Armies of the Silver Mage

by Christian Freed

  Hallis agreed. “Perhaps you do. Look at the recruits I brought in. they were ambushed, forced to watch their friends die and not a one broke ranks and ran home. They’ve killed and been killed without any formal military training. War is a fickle thing. These two boys from a village unknown to most managed to kill a Gnaal single handedly. I think all of them have the hearts of lions.”

  “We’ll see soon enough, I’m afraid. I need to make my report to the king. Fortunate your dinner was postponed until the morrow,” Steleon said while walking away.

  They watched the saddened warriors for a while longer until each had had enough. More than a few of the wounded spoke with Hallis along the march. He offered what encouragement he could. Their pain slowly shifted to him. Fortunately Jin saw what was happening and intervened.

  “I think we can all use a good drink. The boys included,” he announced, motioning towards Delin and Fennic with a smile. “Anyone who can kill a Gnaal is good enough to share ale with me any day.”

  “Here here,” Delin said with a sparkle in his eye. “It’s been a long time since I enjoyed myself.”

  Jin put his arms around their shoulders and said, “then come and let me show you how we enjoy the night here in Paedwyn! First round is on me.”

  The last brought Norgen from his silence. “Now you’re talking. Let me show you how a Dwarf drinks!”

  Laughing all the way to the tavern door, they bragged and joked through the near empty streets. Once inside the tavern the merriment continued. Their mirth quickly spread through the room until all inside pushed the misery of the day behind and found cause to laugh. Jin and Norgen bragged so much they eagerly joined in a drinking game. Soon a large assortment of empty mugs crowded the table.

  “I hope they’ve enough barrels out back to keep this going,” Delin said, a line of foam bubbles on his upper lip.

  “Mind your tongue young one,” Norgen slurred. “This lad has far to go afore he can best one of the Dwarven warriors in mere ale.”

  Jin laughed. “The night is still young.”

  Norgen snorted. “Just don’t be heaving on my boots.”

  The tavern broke into laughter and the night went on. True enough, Jin soon ran from the room and emptied his stomach on the cobblestone streets. Norgen roared in victory and announced the next round was on him. The tavern cheered.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Hallis didn’t have the taste for drinking. Sticking to water, the old soldier watched over the others, finally escorting them back to their chambers. Norgen wound up carrying Fennic over his shoulder. He’d drunk himself to sleep after but four mugs. Jin and Delin stumbled on with each other’s help. Only the Dwarf displayed none of the effects of drunkenness. Hallis made a mental note to never challenge him to a drinking contest.

  After closing the door on the last of his friends, Hallis went to his own room and went to bed. He was up and moving well before the dawn. The thought of so many of his friends coming in with the wounded weighed heavily on his mind. He wasn’t surprised to run in to Steleon heading in the same direction. They exchanged a few words, but it was clear each had his own agenda for the day. Steleon soon was out of sight, leaving Hallis on his way alone.

  The hospital was almost more than he was willing to face up to. There was a strong and fetid smell coating the halls and it took his very nerve. Healers and surgeons moved around him, ignoring him as much as possible. His was the one clean uniform in the building. There was a room to the right filled with bodies under white, stained sheets. Hallis wondered how many were his friends.

  “Can I help you, Sergeant?” a surgeon finally asked.

  “These used to be my men.”

  The surgeon paused. “Were you there?”

  “No. I was transferred before the fighting began.”

  “It’s a difficult thing, leaving friends behind,” he replied. “We normally don’t allow soldiers in here, but I’ll look the other way so long as you keep things quiet.”

  “Agreed,” Hallis said.

  He walked through dozens of wounded, not caring if he knew them or not. They were all soldiers of Averon and he was a noncommissioned officer, a leader. Hallis stopped and tried to offer encouragement to all he came in contact with. Some responded in kind, telling him how brave the defense was. Hallis occasionally came across one who knew a friend of his and they talked for long moments. That’s when he learned of the deaths of more than a few friends.

  He was halfway through the ward when a familiar voice called out his name. Hallis turned and found himself staring back at Flyn Arthen. He smiled and reached out to clasp hands. Then he noticed the dark bandages wrapped around the stump of Flyn’s arm. Flyn caught the pause and tried to make the best of it.

  “Like it? I lost it three days after you left. Goblin arrows went through during a patrol. Shattered the bone and started to turn a little gangrenous. Docs thought it best to hack it off before it wound up killing me,” Flyn said with a wry grin.

  “You never did have much sense.”

  “Bah. The hardest part to get used to is still feeling it from time to time.”

  Even the normally stern Hallis couldn’t keep back a laugh. They walked to a quieter part of the hospital.

  “How goes the fight?” Hallis asked.

  Flyn sighed and shook his head. “Not good. They reached the last of the outer defenses when Fynten sent the wounded away. It wouldn’t have been so bad if we had some time to relax between assaults. But they keep coming. Walking over their dead and wounded without a second thought. We thought it was discipline when our catapults pummeled their ranks and they didn’t break. But that discipline was nothing more than pure savagery.

  “We could hear them at night, eating their dead. I pray Fynten can hold out,” Flyn finished. “What of Crespith and his lancers? Did they go back to the pass?”

  “Steleon wouldn’t let them. I think he’s going to use them to build the defenses around Paedwyn. Still, we cannot stand without aid.”

  Flyn snorted. “I may not be able to use a bow no more, but I can still skewer my share of Goblins. We can win, Hallis.”

  Hallis gently patted his shoulder. “Ah the luxuries of being young and single. I wish I were so fortunate.”

  “Speaking of which, how is your wife these days?”

  Again the flashing smile. “Lonely I imagine. Years of me being gone and our son missing has to be eating her away. I wish these were simpler times so I might learn what a marriage is supposed to be.”

  “Sadly enough, we cannot choose the times we live in. but I do think we can help ourselves along a bit. You don’t need to be here with all this death and a crippled soldier, Hallis. Go to your wife and make up for all those years you’ve been apart.”

  The aging veteran was speechless. “There’s no way I can thank you.”

  “For what?” Flyn snorted. “Make someone else happy, Hallis. We’ll be fine here.”

  They embraced as friends and Hallis walked out of the hospital. His step was quick and slightly nervous. Flyn’s last word to him opened his eyes to a piece of his life he’d been missing for too long. Chella was the only woman he ever found capable of handling his love and absence without so much as a frown. She never complained to him once in all those times he’d been told to go away on king’s business. In that regard, she was a much better person than he ever hoped to be.

  Finally he reached his home. Knocking on the door wasn’t necessary, but he felt wrong for not doing it. He was, in effect, a stranger to his own home. Hallis knocked. The door slowly swung open after a time, for it was still early. His heart skipped when her sleep absorbed face first came in to view. She was still the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

  She wore her black and white stripped housecoat. Her golden hair had streaks of grey in it and was tied back in a pony tail. She had almond colored eyes and lightly tanned skin. Changing as her hair was, there wasn’t an extra wrinkle on her. Tears welled in her eyes when she looked upon her caller.
<
br />   “Hallis, my love,” she whispered and rushed into his tender embrace.

  That was all it took for him to cry too. They stood locked in each other’s arms for a long time. Neither spoke, for doing so would have broken the spell. When at last they separated, she looked upon him with tear soaked eyes.

  “They told me you went back to the fortress when the wagons’ came in. I was sure you were with them. I… I didn’t want to believe,” she choked.

  He smiled deeply at her. “I’ve been safe the whole time, love. They sent me off to do some recruiting in Alloenis. Nothing out of the ordinary happens that way.”

  He wanted to ask her how she managed not to hear of his most recent exploits but thought the better of it. She probably did know but was too proud to spoil his tale. Chella was always like that. Satisfied he was safe and home for the time being, Chella grabbed his hand and led him back to the bedroom. It was a long while before they fell asleep in each other’s arms.

  “Chella, I wasn’t completely telling the truth about being in Alloenis,” he admitted in the early afternoon after both had the chance to bathe and eat a hearty meal.

  She stared at him with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “I always thought that a relationship was built on trust. Maybe I was wrong all along.”

  Hallis ignored the jibe and began telling the strange tale of his trek from the west. Even he found parts of it hard to believe, occasionally omitting a minor detail. Chella sat mesmerized through the telling, for though she’d heard bits and pieces from her friends and neighbors already, no one told it quite like Hallis. She loved listening to his voice, always had. It soothed her more than any one thing should. Every word reminded her why she fell in love with him all those years ago.

  Chella stood and kissed his forehead when he finally finished. “Ah love, I sometimes wish we had a normal life where you stayed home and sought my every whim.”

  He smiled at her with sad eyes. “I know, and I would change if I could. But I’ve always been a soldier. I’m afraid I shall be for some time yet to come.”

  She kissed him again. “Nor will I ever ask you to change who you are. I love you for you, Hallis. Promise me you’ll come home to me when this is all said and done.”

  “I promise,” he whispered and closed his eyes.

  Chella kissed the top of his head once more and said, “Come, let’s go back to bed, my love.”

  * * *

  King Maelor sat behind the ancient oak table trying to concentrate on the speakers on the floor and staying awake at the same time. He was hardly middle aged and his hair was already turned white. He had a light build with gaunt features. His eyes were a pale blue and rimmed in red. He wore a soldier’s uniform without rank or decoration. The gold sash over his left breast told all who he was. And for the moment, he was tired.

  “Sire, there is still time to send reinforcements. Our lancers report the enemy has yet to breach the walls,” said a tall, thin man in purple robes.

  Another in shining yellow with a long blonde beard stood up next. “As you know, the walls are thrice as tall as a Mountain Troll and just as thick. T ‘would take a dragon to break them down and no dragons have been seen in this part of the world in decades.”

  Maelor closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “How long would it take to organize a massive relief force and deploy them to the fortress? Gentlemen, do any of you truly believe we have that much time?”

  “A least a fortnight, sire,” the man in purple resigned.

  Two weeks. “Though I have no doubts in Fynten’s ability, I cannot foresee arriving in time to help.”

  Maelor pushed his chair back and stood. A portrait of his father was behind the simple desk and they seemed as twins. Many said he was the striking image of King Baeleon.

  “The Silver Mage is as cunning as he is wicked. We know not how large his armies are or what the grand intent of this invasion is. He could easily be sending another army down through Antheneon in the south with the hopes of catching unawares while we are focused on the mountain pass. Any relief I send will only weaken Averon,” he told them. His voice was strong and uplifting.

  “I will not leave the people who make this kingdom exposed to the horrors of Gren. If there’s a battle to be fought in the low lands, it will be at a place of my choosing. Gren Mot will fall, of that I have no doubts. Fynten and his men are buying time for us and we’re going to use it. Prepare the army to move.”

  “Move to where, sire?” Steleon asked. He’d been silent through the discussion until now. Battle was his arena, not politics and scheming.

  “We make our stand on the Thorn River. Let them come across and be slaughtered,” the king commanded with a wicked grin.

  “And if we fail?” the man in yellow gaped.

  Maelor shot him a foul glare. “Then we fail knowing there was nothing more to be done.”

  Steleon concealed his smile. He’d never cared for the king’s advisors. They plotted and fast talked their way through situations for their own gain and often lost sight of the people.

  “What news of Harlegor, sire?” Steleon asked. With the riders of Harlegor, his armies might have a chance.

  Maelor shook his head. “I have heard nothing since the messengers were dispatched.”

  They had been sent almost three months ago, Steleon remembered. Long before Gren made their opening move. Though he knew little of Harlegor’s monarchy, Steleon had been more than confident that the Steward was an honorable man and would stand the line with them. Surely the Silver mage wasn’t going to stop with Averon. And if he went deeper, the smaller kingdoms wouldn’t last long alone.

  “I do not like the way this is playing out,” Maelor confided. “We lack the power to control our own destiny. The Silver Mage holds all the cards.”

  “There is hope yet, sire. We have the Gnaal slayers among us now, “ Steleon said.

  Maelor thought on this. “If we had more capable of such I’d rest easier at night. Do we know how two boys, children, managed to slay the dark creature?”

  “I’ve been looking in to it. It appears that young Master Attleford’s blade glowed a golden hue in the battle.”

  “There is only one sword I have heard of with that type of power. But I thought it was a myth?”

  “Apparently not. If all accounts are correct, Fennic holds the Star Silver Sword.”

  Steleon bowed and left the chamber, along with the pompous advisors. Maelor looked up at the image of his father and prayed for the same strength. Courage he had aplenty, as did his brave warriors, but was courage alone enough to stave the tide of darkness? If the Silver Mage managed victory, Averon would topple and become an extension of Gren. He couldn’t let that happen. Couldn’t let thousands of innocent folk suffer the fate of the Mage by failing. Sadly, his people had unending questions of the future, and he had no answers.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Seamstresses visited them one by one, carefully measuring each from top to bottom. When asked why, they merely laughed and asked what their favorite color was. Delin gave up and went along with them, surmising that they were going to be subjected to the whims of the court for the duration of their stay in Paedwyn. Norgen sat with folded arms and his natural scowl slightly deeper. Jin watched the taciturn Dwarf from across the room and found it all quite humorous.

  “Your scowl is quite becoming. Will you be wearing it when you appear before the king this eve?” he joked.

  Norgen halfheartedly threw the last of his apple at the soldier. “I did not travel all this way for pomp and ceremony. My own king I could have seen if I wanted to sign and dance like a puppet.”

  “I’ve never seen a Dwarf dance,” Fennic laughed.

  Norgen growled. “Nor will you tonight.”

  “Come, come,” Jin said. “You are about to be in the presence of royalty. You don’t want King Maelor thinking your kind uncouth do you?”

  “Enjoy this while you can,” Blaron said upon entering the room. “There will be li
ttle enough time for pleasantries as this in the near future. Myself, I’m looking forward to this evening. Just imagine all those ladies in elegant gowns just begging for a hansom man to dance with. My future wife might be there!”

  In the company of kings and warriors, Fennic found himself thinking, if only my parents might see me now. Who would ever believe it?

  Their nerves were on edge, butterflies knotting their stomachs, by the time the royal page arrived to escort them to the grand dining hall. Jin, Blaron and Hallis were all dressed in their formal uniforms, complete with ornamental sabers at the right hip. Impressive as they were, Norgen and the boys held their own. The Dwarf wore a jeweled vest with black breeks and newly made boots tipped in silver. He had a gemstone band around the middle of his beard. Dark blue was Delin’s color, from his silk shirt to his pants with yellow stripes running down the out seam. Fennic was in similar garb, though his was of forest green and lacking the stripes.

  Hallis made the comment of them looking like little princes and both blushed. Murmurs spread through the crowds. Some swore they were a stately delegation come to aid in the war. Minor lords and ladies lined the gilded halls of the castle in all forms of finery and pretty. Noble born knights flanked the main doors, swords drawn and raised in tribute to the passing heroes. They boys walked wide eyed in amazement.

  Applause greeted them. Hallis waved back at the throngs of onlookers and followed the page to the head table. He hadn’t expected to sit so close to the king. All of the tables were draped in gold trimmed white clothes. Baskets of fresh bread were placed every two seats. There were crystal glasses filled with fine wines and carefully crafted ceramic plates and Elf made silverware. A roaring fire behind the head table warmed the hall. Huge candlelit chandeliers hung from the ceiling in a great star pattern.

  “All this is for us?” Fennic asked the page.

  The boy nodded. “In your names, yes. It has been a long time since the king had the cause to celebrate this way. He should be in splendid spirits.”