Conflict

by Pedro Urvi

  Kilbar, Commander of the fortress and First Sword of Duke Galen, waited beside the two noblemen with an air of introspection. He was known throughout the Kingdom for having won the last two tournaments of swordsmanship organized by the King. This victory, besides being an honor, had made him a public figure, something which as it turned out did not entirely please the young sword-master. A man who was not very attractive physically, with brown hair cut military style, bulging eyes and eagle-nose, and a true master in sword-to-sword combat. His lethal instinct as a swordsman was absolutely at odds with his quiet, introverted character. Mirkos had met him at a banquet in honor of his victory in Rilentor two summers before and knew him to be a man of few words.

  “And where is Drocus? How come he’s not joining us?” the Duke asked in some surprise.

  “He told me he has to make a surprise visit to the officers’ barracks first. To impose order, is what he told me.”

  Duke Galen burst out laughing. “Drocus is incorrigible. I wouldn’t like to be in those officers’ skins when he bursts in like a tornado.”

  “That’s what he’s like, a force of nature,” Mirkos said. “He’ll join us presently. Meanwhile I’d like to have an idea of how things are going,”

  “The situation is dire. But before we discuss it, can I offer you something to drink? Or eat, perhaps? Shall I order a good meal and a refreshing bath to alleviate the fatigue of such a long journey?” the Duke offered with a show of the famous southern hospitality.

  “To be honest, my old bones would appreciate a refreshing rest. A light dinner after the bath would certainly revive body and soul. But if it’s no trouble, I’d rather have an idea of how serious the situation is before I rest. King Solin sent me urgently, and I understand the situation is critical.”

  “Indeed it is,” the Duke said. He walked over to a big oval window, arms crossed behind his back in a thoughtful gesture. “The Noceans are about to attack. A huge army is gathering, less than two leagues south of the city. They’ve already crossed the border into our territory. They could attack at any moment.”

  “They’ve crossed the border and now they’re at the doors of the city itself? I don’t understand, war hasn’t been officially declared. How is it possible? How come they dared without either reason or motive? Do they really want open war with Rogdon?”

  “It’s what we gather from their movements,” Dolbar replied. “For the last four weeks several armies of the Nocean Empire have been gathering on the dry lands, without crossing the border. These movements began with the attack on Prince Gerart, which they were accused of, and which created a diplomatic incident between our nations. At first, the movements of their army were taken simply as a show of power, a strategic position taken up for the sake of intimidation. After the attack on your own person, my dear Mage, two new armies from the southwest have joined the ones already here.”

  “But King Solin hasn’t formally accused them, the conversations haven’t stopped, the diplomatic effort to find a solution is still going on.”

  “Perhaps I might shed some light on this point,” said a middle-aged, chubby man dressed in fine silk who was walking into the room with surprising energy, given his build. “Allow me to introduce myself, as I do not as yet have the honor of knowing such an illustrious Mage. My name is Abuleros, emissary for the Kingdom of Rogdon in the Nocean Empire, and no doubt you must be Mirkos, the great Battle Mage of the King.” He came up to Mirkos and made an extremely elaborate bow.

  Mirkos returned the greeting with a mere nod. He had immediately recognized the slippery Rogdonian spy who carried out all manner of subterfuges in Nocean territory under the cover of Royal Emissary.

  “Since the two attacks upon such notable persons of the Kingdom, relationships with the Nocean Empire have turned critical. At all times they have denied being involved in the murder attempts. Mulko, Regent of the North, has personally assured me they had nothing to do with the attacks. But after the second attack, the one directed against you personally, Mulko himself threw me out of Nocean lands and closed the border. Which is something truly suspicious, if the Noceans are as innocent as they claim to be. Even in such serious and suspicious circumstances as these, I’ve kept in contact with Zecly, his personal counselor and powerful Sorcerer, who I warrant is known to you all.”

  Mirkos nodded. Fame, and not exactly the desirable kind, went before the great Nocean Sorcerer.

  “But at all times he has denied any involvement in both attempts. A few days ago the messages stopped, unilaterally. And the army set off. I suspect it’s under direct orders of the Nocean Emperor: Malota the Ruthless, a man of insatiable ambition and widely-known perversion. His atrocities and genocides are infamous. He controls the southern Empire with an iron hand, crushing the slightest opposition to his tyranny, supported by dark Sorcerers and witch-men. He’s always had his sights on the northern kingdoms, but he hasn’t had the chance, that is until now…”

  “Why now?” asked the Mage. “If they deny the attacks, and without any direct cause for intervention, they’d never dare to attack us. The King hasn’t given any order for punitive action.”

  “The real problem is the critical situation with the Kingdom of Norghana to the northeast,” Duke Galen said, coming to stand beside the Mage. “War is about to break out with Norghana, and if it does, we’ll find ourselves divided between two fronts. This is what the Noceans are waiting for so that they can launch themselves against us.”

  “That’s right,” said the chubby spy. “The Norghanians accuse us of killing King Thoran’s brother Duke Orten. They claim to have irrefutable proof, and they’re about to attack the Pass of the Half Moon. The reports we’re receiving say that an enormous army of at least thirty thousand Norghanians under Count Volgren’s command is getting ready to attack the fortress guarding the Pass. From what we know, the Norghanian King is beside himself with grief and anger at the loss of his only brother. His quick temper is well-known, and there’s been no way to bring him to reason. War with Norghana seems inevitable, and that’s just what Malota the Ruthless is waiting for. If war against Norghana is declared I have no doubt that the Noceans will attack, taking advantage of a unique opportunity.”

  “I see… Now I can appreciate the situation and the reasons behind the Nocean movements with greater clarity,” the Mage said, deeply saddened. “The situation is truly critical. We’re on the brink of a war which could end the existence of our beloved Kingdom. It really is bad news. Many innocents are about to suffer the evil and perversity of men’s darkest side. We must use every possible means to prevent pain and suffering from reaching our people.”

  “That’s our duty and that is what we’ll do,” Duke Galen said. “If war is declared, this city won’t fall. We won’t allow this Nocean rabble to gain access to the Kingdom of Rogdon. We’ll defend the city to the last man.”

  “How big is the Nocean army?”

  “As far as we’ve been able to gather, the Emperor has sent four of the armies at his disposal. Each one consists of ten thousand men, well-trained veterans, led by officers of proven valor. Mulko the Regent of the north has another ten thousand men at his fortress of Alaband, so that we calculate they’ll have about fifty thousand soldiers all in all.”

  “Who will lead the army?” Mirkos asked.

  “They’re under the leadership and standard of Mulko, Regent of the North of the Nocean Empire,” Dolbar replied. “He’s an intelligent and experienced leader.”

  “In addition to that we must take into account that Zecly, the Sorcerer and personal Counselor of Mulko, is a man of great power, and our spies have reported the arrival of several Sorcerers of the South,” Abuleros said. “This poses a serious problem, and that is why we requested your presence, my dear Mirkos.”

  “I see, you need my help to counteract the magic of his Sorcerers.”

  “That’s right, my old friend, men’s hearts shrivel before the power of magic,” the Duke said. “Fear takes over the soldiers’ min
ds and is a terrible enemy for any general. We need your magic to be able to fight against those sorcerers and witch-men from the desert lands of the South.”

  “I will do everything in my power to stop the evil and protect our own people. How many innocent are taking cover in the city? As I was arriving I saw an endless caravan of refugees coming in through the Gate of Hope.”

  “Thousands of people are crowding the streets, and more are still arriving” said Dolbar. “We’re working hard to provide for and accommodate them. The army is in charge. They’re working day and night to prepare the city for what’s coming. The preparations for the siege started more than a month ago. The King sent supplies, which have been arriving during the past week.”

  “How many men do we have to defend the city?” the Mage asked, with a trace of apprehension.

  An uncomfortable silence fell on the room. Nobody said anything for a moment.

  At last, Duke Galen replied:

  “We have twenty thousand men at our disposal. The King has sent the other half of the army to defend the Pass of the Half Moon. Some fifteen thousand soldiers left two weeks ago for the fortress at the Pass. We weren’t expecting the Noceans to advance so fast. There are reinforcements in the form of five thousand Lancers on the way from Rilentor, but they won’t arrive for at least another week. Between the refugees and the inhabitants of the city we can put together a group of five thousand militia. Farmers and shepherds mostly, some with fighting experience, but not many. That means about twenty-five thousand men until reinforcements arrive. Enough to defend the city for months, unless the Ruthless sends more armies, which is possible. If war breaks out in the North, very probably Malota will strengthen the attackers. The Nocean Empire has an army without equal in number. Fortunately it’s needed to keep order in the vast south of the continent. We don’t think the armies of the deep South will be sent, at least not yet.”

  Mirkos sighed deeply, trying to absorb all the information they had just bombarded him with. A feeling of sadness overwhelmed him, for the situation was critical and he did not doubt that there would be war. His old heart knew the signs of evil and greed which drove the destinies of kingdoms. There would be bloodshed, innocents would die before winter. A dark and painful period was beginning for his beloved Rogdon. With a deep pain in his chest, as if a sharp dagger had stabbed him, he looked at the Duke and said:

  “I lay my power at the service of the defense of this city and of the Kingdom. We’ll stop the Noceans. They’ll pay with their lives if they dare to attack. For Rogdon!” the old Mage cried, with grief in his voice.

  “For Rogdon!” all replied with fierce determination.

  The unmistakable sound of a bugle, with its discordant melody, reached the Castle from the south of the city.

  “The alarm on the southern wall!” said Galen, hurrying to the great balcony with the rest of the group close behind him.

  When they went outside and looked towards the south, Mirkos saw the horizon darkening. A great shadow was advancing on the city from that direction, like a great ominous storm in the distance. Everything disappeared under its darkness, as if night itself in person was advancing, devouring everything in its way. The shadow swallowed up the landscape. It was as though a sea of darkness covered the plains, preparing to send its waves crashing against the strong walls of the city.

  “There begins the Great Shadow,” Duke Galen said in a tone of resignation.

  “But what on earth is this evil spell?” Mirkos asked, arching his bushy brows in surprise.

  “We were hoping you might be able to tell us,” Count Galen replied. “For the last week, every day at noon, this ill-fated cloud has taken shape and engulfed the city in absolute darkness. Under its cover the enemy advances, yet it prevents us from going out to meet them with our cavalry. The darkness is so thick that not even the oil lamps can shed light more than a couple of feet. Torches are little use for walking around the city. Residents and refugees are absolutely terrified. This cursed shadow is devouring their spirits and sowing fear in their hearts. Even the spirits of the most veteran soldiers are beginning to weaken.”

  “Does it happen every day?” Mirkos asked.

  “That’s right, every day when the sun is at its highest. It doesn’t stop until dawn. The nights are so dark we can’t see a thing. If they attacked during the night it would be a real nightmare. The only thing we’ve managed to establish is that they use the cloud to cover the advance of their army and demoralize our troops.”

  “But there’s more,” said Captain Kilbar. “During those hours when the darkness is at its height there are murders and disappearances. Several bodies have been found dead, soldiers on duty mostly. At first we suspected assassins seeking to kill the Duke. But something more horrible and sinister is going on. People disappear in the dark and are never seen again, mainly refugees. Several dozen have disappeared without trace.”

  Mirkos remained silent and thoughtful. With his hands behind his back he finally explained in a whisper:

  “Blood Magic… The Nocean Sorcerers have brought Blood Mages from the deep South, beyond the ocean of sand. They used the captives for human sacrifices, to increase their power.”

  His eyes burning like embers, the Mage said:

  “Take me to the South Wall immediately. It’s time to give this scum a lesson.”

  An hour later Duke Galen, his brother Dolbar, Captain Kilbar, Mirkos and his personal guard were watching the advance of the great shadow over the fortified gate of the South Wall. The great shadow seemed to be imbued with a life of its own, engulfing everything in its way within an impenetrable darkness. Mirkos could no longer see the bright sun he knew was shining above their heads with the typical intensity of the region.

  “It’s coming on to us,” the Duke said, as the shadow advanced towards the Wall like a giant wave of darkness.

  “Prepare the torches and the lamps,” Captain Kilbar ordered his awaiting men.

  Mirkos went to stand on top of the Wall, above the gate. The great door which gave access to the city was under his feet. All eyes were fixed on him. He raised his staff above his head, his long albino hair and beard flying in the wind.

  One man against a sea of darkness.

  But this was no ordinary man. He was a Chosen, he was Mirkos the Erudite, Battle Mage of the King of Rogdon.

  He pronounced words of arcane power, and the great translucent pearl of his staff began to give out a white light of such brilliance that those present had to cover their eyes to protect them. The light increased in intensity as the dark tide devoured them. Like a star of immense power, the light produced by the pearl began to penetrate the great shadow, filling it with light, gradually destroying the dense darkness as it made its way on.

  Mirkos recited a new spell and the intensity of the light increased even more, filling the landscape with a light of blinding purity and intensity. The great shadow was completely destroyed in a matter of moments. The Mage stopped the beam of celestial light.

  Duke Galen, who was protecting his eyes with his forearm, opened them and looked around. The sea of darkness had vanished completely. The sun shone brightly in the sky, and under its warmth half a dozen Noceans were revealed beside the wall.

  Mirkos stared at them. He recognized a Sorcerer at once by his dark robes and staff. When he identified the barbaric amulets which decorated his waist he realized this was a Sorcerer of Curse Magic. The other five were not soldiers, although they carried weapons and wore tanned leather armor in black. They were presumably his servants, the ones who carried out his commands.

  The six looked up and fixed their gaze on the Rogdonian Mage.

  “I want you to take a message to your lord, sacrilegious Noceans!” Mirkos shouted in a deep and powerful voice.

  “Nothing you might say would interest our lord,” the Sorcerer replied threateningly, his fist raised. “Your days are numbered. Soon you’ll feel our curved swords slicing those proud, stiff necks of yours. Take your leave of
life, you’ll be gutted and your beating hearts will be torn out of your bodies.”

  “We’ll see about that!” was Mirkos’ answer.

  With a swift movement he pointed his staff towards the enemy group. He cast a spell of great power as rapidly as he could. An amber light shone above the staff for a moment, then gathered intensity as if it were concentrating its power. The red radiance grew more intense, permeating the whole body of the Mage, who went on with his chant. The enemy Sorcerer raised his staff in turn and began to invoke a dark spell, but he was an instant too slow. A ball of fire shot out of Mirkos’ staff at great speed in the direction of the enemy group. When the Noceans saw it they tried to move away from its trajectory, but the ball burst out into an enormous flame as it hit the enemy Sorcerer, who had not yet finished his spell. The flame expanded into a circle and engulfed the whole group in fierce flames. They all perished in the explosion, screaming as the flames devoured their flesh.

  Duke Galen, still in awe, turned to Mirkos and asked:

  “And the message?”

  “Oh, I’m sure they’ll understand it…” Mirkos replied, turning his back on the charred remains of the bodies.

  Siege

  Gerart and Lomar were looking out at the Norghanian war camp, as they had been doing every morning for over a week now. The wind was warm on the battlements above the Queen’s Gate, but its pleasant touch left no mark on the worried Rogdonian faces. Expectations darkened with each passing day. There was no news from Albust and the diplomatic mission to the Norghanian camp. In fact it was taken for granted that the Ambassador would never be seen again.

  Four mornings before, an enormous cloud of dust beyond the opening of the pass had marked the arrival of thousands of head of cattle and as many carts filled with supplies of all kinds. The Norghanian soldiers had received them with cries of joy and applause. Such a quantity of supplies could only mean one thing: they were preparing for the siege.