The Battle for Halerin Keep
“Bloody ‘ell, get out the way!”
Highton Rothgowel’s voice, deep and throaty, bellowed through the Great Hall. It vibrated so, that High Lord Revel had no choice but to look up from his already cold meal, only to see a bright-red and seemingly impatient Knight of the Realm. His brown, curly locks fell rebelliously around his large head and he heaved vigorously with each step closer.
“What’s the meaning of this interruption, Knight Rothgowel?” Revel was noticeably aggravated with the necessity to stop his vulgar attack on the grouse laying half-devoured in front of him.
With practiced patience and tact, Highton dropped to one knee and spoke, the edge of his voice dispensed with as soon as he was addressed as ‘Knight Rothgowel’. “Milord. The lines at Tremondale Valley have broken. We’ve only four, maybe five days before they reach Halerin Keep.”
“The Valley?” Revel’s voice was tattered from the start, his response failing to cloak his despair and fear. If they broke past the Keep, nothing could stop the inevitable devastation of the rest of Lusanda’s Kingdom.
“Aye, it's a shame. I lost nearly one third of my best soldiers. Those armies will be impossible to fight without at least a hundred mages, maybe more.”
“I understand your desperation, Rothgowel, but it would be impossible to spare that many of my High Order, with all the dark magic that has been cast upon the valley. They need all of their strength directed in keeping the night from enveloping us all. Those undead armies - surely they cannot fight indefinitely. Gather your forces, and try to lead them astray from a direct path to Halerin.”
The look of disappointment fell hard across Rothgowel’s face. Revel saw it immediately, and gave an equal look of understanding, but kept his eyes firm. Highton was a good Knight, but he was still young, and too impatient. The High Lord stood, passing a weary glance at one of the guards, and the foot soldier immediately sped off to fetch food for the Knight. After a restless pause, Revel spoke.
“Stay a while, Knight, and rest up before you return to your men. Tomorrow we will talk of a plan for defense. We cannot let the Keep be overtaken.”
“They move fast, and with purpose to dispose of us all. I know I’ll die with a sword in the Dark Lord’s gut before the Keep falls, milord.” Rothgowel’s attitude pleased Revel.
“Aye, Knight, that you will. And me by you.”
•••
Halerin Keep was a lonely outpost just north of the Great Hall, maybe a day’s journey. It was such a good target, strategically, because of its importance to the two main trade routes running between the Great Hall, and the edge of the Kingdom. A cross-roads of sorts, Halerin was more neglected now than it had been years ago. Tall grass and trees lined the base of the Keep, a single iron gate lending itself to being the entrance. Already, people of the Kingdom were beginning to wander in and out, helping to prepare for the oncoming army.
Highton and his men had been retreating all day long, trying to lead the Dark Lord’s armies in the most roundabout way possible without themselves getting too far from their destination. All too often, war in these periods of poor communication and transportation, ended in days of circling around in absurd paths, missing one another by only a few miles, and then stumbling onto one another, while neither were prepared. To add to the confusion, the Dark Lord’s mages were constantly bombarding Revel’s mages with a horrible blackness - consuming the land. Was there no end to this evil? Close by the far end of the Keep stood Revel, deep in thought, pacing slowly as though the weight of the Kingdom rested solely on his shoulders. He quickly turned around when a young and scraggly voice interrupted his meditation.
“Milord! I bring news of Knight Rothgowel’s movement. He has bought you the time you needed. It will be at least a week until the Dark Army reaches you.”
“Who are you, boy? And why would you have such information? I remember telling no one about Rothgowel’s movements.”
Revel’s last few words sank to the earth as the expression on his face withered from curiosity, to horror. The boy in front of him transformed in a whirling mist of light and shadow into an appalling figure. Cloaked in black, the monstrosity’s eyes were like little green lanterns of certain death. Revel, too shocked to react, quivered where he stood, as the figure reached with amazing speed into his cloak, retrieving a silvery object that had a shape reminiscent of a lightning bolt. With great precision, the figure lept almost three times as high as Revel stood, and landed the dagger, two-fisted, square between the eyes of the mortified Lord. Revel’s attempt at a cry was squelched by the warm blood flowing like a river down his numbed face and into his mouth and throat. The figure’s momentum carried the blade deep into Revel’s head, the tip protruding awkwardly out of the other side. Revel fell with a heavy crash, his body jerking in unpredictable patterns with the few remaining twitches of nerves and outstretching joints and muscles. Without as much as another gesture, the black robed figure vanished, the dagger embedded in the skull of the High Lord disappearing with the same likeness as its mysterious owner. A cloud of misty terror surrounded where the figure had been, a rebellious and haughty laugh filling the air, its echo carrying over the walls and into the sky. Revel, still moving, emanated a faint gurgling from deep within his lungs. The sky shadowed over, Revel knowing very well his last seconds of consciousness would be spent in agony over the unimaginable pain he felt all over. Darkness enveloped the small Keep, covering the small structure like a cursed blanket. The wind blew a little stronger, wisping Revel’s bloody hair around his red-stained face, but he had since stopped moving. The High Lord was dead.
•••
“Blast his ****ed stubbornness!”
Rothgowel was so enraged by the death of his commander and friend, that he had nearly torn apart the hapless guard that discovered the lifeless body laying peacefully in a hideous pool of blood-soaked earth. Revel was a man that held the Knighthood together. He was badly needed in such times of peril, and to lose him now was definitely an advantage for the Dark Lord. Highton could not help but blame himself for leaving Revel unattended. He had sought to keep watch over him, instead of marching around in useless circles while the Dark Army launched their flaming missiles of magic at his back, but Revel would have it different. The chase had gone relatively well for the Knights, but in the end, the enemy had only been led astray for about a day’s ride, and quickly resumed their path to Halerin. In two days, there would be much blood spilled.
The burial was quick due to the eminent attack. Revel would receive a proper burial later on. That was, of course, if there was anyone left to do the job. As night settled into the heavy heart of Knight Rothgowel, his sleepy mind thought of only one thing - vengeance. He would not stop until the Dark Lord and his armies of terror were destroyed. He did not bother to depress himself with the facts at hand. The Dark Army outnumbered the Knights three to one, but that was actually three untrained ogres or orcs, compared to one devoted, well-trained Knight of Kerrel. This would indeed be an interesting fight, to say the least.
As Highton’s army slept under the cool night breeze, an uneasy feeling crept into his mind. Who would succeed Revel? He knew he was not qualified for that sort of thing. What would become of the Knighthood now there was not a real leader. His slipping into sleep was not any smoother than the way one slips on a rocky beach. He left the world of the conscious, a little bit of a lump lodged neatly in his throat. He knew the rest of his men would lose faith in him if they saw his desperation, so he hid, curled into a little ball, like a small child, a tear forming in the corner of his eye.
•••
Darkness was a blessing for some, and a frightful nightmare for others. In the Dark Lord’s case, it was home. Darkness was as life giving, as the sun was to anyone else. The tower in which the Dark Lord resided, was old and decrepit, held together with not much else than a clever spell, and some vines. It was really amazing how the structure even stood, with its supports completely rotted away. Inside were many twisting corridors, where the armies of the Dark Lord took care of their daily business. The giant room at the center of the structure was saved for the Dark Lord himself. As the moon hung dreary in the night sky, strange goings-on were taking place inside the giant room.
The Dark Lord, a being more wolf-like than human with his dog-like face and burning red eyes, sat atop a great pillar, deep in meditation. His concentration was so severe, that trickles of sweat had beaded near his forehead, and he began to shake with vigorous movements. Without warning, his eyes opened, shining a most luminous velvet.
“Cedric! Where are you, you worthless heap of horse dung?” The Dark Lord’s voice was raspy, and could be considered quite annoying, if his sentences lasted more than a few short words. Like clockwork, Cedric, smelling not unlike what The Dark Lord had so delicately addressed him as, scurried in on his three legs, and plopped his large body in front of his master.
“I am here, Great One. How may I...”
“I am here, Great One. How may I...”
“Oh shut up, worm. I need to know if your assassin can do another job for me. He was so very efficient with that fool, Revel.”
“I shall speak with him immediately,” replied Cedric, a little shakiness in his voice. It was apparent that he was afraid of the Dark Lord’s temper getting the better of him, and so he always tried to please his master.
“Good. Soon, this Rothgowel will be no more, and with his armies deserted, I will be able to march right through that **** Keep, without so much as a peasant to step on.”
The Dark Lord closed his eyes, and the meditation resumed, along with the abnormal gyrations his slender, but muscular body made. Cedric made off for the assassin, hoping that his price would not exceed his allowances. Otherwise, he’d have to make a quick meal of him, and find another.
Greem liked his work. He thought his overzealous attitude could be considered a weapon in itself. He could not get over how easy it was to kill the supposed leader of the Knights of Kerel. There was not any reason why he should not be able to kill Rothgowel without any trouble at all. It would not be done, however, in such a secretive way. No, he knew that Knights were devoted to honor and tradition, somewhat like himself. He would challenge Highton to a duel, and destroy him in front of his own army. The Knights had strong incentive to avenge Revel’s loss – the death of Rothgowel, however, would destroy their high hopes of victory, and mean the end of the Knighthood.
The assassin thought that the Dark Lord was a bit of a fool for what he was doing. His chaotic nature had earned them quite a few victories over the Knights, but at a heavy cost. All Greem wanted was blood. It really did not matter whom he killed, just as long as the victim had some importance to someone. He did not fight dishonorably...well for the most part, anyway. When he had killed his first, he decided that killing was something he could do for money. Thus started his ‘career’.
Greem sat on his bed, thinking about how well he would square off against the Master Knight, Rothgowel. As his thoughts grew deeper and more horrific, a knock at the door shattered his visions of a most bloody victory.
“Greem! Its Cedric. Have you decided on your price?” His voice was muffled as though his nose was pressed right up against the wood of the door.
“Enter, you fool! I do not feel like talking to the door.”
Cedric’s entrance was exaggerated to the point that he would have needed ten legs to keep himself steady. His face was bright with the notion that Greem had accepted an audience with him so shortly after his master had ordered him to ask.
“What say you, Greem? I hope you haven’t set your sights too far from my pocket.”
“Worry not, Cedric. I will do this for free. I wish only a new horse to ride to the Keep with. Aside from further provisions, here at the tower, I require nothing.”
The look on Cedric’s wrinkled face was not one of pleasure. He was quite wary about this sudden change in attitude. What would possess a mad, and seemingly greedy assassin, to want to do a job for not a single coin. With carefully chosen words, Cedric addressed Greem, trying not to let this uneasy emotion show through his voice.
“This is a most strange decision. May I ask why?”
“I’ve killed more men than you will ever know. Most of them were taken without their having seen my face. I don’t feel that I should have to explain myself, but I will. About twenty years ago a Knight of Kerel, my brother Relsmith, found me after I had killed one of his comrades at the Battle of Sundi. He told me that the path I had chosen as an assassin had disowned me from my family. Had it been known I was his brother, his membership to the Knighthood would have surely been revoked. He tried, in vain I might add, to capture me, but I ran him through. As the blade was swallowed deep by his chest, I realized what I was doing. Thoughts of he and I, playing in the wheat field behind my father’s home, washed through my mind. My fury overwhelmed me, and went beyond the confines of mortal men. As I withdrew the blade from my dear brother’s soul, twelve other Knights were upon me. The hand of death was closing tightly, but I cut its fingers loose, defying what most mortal men cannot.”
“The Massacre! That was you?"
“Yes. I killed each and every one of them. With only this dagger, I thrust the very life from an entire patrol of Knights.” The look of frustration over the preceding words crept into the very wrinkles of his hardened skin. “I may be ruthless, but I do not kill without an honorable reason. Their deaths were at the hands of a madman. This has remained a void in my soul for these twenty years past. When I go to Halerin, I will challenge Knight Rothgowel, and he will fall before me. If he does not cleanse my being by accepting the challenge, than I will personally lay waste to every village and settlement I can until his useless Knights track down my body, and obliterate me. If I am doomed to be lost to eternal blackness, then I shall not hesitate to make his decision one of great consequence.”
“If it is absolution you seek, then murdering villagers out of spite will certainly not do you the favor,” announced Cedric, the tone of his voice wavering a bit before falling to mere whisper.”
Greem had a look of madness about him, but his eyes did not seem to fit the rest of his face. They were tired old eyes, and it was quite apparent there was only one way he could see for himself to be cleansed of his wrong-doing. A duel to the death would decide his fate, and that of the Knighthood. After a long pause, Greem recalled Cedric’s jibe, and turned away to look out of his window.
“That would be Highton’s doing, and no other. Yes Highton, my dear brother, it will be your doing.”
•••
Highton was awakened by a horrible scream, only possible by an animal of some sort. It certainly was not a man, of that the Knight was sure, but was it a scream of agony, or delight? Highton lumbered over to the window of his temporary quarters, along the west wall of the Keep, only to jump back in horror. There were, from what was visible, about twenty or so giant wolves, leering at the walls of the keep, their bright red eyes burning little holes into the depths of the Knight’s mind. Without so much as a flash of lightning, the sound of thunder rumbled through the Keep with amazing volume. The commotion was enough to wake the dead, but not a single Knight stirred. Its was Highton these wolves were to deal with, and no other.
“What sorcery has conjured this foul illusion? Show yourself!” Highton was not sure what he had done by demanding to see an obviously powerful magic user, but he knew that the wolves were but a diversion, since now their numbers started to diminish, one by one without a trace. The Knight reached for his broadsword, expecting the very walls around him to cave in of their own initiative, but all remained intact - no wolves, not horrible specters, not so much as a **** flea!
“Greetings, Knight of Kerel,” bellowed a voice from the shadows in a corner of his very room. “Stand fast, Highton, I come in peace.”
“Who are you, coward, that you must lurk in the shadows instead of facing me.” As if on cue, a cloaked figure appeared before the young Knight, holding nothing in his hands. The cloak was a deep maroon. “Have you a name?”
“I am Greem. I will make my stay short, and repeat nothing, so listen carefully. It is I who slay your High Lord, Revel. It is my belief, that to challenge you in combat, is the only way to reset the balance. My path has led me to you, Knight. You will face me in single combat, or bear the burden of your stupidity, for I will lay waste to all the settlements north and east of this wretched Keep. What say you, Knight?”
At first the exhausted Knight found it hard to digest the strange being’s words, but soon he realized what sort of challenge Greem was referring to; a fight to the death. A great look of seriousness fell over his face, and he spoke with a low and frightful voice. “I will fight you, mage. At the hour the sun reaches its peak, I shall be at the meadow south of Halerin. Be there, without an escort, and we shall have combat.
“On my honor, it will be a fair fight, for I will also come alone, but will run you through until your bones are crushed deep into the earth, and Revel’s death will be avenged.”
“We shall soon see, Knight of Kerel. I bid you farewell. Until tomorrow!” A brilliant flash scoured at the Knights senses, overloading them to the point of near-collapse. He crawled a little, and found himself too exhausted to reach into his bed. He fell into a deep sleep, dreaming of avenging more than just Revel, but of every Knight he supposed had fallen at the hands of this mage, Greem.
Greem, preparing himself for tomorrow’s confrontation, sighed a little to himself. The fight was going to be a mockery of his skill, but he still wanted to be sure of his victory. He proceeded through his usual ritual of honing his weapon, and memorizing a few key spells that could only give him an edge. The lightning dagger lay on the table, next to his spell book. It was a beautiful weapon, crafted by his long lost nilek-toam, or guide of the Magic Order. The dagger had little magic properties, save one - there was not a single piece of armor it could not penetrate. It’s sleek design, containing a blood rift down the very center, was meant for mostly back-stabbing, as it was sharp enough to penetrate most of the rib cage in one clean stroke. As he chanted ancient warrior spells he danced around with the weapon, flipping as casually as an acrobat. His training had come from many different resources, the most effective being a Lunti-Cult assassin. His training was quick, yet thorough, and his mind was well equipped to master both schools of magic in half the time it took most others. The night pressed on, and he realized he should rest before his “fight”. Better destroy him quickly, and be awake to enjoy it. Except that no one would actually see the fight. Pity...now he would have to not only finish Highton off, but then deliver the body as well.
•••
Highton was sorry he had not thought more about Revel’s successor. The Knighthood needed a successor, although he was not too keen on the idea of himself being that person. He felt he lacked the discipline that some of the other Knights had. There were plenty of those who would have quickly stepped up to accept the honor, but they had all pointed to his direction. He had been left with a decision: to either accept the position, (and fail miserably, resulting in the demise of the Knighthood) or to refuse the position, and continue the battle without there being a High Lord (and having his men lose heart in not having a leader, resulting in the demise of the Knighthood). Now was not the time to be pondering this foolishness. In less than an hour, he would face Greem, and be victorious...hopefully.
The minutes seemed to dredge on as me made his way through the forest, like they were sinking in mud. His walk to the battleground was a pleasant one, but he held an eager and nervous feeling deep within his stomach. He knew he would not only have to fight Greem, but his magic as well. That would be difficult, since Highton was not as experienced in sorcery, as Greem was. He did, however, have an ‘equalizer’ of sorts that he would not unleash, until the right time. It was a silver medallion given to him by his older brother, Relsmith. He had been killed at the massacre at Sundi by a crazed assassin when he was only a boy. It being his only relic of his older brother, Highton treasured it - learned of its magical properties, and mastered it. Highton had never known the assassin, or his name, but he vowed that he would find him, if he was still alive, and make him pay for his crime.
As he neared the meadow, he could see that Greem was already there, alone. His hands were clasped in a strange position, and his lips appeared to be moving. The Knight quickly withdrew his broadsword, and advanced.
“Greem! I see you have kept your word. May our fight to the death be a valiant one.”
“Aye, Rothgowel, that it will be.” Greem’s face was a little darker than normal, but there was something more noticeably wrong. He spoke again, this time, a raspy, half-choked voice.
“Knight. Before we begin, I must ask if you know my true identity.”
“Are you not who you say you are?” Rothgowel was becoming visibly agitated with this apparent ploy to stall.
“Hear what I must say to you, Highton. Years ago, at the Battle of Sundi, I happened upon Knight. We were brothers, you see, and he'd just witnessed me destroying one of his brethren. After this deed I committed, let us say I was under a...contract, he disowned me from the family, and attempted to arrest me. He died that day, along with his entire patrol. His name was Relsmith.”
The look of horror enveloped Highton’s face like the Scarlet Plague, the realization sending him to his knees. His own brother! Murdered by another of his kin, after being disowned. How could he even be related to such filth! Anger, like the fires of hell, burned deep within the far reaches of his soul. He was beyond tactful, and cursed aloud to his...elder.
“To hell with you Greem. **** your lies. How dare you mar my dear brother’s name with such insults?” Rothgowel heaved as he swore, pulling himself up, ready to conquer an entire army.
“Believe what you will, fool, but you now know the truth. My sin has been confessed, and we will do honest battle.”
“Then you will die an honest man. For thee, death will be slow and painful! En guard!”
With that, the battle was underway. Highton chose to keep the distance far between them – greater than could have been anticipated – but it would prove to be a good decision, since Greem was able to clear almost twelve feet in a single bound. Lurching and diving, the mage was successful in closing the ground very rapidly, almost too much for Highton to get a good swing with his broadsword. The mage screamed with a horrible laughter, as he sunk the dagger, repeatedly into the unprotected arm of the Knight. This was, however, the product of another decision the Knight had made. He figured that a more maneuverable leather fitting would be better than a clumsy and restricting field plate. His wise decision enabled him to parry a few of the blows, but the sever bleeding from his sword arm was beginning to make him dizzy. Suddenly, he found an opening (something he had missed!) in the mages right leg, and hacked wildly.
The pain was overwhelming to the mage, who did not anticipate getting hit at all. He had neglected to memorize a healing spell the night before, and therefore had to resort to using his warrior spells. He uttered a string of syllables, the effect coming almost instantaneously. Highton quivered, as he could no longer see. The spell stung his eyes a bit, but he managed to get at the silver medallion, and speak a few magical words of his own. Within seconds, his vision returned, and he noticed that Greem was gone. As he took a deep breath, he felt a very cold steel land into the side of his thigh, and he realized he had been out-flanked. The pain riveted through his mind, and he let out a scream that challenged even Greem’s. Both warriors were bleeding profusely, the battle ground fast becoming a field of red-stained grass. As Greem neared for another attack, Highton saw another opening. Hands double-fisted over his head, Greem came crashing down onto Highton, but before he could land the dagger, he felt a burning sensation that coursed through his body, and he was flung back almost six feet. The dagger twirled absurdly in the air, landing perfectly in the mage's stomach. The silver medallion was half-in and half-out of the mages right side, proving to be a very sharp and deadly object. Highton, realizing this obvious advantage, crawled over to the mages twitching body, and retrieved the medallion. With a wild look in his eyes, he grabbed the dagger, thrusting it deeper into Greem’s belly, twisting it slowly with the satisfaction of victory.
•••
Greem’s body lay motionless, the lightning dagger still embedded in the assassin’s stomach. For almost an hour, the mage had been screaming from the constant pain the dagger inflicted, as though every death it had so committed was avenging itself upon him. Highton had only sat, bearing a look of patience one could probably expect from someone whose sole purpose in life was to watch the growing of pea plants.
The darkness enveloping the Kingdom was almost completely dissolved, now. It had not disappeared noticeably, its gradual dissipation not unlike the sun reappearing after a midsummer rain shower. Highton had not even noticed until long after Greem had ceased his useless pleading.
It was a day to rejoice at the Keep, now that Revel’s death had been avenged, as well as Relsmith, and the rest at the Sundi massacre. Highton did not know what to expect from his men from this recent turn of events, but when they saw the lifeless mage's body, they immediately understood the importance of this victory. They would soon have a new High Lord.
“Knight Rothgowel! The King has received word of your battle, and thanks you a thousand times for removing the darkness from his Kingdom. He has appointed you for the position of High Lord. Do you accept?”
Highton looked down at the small body of Lusanda’s messenger. He had, until recently, felt nauseous whenever faced with the decision of replacing Revel. But now he felt that his men needed a leader to defeat the Dark Lord’s armies. The advancing forces were only one day away.
“Give word to Lusanda. I will succeed Revel.”
That was all he said. There was no long speech of acceptance, or anything for that matter. Before the messenger could reply with words of congratulations, Highton was out of the door, and into the courtyard. There was not time to waste on ceremonies of ascension, there was a battle to be fought!
For the rest of the day, and well into the night, Highton marched around, making sure all of the proper safety precautions were in place, in case the army was forced back to the Keep. It was generally prudent, when the men were available, to stop an enemy advance before they could even reach the structure. That way, siege weapons would prove useless, and further encumber the enemy. Rothgowel had successfully gathered forty mages, three cavalry units, ten infantry units, and twenty archer units – an army of close to five hundred men. His Knights had been training these four days past. Now it was time to put their strength to the test. Tomorrow would decide the fate of all Kerel.
•••
The Dark Lord sat in his usual place, atop the great stone pillar. He was no longer meditating, however. His hands were bright red with an eerie glow, and his voice echoed through the chamber. Along with his ominous voice was a lesser voice, that seemed to be screaming in torment.
“Why? Why do you not let me rest!”
“Those who fail me will never rest, foolish mage! Your powers were never anything compared to mine. I figured I’d let you hold the Kingdom in darkness, but your plans to destroy Rothgowel have failed! No matter! I will deal with the Knighthood later, as I have dealt with so many others, but as for you...you will remain a prisoner of these walls for a very long time. There will be no rest for you, dear Greem. You will die one thousand deaths for every day that passes before I rule this wretched land of Kerel. Then I may consider letting you rest, but not sooner. Now...away with you!”
Greem could not explain what was happening to him. He looked down, only to see that a large creature was grasping one of his fingers. Then with an insane jerk, the finger was torn loose. Greem’s shriek of pain was short lived, for only a few seconds later, a second finger was dislocated from his hand, this one remaining partially attached. The torment would never end, and he knew it. But even as his humanity was slowly washed from his mind, he knew that he had one reserve of thought that the Dark Lord could never destroy – he was absolved.
•••
Highton mounted his horse, wondering what the day would bring. Today his men, totaling about five hundred, would march against an army of more than three times that. As the sun rose ever so cautiously, as though anticipating an arrow through its golden center, the Knights of the Realm marched out of the Keep, its solemn gate closing with a very pronounced 'thud.' If the Knights failed their attempt at halting the advancing forces, the small band of lesser warriors holding down the Keep would certainly perish. Unlike the Dark Lord, Highton rode proud and strong with his men. He of course stayed behind the line enough to avoid any missile attack, but his presence could be felt all over.
“Give the call, Major! The enemy approaches.”
Highton gave the order with such confidence that the volume startled his comrade, and he shook his ears apologetically. He then scurried off to the Horn Master, who would sound the call to fall into position. Highton’s strategy was simple enough. The Dark Army approached from the west. Highton would form a zig-zag line of archers, with a prominent mass of magic-users to protect them. Then, after several holes had been opened up by the archer attack, the cavalry units would ride through, and both divide, and out-flank the enemy, causing a three-front assault.
The plan was well-liked. The Dark Army was land-based, and without horses. The odds of a cavalry man armed with a lance being pulled from his steed, was highly unlikely. There were weaknesses, however. Although the archer attack could separate the enemy for a while, the cavalry still had to penetrate without being swallowed up. If a horse was to be surrounded on all sides, then the rider would be doomed.
As the two armies neared each other, battle positions were taken. There would be no stand off, nor any salute. The battle would commence as soon as the range was satisfactory. Archers were most effective when in concentrated formation. The smell of chaos, not fear, enveloped the land, as the darkness slowly returned once again.
“Master! The armies are being engaged. Victory will soon be ours!” Cedric’s excitement was not shared by the Dark Lord, who looked up with glowing red eyes, and snarled.
“Shut up you fool! I’m concentrating. We must not underestimate our enemy.”
“Of course, master. I was only being optimistic.”
“Well do it elsewhere!”
Cedric slinked off, a little angry that he was treated so harshly. But it really did not matter, for the battle was underway, and victory was in sight...for someone.
“Aghhh!” A knight riding a mighty war horses fell heavily to the muddy earth below. The Knights’ horses were of no use to the Dark Army. Their orders were to slaughter anything in their path. The Knight stood, a little shaken by his painful descent, only to see the glint of well-honed steel rip right past his eyes. An instant later, all was dark, as the Knight realized they had been slashed. He let out a cry of pain that was soon squelched by another blow to the back of his head, and then another...
Four lines of archers let out the last of their volleys. Showers of arrows descended upon a band of Orcs, approaching with great speed. As the arrows landed their targets, several of the Orcs died instantly, the soft part of their skulls pierced by the heavy arrow-tips. Three of the Orcs got through, however, and decided to make quick work of the fleeing archers. One archer withdrew a dagger, thinking to slow the Orcs down enough for his comrades to escape. With his teeth gritted, he lunged at them all, but his balance was off, and he tumbled forward, stopping right at the foot of the leader. The great beast raised a club hight above his head, and dropped it on the archer. The battle was quickly becoming a blood bath, as a new sound reverberated through the air. The cavalry was on the move.
“Look straight, **** your eyes! We must not let any more of our horses fall victim to these barbarians. Charge!”
The horses sped of, galloping into a cloudy mess of arms and legs. When they emerged, a wake of destruction lay in their path, soldiers of the Dark Army and the Knights all killed by the dreaded lances of the cavalry. Volleys of flaming arrows painted the sky, as the darkness lay itself upon the battleground. It may as well have been night, for that was how deep the magic flowed. It seemed that the product of the day’s battle, was no more than a stalemate.
Then, without warning, the Dark Army began a retreat! The Knights gave pursuit, but only for a little while. They were glad to see that the enemy had been defeated. Except that they had not suffered that many casualties. The Knights were actually lucky that the Dark Army did not fight through the night, else they might have lost.
•••
Rothgowel stood high above his men, the walls of the Keep proving to be a good place to address his men.
“My brothers. You have fought most bravely. You must realize the importance of this victory. It has shown our determination to stop the Dark Lord from taking control of Kerel. You must also understand, that the Dark Lord will not stop until he has done so. This recent battle was only a demonstration of his powers. He will most certainly strike again, and when he does, we will be ready.”
Cheers for the High Lord’s wisdom filled the air, as Highton retreated from the wall, and to the stable. His men’s voices could be heard, reverberating through the walls. He would mount a war horse before his men could find him, and ride alone, back to the Great Hall. He needed some time to be alone with his thoughts. As he entered the stable, he scanned the room quickly, searching for the most well-rested horse. One caught his eye, a white stallion with a valiant red mane. He advanced quickly to take up the reins. With a strong slap, they were off for the Great Hall, the trees flying by in a blur of speed.
Alone at last, he could think about the past few days. He rode on, seeming to fade away into deep thought, when he was jarred severely, a sharp pain welling in his back. He had been thrown from the horse, which was nowhere in sight.
“**** horse! What in God’s name did I do to deserve your foul temper.”
“You interfered!” The voice was amazingly loud, as it sung out in deep horror to Highton. The horse reappeared, but it began shifting awkwardly, and then suddenly transformed into a large wolf.
“What manner of creature are you?”
“I am a servant of his majesty, the Dark Lord, you fool. I bring a message, and do not intend for us to do battle, for I would certainly triumph. No, Rothgowel, the Dark Lord will take care of that soon enough.”
“Say then what it is you must, and then be off!”
“Very well. His majesty wishes to let you know that Greem lives, and that in you will do battle again. Be prepared, Knight of the Realm, for you will not defeat your dear brother a second time. You have one month to prepare.”
Without so much as another word, the abomination dissolved into nothingness. The messenger’s words sank into the far reaches of Highton’s soul, and he become cold with fear. He would indeed face his brother again. He would have only a month, but now he had to worry about something else. Getting to the Great Hall without a horse would be difficult as he would walk from here.