Heir to the Sundered Crown (8 page)

‘The mages toppled mountains in their battles, rivers turned to blood and men died by the thousands. Only ‘Niveren had saved them that day’ his grandfather had always said, ‘but it was never a
 
victory’
.

Those words came now to haunt Lido. What had the old man meant by that? All of the historians claimed it had been a total victory, the knights of Niveren had slain the Necromancer and the Diasect successfully defeated Danon, the master of the black magic’s. A champion had slain the evil mage and his soul sent into the void of damnation by the white mages.

Lido began to doubt the old tales. With an enemy that was sounding more and more like the great enemy of old he began to think the old man was onto something.

*

It was at dawn the next day that the ground began to shake and tremble. Men groggily stirred from their tents wrapped in thick furs against the frigid cold to see what was happening.

The alarm bells began to toll out over the vast camp. The enemy had arrived.

Running at the point of exhaustion Woven reached the barricade just ahead of the coming horde.

“Halt, who goes there?” Challenged the knight defending the mound.

“It is Woven, I must speak to the Baron at once” he replied tiredly. He showed the knight his blue crystal pendant, the identifying mark of the rangers and was promptly allowed entry.

He made his way through a camp in chaos as thousands of soldiers raced about arming themselves, and moved to their positions. The squires ran about, stamping out the cooking fires before heading to their posts. Horses were saddled as the knights pulled on their armour and fastened their sword belts.

A low warning tone from a horn echoed over the camp causing the activity to pause for a moment. Woven stopped and listened just like all of the others around him. Faintly being carried on the wind came the sound of inhuman moans, the snarling of beasts and the steady stomping of thousands of armoured troops.

The forces of Eclin were afraid, Woven could see it in the eyes of his countrymen, and he said a silent prayer. He prayed his people would win the day.

“Why are you bastards just standing around? Pull your fingers out of your arses, and get ready to kill!” roared a squat man in plate armour. He was short, but his chest was massive. It exuded physical strength. The troops all turned to the man, questioning looks on their faces.

“You’re all afraid? You are the sons of Eclin, the wolves of the mountains. Let our foes hear us roar, let them come and die. ROAR WITH ME!”

With that the man roared his anger and defiance. Men around him joined him, and before long twenty thousand soldiers roared along with him. The sound was like thunder blasting through the canyon and the mountain peaks.

Woven glanced around him; it seemed his prayer had been answered for now. With that one act the men of Eclin now looked determined and fearless. He just hoped their newfound courage would last. Once more the camp burst into activity as troops assembled and archers mounted the towers and palisades.

He turned as sound of galloping hooves caught his attention.

None other than the baron was riding a black stallion, his shoulder length grey hair, and piercing green eyes were covered by a coif of chainmail. As the horse passed through the camp the men bowed their heads or knelt in respect and fealty. The baron stopped in front of the squat man.

“Hail Sir Grandir. I see your way with words has not lessened since we last met,” Greeted Lido dryly.

Grandir bowed his head.

“Niveren will always be there to give courage to those who are lacking my lord. Eclin has always been a stalwart and worthy member of the realm. It is an honour for me and my company to fight beside you my lord.” Replied Grandir icily.

The baron huffed and rode on to Woven. His face betrayed his annoyance at having the knights of Niveren at his side. Lido among many nobles and regents felt that the Knights had outstayed there welcome, and had become too powerful. Eclin especially resented the order due to the knight’s persecution of those who followed the old ways.

Long before the Magic War and the founding of Delfinnia, the Golden Empire had ruled the land. They had worshipped forgotten gods and practised inane magical practises.

Eclin was said to be the land where Danon and his bride the first witch Cliria discovered their power, and it was for this reason that the Order regularly sent crusades into the barony to root out any users of the old ways.

The barbaric mountain tribes had always raided Eclin so the kings of Delfinnia had allowed the Knights to wage their wars.

Lido resented having to allow them access to his men and resources, but he disliked Sir Grandir especially. He was the head of the Eclin chapter of the Order and was constantly undermining the baron’s commands, often overruling him with the law of Niveren. Lido knew the knights were fearsome warriors and knew any baron would want them to fight at his side but the knight was infuriating to deal with. 

“The guards informed me of your return Ranger. What news do you bring me? And where is your comrade?” asked Lido as he looked around at the camp.

He nodded in satisfaction that everything was in place. Woven took a deep breath and recounted all that he had seen, the death of Carlock and the horde of un-dead.

The baron stared at the ranger, his eyes hard.

“Werewolves, Zombies? These are the aspects of the old enemy are they not, how is this possible?” whispered the baron.

Fear gripped his heart; he had hoped and prayed that the stories were just fantasy. The stories his father had told him flooded his mind, how could he face such a foe by himself? Eclin could not hope to stand against such evil alone.

“Danon is dead,” Said Grandir certainly. He approached the king and Woven after over hearing the conversation.

“The bastard had his body thrown into the void. No, this must be the result of meddlers with the dark arts. For too long I’ve tried to get my master to launch a full crusade against these mountains, but he felt the threat from magic had left us. Danon has not returned it’s impossible.” He declared albeit with some doubt in his words.

The baron scowled at the knight, but seemed to relax at the words spoken.

“You are correct of course Sir Grandir. Danon is gone forever. When this is over I will allow full access to my lands to launch your crusade. Never again must these relics from the Magic war threaten the realm. We must root them out and burn them.”

Just as Grandir was about to reply, the horn sounded again. This time the enemy was in range of the first line of defences; the battle of Fuio pass was about to begin.

The pass was a mile across with steep mountains on either side. It was a perfect spot to mount a defence and the forces of Eclin were confident of victory.  Five hundred paces from the vast pile of earth that formed the first line of defences stood the horde of the enemy. Thousands of black armoured figures stood in eerie silence, their faces concealed by their helmets. Behind them staggered the zombies, moans filling the cold air, chilling the defenders blood with fear. At the flanks came the werewolves in numbers not seen for eons. Hundreds roared, snarling at the rangers who took position at the top of the earth mound.

Woven was among them. Being one of the most skilled archers in the kingdom he insisted in joining his fellow rangers. He was still weary from his journey to the camp, but fear and adrenaline kept his mind sharp, and gave his arms the strength needed to draw his massive longbow.

Six thousand Rangers stood with their bows drawn, arrows of death notched and ready to fly at the enemy. Tension filled the air, men sweated and prayed, and then came the roar.

Quickly the black armoured troops surged forward, swords and spears at the ready, charging headlong at the Eclin defenders. Within moments they came into range of the Rangers who as one loosed the first volley of arrows.

The sky turned dark as thousands of arrows momentarily blocked out the sun to slam into the attacking forces with a deafening crash.

Woven stood stunned as he watched the arrows strike. Hundreds of the armoured figures had been struck, and yet none fell or even screamed out in terror or jubilation at having survived. It was then as the horde continued to come at him that he realised with horror that he had been mistaken. The armoured figures were not men or even mortal. They were ghouls!

Another volley of arrows was loosed, and another and still not a single figure fell. The rangers began to desperately shoot shaft after shaft, but still none fell. Panic swept through their ranks as they realised that they could not harm the enemy.

It was then just as the first defenders were about to break that Woven saw the werewolves charging along the flanks. Those he knew they could kill.

“Target the flanks! Kill the wolves!” He bellowed putting his words into actions. Swinging his bow to the right he loosed.

The arrow pierced his target in the eye. With a satisfying roar of pain, the beast collapsed to the ground. Now all the other archers loosed their arrows at the werewolves, killing dozens at a time, but still the armoured figures approached inexorably towards the Rangers. Soon they would reach the foot of the earthworks and the sword work would begin. 

The armoured figures reached the mound and halted. The werewolves fell back having learnt not to approach the stinging arrows.

Once again an eerie silence filled the pass. Woven stopped shooting and shifted nervously. He could see that the Rangers had slain at least fifty wolves. They hadn’t even inflicted a scratch on the enemy that now stood in ominous silence.

“Draw swords.” Growled Woven. With the wolves out of range their arrows were harmless against the armoured ghouls. He wasn’t even sure if the sword would harm them, he just knew they had to try.

The ghouls stamped their feet causing the ground to shake. Incessantly they carried on stamping unnerving the defenders.

Then came the zombies.

Thousands of them swarmed through the ranks of ghouls and scrabbled up the earthworks, some were headless, others had limbs missing, but all had once been villagers. A father, a husband a wife or a sister, all had once been mortal human beings.

Many fell backwards down the steep mound, but as soon as they fell they would right themselves and try again. Hundreds managed the climb, and at once attacked the rangers who now stabbed and fought desperately.

Woven saw that the horde was swarming all along the earthwork. When one zombie was finally slain two more would take its place until the foot of the earthworks was filled with their corpses of which more used to climb up the steep bank.

Woven decapitated a zombie and impaled another on his blade. They were easy to destroy, but the sheer number was starting to cause the defence line to collapse. Hundreds of Rangers were now falling under the swarm of un-dead their screams muffled by moans and the sound of battle. Blood sprayed his face as a zombie sunk its teeth into the neck of a nearby Ranger.

“Fall back!” roared the now familiar voice of Sir Grandir.

Charging fast from the direction of the second defence line came the knights of Niveren. There were only forty of them but their warhorses smashed into the zombies that had successfully scaled the earthworks. Now Woven and the surviving rangers turned and jumped scrambling down the steep bank towards the second line. Once more the roar of the Werewolves filled his ears.

Now that the archers had been driven off they attacked en masse. Hundreds of fleeing rangers were chased down and torn apart by the monsters.

Woven didn’t look back as he ran past the charging Knights. The mounted warriors hacked their way through the zombies rescuing wounded rangers. A werewolf leapt sending a knight sprawling to the ground; his horse whinnied in fear and was abruptly silenced as the Wolf sunk its teeth into the poor creature’s neck. Zombies overwhelmed one knight throwing him to the ground before ripping away his armour and ripping into his flesh. Woven wished he could block out the screams, never before had he witnessed such horror in battle, and yet more horror was to come.

*

Stood behind the ranks of undead was a tall figure. Its flesh was rotted, its bones were visible. At first glance it looked like a walking skeleton. In fact it was a Lich.

A tattered and torn cloak billowed in the cold breeze sweeping through the pass. In its hands was a long black staff which it now held high into the air.

With an unearthly scream the ghouls advanced upon the Eclin defenders and victory for the un-dead quickly followed.

***

9.

Caldaria was a riot of colour. Fire jugglers and circus acts cart wheeled and danced their way through the streets. Even the mages got in on the celebrations. Fireworks lit up the sky and magic dazzled and amazed stunned onlookers. All thoughts of war and evil were cast out of folk’s minds as they celebrated the feast of the
Brave Knight
.

Luxon pulled his cloak tighter about his shoulders. Despite it being the height of summer, an unnatural chill was in the winds. He stood on the balcony outside of the dorms, leaning against the rough stonework; despite the festivities he couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that had been tormenting him for the past few moons.

Word has come from Sunguard of the overthrow of the Privy Council. According to all accounts the Mid lands were now under the command of what folk whispered was the Legion of the Usurper. Rason hadn’t wasted anytime in establishing his authority over his new ‘kingdom’, the sot had even tried to have him-self crowned in the ruins of the old King’s hall on the summit of the peak which rose over the capital. Resistance had been virtually non-existent. The legionaries that had supported the council quickly bowed the knee to their general.

In the days that followed Luxon had spent long hours under the tutelage of Thanos. He had learnt so much already.