by Rex Hazelton
“Of course you do,” Beryl replied as he sat in the Otrodorian king’s tent drinking a cup of mulled wine. “You were all at the Battle of the Temple of the Oak Tree. That’s where Bear and my father met. And the way he talks about you, I have to say: It’s a real honor to meet you.”
“What brings you here?” Alynd reached over to the portable table he was sitting beside and took hold of the bottle of wine he used to pour more drink into his cup. An equal portion of water followed.
“Not wishing to offend you,” Beryl looked like his father in many respects: neatly dressed and groomed, with a build that matched Shaw’s own, and the same steel-gray eyes that looked less dangerous in the younger man’s face, “here isn’t our destination. We’re going to join the Tsadal who followed my father into Ar Warl. Both he and I are determined to see our people do their share of the fighting, though some in Credylnor think the battle isn’t ours to fight.”
“It’s Jeaf Oakenfel your people can’t accpt,” Alynd crossed his legs at the ankles as he leaned back in his chair, “isn’t it?”
“Not Jeaf per se.” Beryl had an introspective look on his face as he spoke. “It’s all of you and none of you, all at the same time. Really, it’s the Tsadal. It’s our inability to consider that our interpretation of prophecy might be off the mark. And by all the stories my father has told me about the things our elders had him do in secret, things that are contrary to our view of righteousness, I can assure you that the Tsadal are capable of missing the mark. But as you can see by those who ride with me, the Tsadal are changing. Our view of things is expanding, at least in the younger generation if not with our elders.”
“By the looks of the group that’s riding with you,” Alynd smiled as he spoke, “I’d wager you’re a better recruiter than your father. I hear he could only wrestle fifty out of Credylnor.”
Beryl laughed as he stood and repeated, “Sire, let me say again, it’s truly an honor to meet you.”
“Please call me Alynd, at least in private. Remember, I met your father before I became king, back when I was just Alynd.”
Taking his cloak in hand and the missives he was asked to deliver once he reached the main battlefield, Beryl replied, “I don’t think you’ve ever been just Alynd.”
****
This is how the act of treachery unfolded.
The armies of Plagea and Shomeron took their places on the battlefield shortly after Ar Warl’s southern army passed between them and the Thrall Mountains’ northern edge on their way to protect the Hall of Voyd’s western road. Positioned on Nyeg Warl’s extreme southern flank, they found themselves standing in fields that bordered the Thrall Mountains’ tree-laden foothills.
Unbeknownst to Bardensen, whose warriors were placed closest to the greenwood, he was about to be trapped between two-hundred Thrall Giants, that were already running through the nearby tees towards him, and Plagea’s army that was positioned between the Shomeronians and the rest of Nyeg Warl’s warriors.
Once the giants burst out of the greenwood and fell on Shomeron’s right flank, Claude signaled for the Clay Giants he petitioned Goldan to consign to his command to attack Shomeron’s left flank, one-hundred and twenty in all. At the same time, Ar Warl’s forces- containing soldiers from Belem, Port Crown, Trynt, and Storch- attacked the Nyeg Walers whose ranks were filled with warriors from Dalnostrynor, Wyneskynd, and the Bro’Noon community. Since Nyeg Warl’s southern army- comprised of fighters from Otrodor, Mystlkynd and Cassianor- was some ways off, the Nyeg Warlers were outnumbered by more than two to one. As it so happened, the well-timed assault effectively drew the Nyeg Warlers’ attention away from the act of treachery that was unfolding on their southern flank.
Let them through, Bardensen thought as he turned to catch sight of the Clay Giants’ progress he mistakenly thought was aimed at reaching the Thrall Giants. Why are my men resisting them so? When he saw the Plagean warriors, who were following the massive behemoths, hack at the men and women under his command, Bardensen’s mind quickly pulled the mask off of the plot.
“Claude, you fire-blasted traitor, what are you doing?” Bardensen shouted in rage as he watched the Thrall Giants with their huge clubs close in on his men on his right and the Clay Giants mow down his men on the left.
Because of how close the Plageans and Shomeronians were to one another as they fought, magic was used sparingly at first. Only swords, knives, axes, lances, clubs and overwhelming bulk were used in the struggle.
Not having hands in the traditional sense, the Clay Giants lacked the ability to manipulate weapons designed to cut or puncture. But what they lacked in dexterity needed to grip a sword’s hilt or a hammer’s handle, they made up for in brute strength and devastating size. With bodies that looked like large, pillar-like mounds of clay two to three times the height of a normal man, with appendages that could only be differentiated from the over-all mass by the separation movement created, the giants used their heavy arms and legs to pound at their adversaries. Hailing from the Clay Swamps in Nyeg Warl, the cumbersome brutes crushed as many warriors under their ponderous footsteps as they did with fists that looked like their arms had swollen up at their ends. Picking up whatever they could and throwing it their foes, warriors were the usual things that were tossed about. An occasional horse was also seen flying through the air.
Since the Clay Giants were susceptible to fire, the Candle Warriors, assigned to both Plagea’s and Shomeron’s forces, turned their magical candles’ flames on the marauding monsters. But as they were soon to learn, the amount of burning needed to sap the giants’ strength, and the moisture they derived their strength from, was so great that the time and focus needed to bring a Clay Giant down made the Candle Warriors vulnerable to attack from others. The Hag was the most dangerous of these others, Hag that approached them from the east along with Ar Warl’s warriors and the Hag that Claude had purposely let slip into his rank disquised as Plagaean warriors.
On the other hand, Candle Warrior Magic could take the Thrall Giants down much quicker, that is, if it wasn’t for all the Shomeronian warriors blocking the line of fire and for the shields the giants carried that had Hag Magic infused into them.
With three hundred and twenty giants crushing in on Bardensen and his men, though more than twenty-thousand souls were numbered among his warriors, they could be so badly beaten that their claim to be a kingdom might come into dispute after the war due to how many of them had been slain.
The limitations that close-quarters fighting imposed on Shomeron and Plagea didn’t apply to the other kingdoms that fought. Because of this, magic flew back and forth between the converging lines of warriors in the form of the Hag’s fiery ropes and the Candle Warriors flaming spears. While the Hag ropes had greater reach, the Candle Warriors lances worked behind fiery shields that protected those that wielded the spears.
Unfortunately for the Hag, they wren’t been able to discover Dolfon’s secret of using two candles at a time. Still, they didn’t lack shields since they walked behind a wall of warriors who had fallen prey to the Spell of the White Hand, a wall that the Candle Warriors lances could not easily affect. A stabbing or two or three or four or five for that matter had little effect on the bloodless bodies that approached them. The whiteskins, as they came to be called, had to be beheaded or mutilated beyond repair to be eliminated from the fight. And even if it was possible to remove a thousand of them in a single act of devastating magic, there were scores of thousands more waiting to take their places; so many that a disinterested party wouldn’t give Nyeg Warl a chance of winning the war.
Still, the Nyeg fought on disregarding the oddsmakers voices they kept buried deep in their minds, far from the place where the voices could negatively affect their thinking.
“Get ready men!” Bardensen shouted to the King’s Guard as he watched the two biggest Clay Giants smash their way through the valiant throng that tried to slow their progress down knowing where the behemoths were headed. Three times the height of a
large man and twenty times heavier, the giants looked like a swarm of bees armed with swords and axes were trying to stop two bears from reaching the hive and the honey stored there.
Seeing Claude watching the brutal spectacle with such rapt interest, Bardensen unsheathed his sword and untied the shield strapped to his saddle. Holding the two in hands guarded by highly-polished gauntlets, he spat at Plagea’s king and pulled his helmet’s vizar down, using the vambraces on his forearms to do the work. Then he charged at the giants yelling as he went. With Shomeronian’s warriors moving out of their king’s way, Bardensen quickly reached his targets flanked by two other well-armed horsemen. The King’s Guard hurried along to join the fight before it was too late to help their lord.
Carrying lances, the two horsemen flanking the king drove their sharp tips into the Clay giants who broke the lances in half with the pendulous swinging of their arms. Stepping forward, the Clay Giants swung their arms again. Catching the warriors’ horses on their necks, the vertebrate within made loud popping noises as their heads fell limply to the sides.
One of the malleable behemoths caught the animal it had struck before the horse keeled over. Then lifting the lifeless beast over its head, shaking the rider off as it did, the huge mound of muscle looked at King Bardensen and drew the horse back as it got ready to throw the animal at the king. But before it did, a huge winged-lion plummeted through the air and landed on the Clay Giant’s back, biting the behemoth over and over again until the monster had to let the horse fall so it could ward off the griffin’s attack. Another griffin hit the second giant with such force, the massive mound stumbled a moment before it regathered its ponderous balance. Roaring as they came, six more griffin arrived to help the Candle Warriors slow the Clay Giants, who were slaughtering the Shomeronian defenders, down.
Hearing the tumult behind him grow in volume, King Bardensen turned to see a calvary of five-hundred horsemen drive their steeds into the Thrall Giants who had yet to penetrate into the body of warriors they were assaulting like their brethren in front of them had. Using their horses’ bulk as battering rams, the Tsadal warriors knocked the giants about just enough to give the Shomeronians time to locate openings in the armor they wore and attack them. Not familiar with the blue and gold livery the calvary was wearing nor the look of their armor, the king couldn’t figure out who had come to Shomeron’s aid.
“They must be Tsadal Sire,” the Captain of the Guard explained to his incredulous sovereign who looked flumaxed by the strangers appearing on the scene like they did. “If I don’t miss my guess, that’s General Goldan’s kin, at least they fit his description of them.”
Shaking his head as he was trying to come to grips with unexpected intervention, Bardensen looked about and saw that his warriors were continuing to lose the fight. If something isn’t done soon, the king thought, I won’t have an army to lead.
That’s when Bardensen saw the first sparkling thred-arrow strike one of the Thrall Giants. “Ramskynd!” the king shouted before he set off to fight the Plageans.
The arrival of Nyeg Warl’s southern armies only evened the odds. But that was alright with Bardensen, and far better then what they were a few moments before.
****
Bala came flying into the rebel camp in the company of the griffin scouts that were sent out to survey the battlefield gather information on troop movements. Pearl sat on Bacchanor’s back as he spred his wings wide and settled on the ground.
“Two armies approach from the east,” Bacchanor spoke as his griffin body became indistinct when he shape-shifted back into his human form. “The Nyeg Warl force that had been keeping watch on Malam is one. Even now Bjork longboats are ferrying the last of the troops across the Malamor River. The second is the Ar Warl armies we expected to be deployed around Malam. Instead, they are sweeping up behind us to attack our flank when we move against the warriors that stand between us and the Hall of Voyd.”
“What do you think Goldan is doing?” Ay’Roan spoke from his position as one of two Fane J’Shrym Wylders. Vlad’Aeroth, who stood by his side, was the other.
“My guess is, Goldan caught wind of Ar Warl’s plan to send its strength against the Hammer Bearer and the rebels who are with him, and is hurrying over to intercept the Ar Warlers who plan on sinking their teeth in our exposed flank.”
“The fire-blasted Sorcerer’s coming after us. His fixation on destroying the rebellion is so great, it appears he’s willing to ignore everything else,” Dandaryll interjected.
“The rebels are not on the Sorcerer’s mind as much as the Fane J’Shrym and the Hammer Bearer are,” Bacchanor explained. “Once I determined it was Nyeg Warl’s army that was coming from Malam and not Ar Warl’s hordes, I dropped down to pay Goldan and the others a visit. That’s when the general told me how that Muriel’s spiri tcame to him and urged Goldan to send Nyeg Warl’s forces to act as the rebels’ rearguard.
“Muriel told Goldan that she has found a way to project her spirit out of her body for periods of time that are long enough for her spy on conversations that take place in the Hall of Voyd. While doing this she learned that the Sorcerer is obsessed with the Fane J’Shrym and the Hammer Bearer who emerged from their roots. Devouring everything it can that has been written on the subject, the foul thing has come to think: That as much as he believes Muriel will play an indespensible role in its unfolding plans, it’s come to think the Hammer Bearer and Fane J’Shrym possess power that has a chance of thwarting those plans.
“In the Evil One’s mind, the Warl’s Magic sent the Hammer Bearer into the Prophetess’ life for the very reason of keeping the fiend from taking control of the Prophetess’ Magic and using this to keep it from reaching its nefarious ends. He has devoured every piece of information that sheds light on the wizard who forged the Hammer of Power. In the foul entity’s mind, Vald’War is more his enemy than any of the living are. The concern the fiend has about the Hammer Bearer and the Fane J’Shrym are paramount in its mind.
“Unlike the rest of the warl, and even Ab’Don himself, the Evil One hasn’t cast the importance of Vlad’War’s bloodline aside. Neither has the foul thing ascribed their birthright to any other. They’re not a failed people in its thinking. Instead, they are the seeds planted by the glorious Age of Star’s Blood that are meant to germinate in the fullness of time and create a harvest that will be enjoyed in the emerging Age of Parm Warl. Because of this, the Sorcerer has marked the seeds for destruction in a way that is making the Evil One bend its every effort to see the Fane ‘Shrym are annihilated.”
“Who would have guessed,” Dandaryll smiled over the irony he saw in things, “those deemed the least in the Ar are destined to be the greatest.”
“And those the Nyeg rejected, could rise up and save the warl,” Bacchanor added.
“If that’s true, we’re already stand at the war’s epicenter,” Leolynn the Neflin chieftain said, “since the Sorcerer, Ab’Don, the Nameless Evil, or whatever name the monster goes by is sure to come for the Fane J’Shrym who stand in our midst.”
****
Goldan rode off with a cavalry of over thirty-eight thousand horsemen: five thousand Valamorians, five thousand Hadram, five thousand Tayn’waeh, three thousand From, five thousand Cassians from Cassiakynd, ten thousand Forrest People, and five thousand Woodswane with their new king, Charl, riding with them. As they thundered off, the Bjork turned their attention to ferrying the over one-hundred thousand foot-soldiers that were waiting for them across the Malam River. All the footmen were under King Ballastyn of Riverkynd’s command.
With Charl’s father having been killed the way he was by Hag assassins, Wyneskynd’s new king wasn’t about to miss the opportunity to get payback for the murder as quickly as possible. And the opportunity he was looking for was just as eager to meet him as he was it.
The Duikosian were as much bred to be hosemen as their horses were bred for excellence. Because of this, the opportunity that Charl was looking for would have been short-liv
ed if not for the Dalnostronor who were as adept in their stirrups as the Duikosian were in theirs. Having received giffin reports that an Ar Warl cavalry was close by, reports the griffin had to brave cretchym attacks to deliver, Goldan and Charl were taken offguard by the quickness with which the enemy closed on them.
The rolling landscape, found east of the farmland that surrounded the Voyd River where the rebels were positioning themselves to make an assault on the Hall of Voyd, was dominated by grasses and brush of a variety. Taking advantage of one of the elongated depressions that was not quit a streambead, though it did help move excessive rainwater along when the larger storms passed over the plains, the Duikosian horsemen led a racking charge against the Nyeg Warlers flank. Engaging the Vinelanders that were riding through the trough-shaped terrain, a fierce exchange of lances took place before swords were drawn. By the time they were, the Dalnostrokynd horsemen were intervening with their lances out.
Hitting the enemy as hard as they did, skewering the cavalry that had already used up their lances and was turning to their back up weapons- mostly swords, axes, and maces- the Forest People of Dalnostrynor soon pushed the Duikosian horsemen away from the Vinelanders. Not satisfied with blunting the attack, they continued on until they were caught up in a heated battle with those they had run down. The brilliant horsemanship on both sides would have been breathtaking to behold if there wasn’t so much shouting and screaming accompanying it. The bodies covered in streaming blood and those that toppled to the ground to be trampled beneath the sharp, quick moving hooves, further diminished any enjoyment that could be gained watching the brilliant maneuvering of the large, well-muscled animals.
Garbed in similar leather riding-apparel, it was difficult to spot any physical differences between the two predominant horse-centered cultures found in both the Nyeg and Ar with a cursory glance. The exceptions were the topknots of horse hair that sprouted out of Duikosian helmets and fell down their backs- some braided, some not- and the large saddle horns the Ar Warlers leaned on to get rest during longer journeys. Both groups of horsemen wore knee-high, soft leather boots, leather leggings, woolen tunics with boiled leather chest and back-plates strapped over them, leather gauntlets, vambraces, and shoulder pads that had pieces of boiled leather armor strategically affixed in a way that wouldn’t compromise their suppleness. Favoring hues that spoke of the fields the horses used to graze in, greens, browns and golds were amply represented in the garments that were worn.
