be responsible for the safety of others. The chief obstacle, however, lay in the fact that the path to the top begins at the bottom. He who would command must first learn to serve; and Revere could never quite content himself with the idea of obedience. He might very well do as someone told him. But that by itself does not constitute obedience. The truly obedient servant must obey even when his own will is set against what must be done.
Instead of the glory of command he settled for a subtler form of power. Those who are gifted with confidence and skill are always the favorites of the world. The heroes, the gods, the warlords and kings are always accompanied by the thunder of praise and the worship and adulation of fools. Revere detested this. And so he spent every last fragment of his efforts to undermine these sorts of men through riddles and cunning words. It made no difference to him whether they were good men or bad, or whether they deserved their honors or not; the fall of someone who was the beloved of the 'simple', as he called everyone he disliked, was his only true reward.
He had from an early age perfected the art of making a fool out of people. He did this for himself, and seldom for the sake of anyone else. It mattered very little to him whether or not they even realized that he was mocking them, all that mattered is that in his own peculiar way he was able to demonstrate his superiority - or at least the inferiority of the man to the grandeur of his reputation.
Take his conversation with Cheft Faros as an example: It was wholly unimportant to Revere that Cheft Faros or any other soul ever realized that he had in fact made a mockery of the famed Commander. All that was important was that when Revere walked away from the interview he had found some way to convince himself that the 'hero' was an impostor, and all was lost to Noras because this 'blunderer' was too pompous and simple to string together the information his scout had provided him with and come to the realization that the threat they faced was beyond the capabilities of the Galva Army. What would come of the people in the army was not his concern, after all, he had done his part, he thought.
'It would have been more insulting to the famed commander had I spelled out the dangers like a schoolmaster teaches a child.'
The actual consequences of Revere's word games had never really concerned him. Mostly because he very rarely had to witness the distress and dishonor his subtleties caused, but even what mischief he had to observe did not bother him so long as he was able to attribute the trouble to the foolishness of his rivals.
As cruel as it may sound, however, I must confess that I believe that Revere is far from alone in his sad desire to see the ruin of his supposed betters. That is perhaps why it has been said that it is the friend who cheers for your success that is true, and not the friend who mourns your losses. It takes character and humility to be glad in the success and glory of another man, but only natural pity to be sad in their distress. Moreover, in good fortune there is something to be envied; he who can resist this temptation and truly rejoice for a friend - he is the true friend.
By the time Revere came within sight of the Solibree Bridge he had washed from his thoughts completely the dangers facing the Galva Army. He was able to make himself quite impervious to sympathy so long as he was able to attach to these men some appellation of disdain, however trivial it might be. It was enough for him to know that all the young men in the Galva Army were 'blind dogs on the leash of a blind man.' As though each man should be as shrewd as he and have eyes as keen.
His intention was to make his way to Daeva City and live in ease by the lake, at least for a while. Perhaps he would leave that country also; when the winter returns again he could sail to Kollun and then to wherever his fancy carried him. So long as he didn't need to be bothered by these 'Square-headed Norasmen' he would be content.
Revere himself was not of Noras blood, nor of Knarse blood like the Daevaron. His parents had come to Weldera from the dark and infamous city of Lapulia, which lays far to the east, 'On the other side of the world,' it seemed to him. Revere was born and educated in Dadron, but his heart always longed to leave Weldera and cross the seas to his parents' homeland.
The Solibree Bridge was a large stone bridge built by the founders of Dadron. It was meant to carry large quantities of supplies and merchandise from Lake Gaenorin across the Libron River and then on toward Belnan. There were several large villages and settlements built along the River in this region. Enormous farms were fenced off from the road here by crude and crumbling wooden fences. The road itself passed over the Libron in the northern section of the town of Soli, which was built up on both sides of the small lake that formed several leagues south of the bridge. Here Revere would have to stop, for his supplies were beginning to run out. A wise traveler would have filled his sacks in Belnan before setting out for Daeva, but he was in too great a hurry. It was not only the Conjurer and the foolish Cheftan that drove him eastward away from the forest.
Revere was expected to appear at the Council of Noras in Peiraso by the fifteenth day of Leonius at the very latest. Now there lay between he and his employer over a hundred leagues, and he was already three days late.
'Half-pay is sufficient,' Revere thought to himself as he stepped over the old bridge. 'The poor fool should save his gold, for no Council can save his army now. And it will do him no good hear the sorry news from me. He will learn soon enough what little hope he has.'
When he entered the center of town, Revere noticed immediately that there was a considerable number of tall, strong-looking Noras lurking about. 'Nearly twenty, if my eyes can still count,' he whispered under his breath. He skillfully avoided their eyes. Revere was the sort of man who was clever enough to make himself nearly invisible when he wanted to.
He eluded their eyes for some time by passing behind the houses and shops, making his way toward the grocer without drawing any attention. He approached the seller and made his request. He asked for several pounds of dried meat and some fresh loaves of bread and some cheese. As he waited for the grocer to return with his bundle he looked up into the blue skies above him. High above the ground he could see the dark shape of a soaring eagle. Something about the great bird unsettled him.
After he paid for his supplies he slipped around the shop and left the main road. He walked out into open fields of tall grass and made his way north and east, back in the direction of the road.
Suddenly he heard the shrill screech of an eagle over his head. The eagle he saw before was flying very low to the ground and swooped down so close to Revere's head that he was startled for a moment and ducked his head low with a jerk. The eagle rose up into the sky and vanished over the western horizon.
'Do not fear the talons of Maru,' a voice said from somewhere on his left. 'There are mightier talons in Tel Arie than even his. And there are talons with a firmer grip.'
&nb
sp; Revere looked around with frustration, but he could see no one. 'Who are you?' Revere demanded. Something about the voice seemed familiar; it seemed to him as though he were hearing the words of a familiar song but with a new melody. 'Do I know you?'
'You are not as clever a scout as they say,' the voice laughed.
'Will you continue making a mockery of me, or will you show yourself. I do not take kindly to ridicule.'
'And I do not take kindly to treachery, Revere,' the voice said. Revere's heart dropped at the sound of his own name. The grass rustled and out stepped a man of Noras. Revere would have thought him to be a Cheftan were it not for his youth. Yet despite his appearance there was something like wisdom in his eyes and in his speech.
'You are a shrewd man to outwit Revere,' Revere said with a bow. 'Now may I have the pleasure of your name? It is not every day that one meets his better.' He clenched his teeth as he spoke.
'I am Dynamis,' he boomed. Revere could scarcely stop himself from shaking with fear. For there was perhaps not a soul in Noras or in Daevaron who had not heard of this Noras hero.
'D-Dynamis?' Revere stammered. The man looked every bit a hero. He was tall enough to be of Knarse blood, but his strong frame was unmistakably Noras. He was dressed all in brown, with a deep green cloak wrapped about his shoulders. For a full minute Revere could say nothing. His tongue was stopped and his heart pounded in his ears, waiting for the hero to speak.
'We have wasted enough time,' Dynamis said at last. 'Shall I kill you here, or shall I drag you on to Peiraso for judgment? That is all there really is to decide.' Revere said nothing but just stepped back. He reached for his dagger but Dynamis swung his sword and knocked it from his hand with such speed and strength that Revere did not even see the blade in motion. Dynamis continued, 'You have shamed your employer, who so kindly rewarded you with half your pay in advance. It has been twelve days since you were expected at Peiraso, and here you are in Soli. What have you to say? Has the master scout, who commended his services to Cheft Biron with so much self-praise, become so lost that he will travel for so many days in the wrong direction before he rights his course?'
