Relatively, they were very few in number, but their concentrated presence indicated their great importance to the Unifier. None would dare speculate as to what tasks they performed deep within the chambers of the soaring mountain-palace.
That they would now be sent forth in full number, dispatched to accompany the emissaries and lend their aid in a faraway war, was a very momentous, unprecedented development. After the initial shock wave had passed through the emissaries, and more fear had swelled within them, the Unifier resumed his address.
“I know that all of you understand that my gift of the Sorcerers to you is of no small matter, and I will avail you with the greatest of My powers. Go, therefore, with haste, and send My charge to your lands. The ships will be at Thessalas. The Seven Kingdoms of the First Alliance must participate in the support and organization of the force. The Empire of Theonia must provide ships and men. The realms of the Sunlands, from my esteemed friend, Khalif Al-Hakim at Caiandria, to the Great Sultan of Saljuka, must provide supplies, more ships, and men.”
At the mention of the Sunland realms, He paused to consider a particular, stately group of men gathered down below, just to the left of Him. They were clad in long, white, flowing tunics of the finest linen, edged with exquisite brocade of golden thread. Panels of fabric woven intricately with inscriptions were wrapped around their arms at the shoulder.
Over these lavish tunics they wore ornate, loose robes, made from cloth-of-gold. Their heads were also covered in turbans of a golden textile, out of which flowed a hanging length of cloth under their chins. The men wore richly jeweled necklaces of gold. On their feet, they wore an exquisitely comfortable, luxurious type of slipper-shoe.
Their dark eyes held a glint of surprise, as if they suspected that The Unifier was looking right into their thoughts. As an elite delegation from the Fahtamid Khalif, they still had one major petition remaining that they had not yet been able to bring before the Unifier, and Avanor’s ruler was very conscious of that.
“And tell Khalif Al-Hakim that I know of the emergence of Ibn Amal, and of the difficulties that his rise presents to you during these times. I do not wish to become involved in your inner matters, though I will turn my attention to this Ibn Amal. It seems that he does not recognize the authority of the Khalif… or My authority. Let it be known that I will not let him strike from his newly-inherited lands to threaten Caiandria, so that you may send more ships without worry. I shall have his full allegiance, or his destruction, soon enough.
“Those with zeal for the Holy Wars will be sent against him. It will keep the most ardent of that kind well occupied, and away from harassment of your own lands. Baron Osbern of Rocheston, in Norengal, departs with a great force of such warriors soon enough.”
He looked to each of the Fahtamid delegates, to let his words sink into them. He had addressed their Khalif’s greatest worries outright, before they had even spoken a single word aloud regarding them. Their sheer amazement at His uncanny perception was evident in their astonished expressions. He was channeling their sworn enemies to fight their upstart enemy, and in the process fulfilling both their Khalif’s and the Unifier’s will.
Looking up, His encompassing gaze swept back over the crowd once again.
“Those serving in My court will attend to each of you now, to go over particular matters involved in this campaign. From some, I will need supplies. From others, men. From others, ships. Fulfill their requests as if they came directly from Me. Move with the greatest of speed. We are on the edge of victory, and everything must be committed towards the final struggle.”
The Unifier then let the first smile of the gathering creep onto His face. In form, it was the balanced, graceful expression that He displayed to public crowds, but oddly, the crowd of emissaries felt no relief at the change of countenance.
“Your reward is upon the horizon. A world of new wonders awaits you all.”
The Unifier’s grand words did not soothe them either, and most simply attributed it to having become too pensive, for too extended a period of time. The Unifier did not wait for any kind of subsequent response. The citadel guards falling in around Him when He reached the bottom, He descended the steps of the dais and strode gracefully from the chamber, leaving the gathered delegations and emissaries behind Him.
His heavy steps echoed in the great hall, and not one in the assembly felt any impetus to move, or even talk, until He had entirely departed. A reverent silence lingered for several more moments in the chamber, as if the Unifier’s presence was still there among them.
Excited conversation finally broke the disquiet and spread rapidly throughout the gathering. The talk of a final battle to unite an entire world, the mustering of a vast naval expedition, and the word of the Sorcerers of Avalos being dispatched to their various lands was virtually overwhelming to take in at once.
Within hours, the clerks and high officers of the Unifier’s court would disseminate the specific requests being made of each delegation. They would be very efficient, seeking to hasten the emissaries onward to their respective lands, Kings, Emperors, Emirs, Sultans, Princes, and Khalifs.
The emissaries found themselves quite eager to attend to their tasks, with no further delay. Thoughts of feasting and luxuries had fled from their minds. The absence of such desires was an irony, as they had all experienced great discomfort, having not eaten much in their hurry to arrive in Avalos in time for the assembly.
The Unifier’s directives were all that they could think of, as the resources and peoples of many great lands were being set into motion. Such was the pervasive, and encompassing nature of the Unifier.
A great storm filling the horizons was building, soon to be loosed in full force upon the world.
DRAGOL
Dragol’s Harrak, like the others in his loose formation, flew in a slow, circular pattern, far above the hilly, tree-blanketed terrain. The wings of the sky steed were spread wide, clinging to the flowing air as the Trogens drifted smoothly, carefully scanning the area below with their sharp eyes.
To any observer upon the ground, the Trogen sky riders appeared content to glide upon the gentle currents of the air. To a Saxan, they would have appeared like so many carrion birds, swirling over an espied carcass.
In truth, there was no degree of contentment within Dragol’s tumultuous mind. In the depths of his thoughts, the huge warrior would have found agreement to a Saxan’s comparison of the Trogens to carrion birds.
It was a loathsome feeling to see himself, and his fellow Trogens, akin to glorified carrion birds, trailing and shadowing the harbinger of impending carnage; a scavenger, not a hunter.
The hunters, what the Trogens should have been in Dragol’s mind, were moving below. A substantial force from Avanor, like a vast winding serpent, was pressing towards the outermost boundary of Saxany’s hilly, northwestern forests. The fast pace of the march was conducted at the direct behest of the Unifier, conveyed through the Lord Generals of Avalos. There was no toleration of delay, as the leaders of the ground forces spurred the men onward in a forced march.
Word had come to Dragol and the other sky riders that the main invasion armies were finally amassing on the border of Saxany, near a place called the Plains of Athelney. He knew that it would not be much longer before they would be engaged in heavy combat.
Other tidings he had gleaned from messengers indicated that the Saxans had levied a very formidable army of their own on the Plains to contest the imminent invasion.
A colossal clash of armies was in the offing.
The strategy of the second, comparatively much smaller Avanoran force below was simple enough, in light of the overall circumstances. Tragan had been quite clear about the scenario when he had given Dragol and the others their firm orders.
The smaller, second army of Avanor would curl through the forest, to emerge onto the Plains behind the main Saxan army. Not only would they have the opportunity to strike from behind, they would effectively drive a wedge between the Saxan fro
nt lines and any potential relief forces.
Additionally, if the Avanorans gained their desired position, it prevented any escape route for the Saxans involved in the main battle out on the Plains. The jaws of the Unifier’s armies would easily be able to close down and crush the Saxans arrayed out on those Plains. The battle for the renegade kingdom that still defied the Unifier, and the emerging new world, would be over with the destruction of that army.
It would then just be a matter of occupying the many towns and villages, and destroying any lingering rebellious elements. The ensuing campaign would be done much like the way faraway Norengal was once conquered by the Avanorans. The back of the defenders broken in one giant battle, the invaders would proceed onward to stamp out the scattered, residual resistance in a harshly executed campaign.
The strategy made good, logical sense, in terms of seeking one decisive blow, and winning an entire war in one battle. Yet despite the imminent importance of the movements below, the minds of most of the Trogen warriors around Dragol were undoubtedly distracted. Other, more disturbing reports had also reached their camp, and had spread quickly amongst their kind.
The first Darrok raid on the Five Realms had ended, and the Trogens were seething at the stark reports of what had transpired. It was the first major use of Darroks in war, and the Avanorans had evidently believed that there was nothing that could challenge the flying hulks in the sky. An Avanoran viscount named Adhemar had believed that archers alone could ward the behemoths. He had concentrated on sending the Darroks forth with greater loads of stones, dismissing concerns of the tribal warriors mounting any kind of defense that could actually threaten the juggernauts.
Messengers spoke extensively of how the tribal warriors had indeed mustered a daring and effective defense in the skies. They had flown up from the forest upon their Brega to vigorously assault the unescorted Darroks. They had succeeded in driving the great creatures off before the Darroks could be fully used to strike more areas, beyond one hapless village that they had initially destroyed.
A great number of Trogen warriors had been slain, as the clever tribal warriors had concentrated their smaller numbers on one Darrok at a time. The debacle had confirmed a fear that Dragol had harbored when he had first learned that the sky warriors of the Trogen clans were being subjected to Avanoran authority.
The Trogen sky riders were left in a very foul mood, insomuch as it was inconceivable to them that anyone had allowed the slow, lumbering behemoths to go forward without the protection of escorting sky warriors. Many of their brethren had been needlessly slain as a result of Avanoran overconfidence, something that never would have been allowed to pass so easily if left to their own power and choice.
Dragol, who was already fuming over being held back from avenging his own warriors that had fallen in the border missions, was absolutely livid at the dour reports. The Trogen leader’s anger was raging towards the presence of orders from humans that had left fellow Trogens so vulnerable on the exposed backs of the Darroks.
A pang of guilt now laced through him, at having followed the orders not to strike back towards those who had recently slain his own warriors. He knew that he and his brethren were increasingly compromising the ways of their kind. In light of the distressing news from the Five Realms, he wondered what his kind really was gaining in fighting this war, if they ceased to be Trogen in manner and tradition before it was over.
After centuries, the Elves still had not succeeded in destroying the Trogens. In a few short years, service to the Unifier might well accomplish what the Elves had failed to do.
The heat of those feelings was further exacerbated by the impending duties that he had recently been assigned. Earlier that morning, a small contingent of Trogen sky warriors had been chosen for another Darrok mission that would shortly issue forth. The Trogen force was being diverted from the invasion of Saxany, to accompany the next foray over the Five Realms.
Dragol was glad that the folly of the Avanoran viscount would be corrected, but the announcement was rife with its own cause for regrets and misgivings. For those who had been chosen to accompany the Darroks, the last hours shadowing the army from Avanor seemed to crawl by mercilessly.
Trogen longblades were single-edged, but what he now faced was truly reminiscent of something like the double-edged variety used by the Avanorans. Dragol, having been named commander of the new escort force, was chafing at the mix of strong emotions within him. Leaving the area of Saxany, he knew that he now would not be able to personally avenge the deaths of the warriors that had fallen to the beasts and the archer in the outer woods.
Yet he also knew that he was finally going to return to a more honorable manner of combat once again, instead of the restraint that he had been made to suffer. The Avanorans had come to their senses, and were not going to leave the Trogens laboring on the backs of the Darroks so vulnerable.
In a way, it was also a small victory in that the humans were being forced to acknowledge that the Trogens were correct in their initial misgivings. Far too often Dragol had perceived that humans regarded themselves as innately more intelligent than, and superior to, the Trogens.
Such was maddening enough, but he was simply glad that he did not understand many Avanoran words, so that he did not translate the insults that he knew were regularly uttered by humans in the presence of Trogens. Had he spoken their language and understood what they said, he would have had to lay quite a few humans low with his longblade, or his massive fists.
“The spirits of Elysium ride with you, Dragol, for fortune is with you,” Goras rumbled from the back of his steed, his loud voice carrying strongly across the air between their sky mounts. Goras made no effort to hide his envy, having been commanded to remain with the other Trogens aiding the Avanoran force beneath them. “I must yet remain with my weapons bound, by the orders.”
Dragol sympathized deeply with his friend. “Soon we will be fighting together once again. The savage tribesmen of the other land will swiftly fall. It is said that they are not great in number. They will not be able to stop the invasion there. The Saxans will fight very hard here, and may not fall so easily. We may yet fight them together.”
“The Saxans are warriors, true warriors, and worthy opponents to overcome. We have both seen this,” acknowledged Goras, “but we will still overwhelm them at the onset of the battle. The force gathered is far too powerful for the Saxans. There may be only one battle for us.”
“No battle’s end is truly known. Little did our brothers foresee their end in the raid upon the Five Realms,” Dragol observed. He then snarled, “Though that was due to human stupidity, when Trogens warned them of the dangers.”
“And of the Sorcerers of Avalos?” Goras queried. “What if they break the enemy with haste?”
Goras’ concerns were valid, even if a little speculative. The deployed power of the Unifier was incredible in scale and composition, and quite capable of swiftly breaking even a great army.
The humans revered and feared the Unifier’s Sorcerers, to such an extent that the Trogens took the Sorcerers very seriously, even if they were still largely a mystery to the towering warriors. Rumors abounded regarding their capabilities, though Dragol had not yet witnessed them in something like a battle. Some were said to harbor great abilities, a few Sorcerers even believed to be capable of authority over the elements. It was commonly believed that they far exceeded the powers held by the Trogens who were of the Clan of the Healers, the famed shamans of the Trogen kind. Even more foreboding, more than a few whispers attributed the skills of Avanor’s Sorcerers to the practice and study of dark mysteries.
Dragol wondered whether Sorcerers could actually manipulate things such as wind and lightning, but there was much talk that several great Sorcerers had accompanied the main invasion force. If they were among the invasion force, then they were there for a specific reason. The Avanorans, for all of their haughtiness, were not frivolous.
To the Trogens, such tidings were becoming a bit
ter bane, especially among those such as Goras and Dragol who were being effectively fettered by Avanoran orders. At the very least, the Trogens wished to conduct all of the fighting in the skies, as they feared that there would only be a limited opportunity for it. They certainly did not want Sorcerers’ arts preventing them from engaging in open combat, and taking part in the battles to come.
“It may be as you say,” returned Dragol. “You still do not know what may come.”
“I am ready,” Goras shot back, his eyes burning with a raging intensity. “I…”
Goras’ voice trailed off as the two noticed a trio of Harraks approaching from just ahead of them. It was one of the small, high-altitude scouting groups that foraged through the upper skies, looking for any sign of new developments. Such scouts normally flew far ahead of the main positions of the armies that they accompanied, and risked much danger.
They were an undeniable example of the great bravery of Trogen warriors, especially in the current instance. The forces of Saxany were known to be able to put strong forces into the skies, and the whereabouts of enemy sky warriors were still not known. As such, the Trogen scouts were rendered very vulnerable by their scant numbers and distance from their own camps, every time that they went on a far-ranging mission over enemy territory.
“My eyes tell me that it is the farthest reaching of the scouting groups that were sent,” Dragol commented, as he squinted towards the three oncoming warriors.
He recognized the lead warrior of the group as the three drew nearer. His dark iron helm, broad muzzle, and flowing, black fur cloak were unmistakable. The scouts normally wore furred cloaks, as they spent much time in the frigid, highest altitudes, but few among their entire race possessed a cloak fashioned out of the deep, black-furred hide of a Mountain Bear from the Trogen homelands.
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