Vincere aut mori" It

 

was late evening, his horse's hooves were sinking beneath an ever-thicker layer of mud, and raindrops were dripping down his helmet and armor. Exhaustion and hunger were taking their toll, and he slowly began to close his brown eyes, then limply slid from the saddle and splashed into the mud. In the distance, he saw a faint light reflecting off the roofed wall of a building. The glow slowly began to draw closer, and after a moment, he could see a dim silhouette in a voluminous cloak, holding an oil lamp in its left hand. The figure paused for a moment, as if hesitant, then approached. She crouched and, in a quiet, uncertain female voice, said,

"Get up, get up, or you'll get sick."

The morning sun, shining directly on his face, woke him. The room he was in was a small room with a bed and a small cabinet. Suddenly, with a terrible creak, the door opened, and a short woman in a simple dress the color of yellowed leaves and raven-black hair falling to her delicate shoulders slowly emerged.

"You're finally awake," she asked with concern. "How are you feeling?

" "Well, thank you for your help. Where am I?

" "At the roadside inn, yesterday I found you in the mud near the building." She replied. "My name is Sarah, and yours?"

"Elrand Starliing, where are my armor and weapons?" He asked with concern.

"Don't worry, Elrand, your weapons are safe, I'll have them brought to you immediately." There was a moment's silence. "You've been raving all night." She began. "Something about Norrish having fallen and that you need to get to Esgharoth."

"By Kelembrion." He exclaimed. "I have to get going." "

Why are you in such a hurry?" She asked curiously.

"Because Norrish really has fallen." He roared, then jumped to his feet and began hastily putting on his shirt, his red curls tangling several times in the straps.

"I am a knight of the crown, the only one who managed to escape the siege, and it is my duty to inform Lord Elrond of the loss of Norrish." He looked at her gravely. "Get away from here as quickly as possible, the horde will arrive in a few days. And by then it will be too late." She nodded, then ran out the door, shouting something.

Less than a minute later, two boys in simple tunics ran up, carrying knightly weapons. Elrand put on his breastplate and visored helmet, strapped his sword to his belt, and grabbed his shield in his hand. He ran out of the inn, buttoning up his red cloak with seven white stars. A clean and well-fed horse was waiting in front of the building. When he mounted, he noticed a saddlebag with food attached to the saddle. But where is the woman with raven-black hair? "I don't have time for this," he thought. He glanced at the inn one last time, hoping Sarah would come to say goodbye to him after all. She didn't. He turned the animal around, spurred it on its ebony flanks, and then galloped toward Esgharod.

II

He had been in the saddle for a dozen or so hours, eating in the saddle. He hadn't slept, knew he couldn't sleep now; he had ridden all night. In the morning, when the first rays of sunlight gleamed on his breastplate. With weary eyes, he spotted the first of the three towers of the Grand Master's palace. He spurred his mount, riding along the fastest road leading to the barracks gates, which, to the peasants' dismay, were freshly plowed fields. When he reached a massive metal gate topped with two turrets. Each always had at least four crossbowmen,

he roared at one of them.

"Open."

The guard lazily leaned over the battlement.

"What's the matter?" He yelled.

"I am Elrand Starliing, and I bring news from Norrish."

The man in chainmail bulged, then ordered two other guards to open the gate. The boy didn't wait long, as soon as the gate swung open enough to accommodate a horse and rider. He squeezed in, hastily entering a cobbled courtyard surrounded by a wall and various buildings. From one of them, a tall, broad-shouldered knight dressed much like himself emerged hastily. The stranger glanced around the square, his gaze settling on the newly minted warrior. They stared at each other for a moment. Elrand shuddered at the sight of cold blue eyes and an equally cold expression. "What a man must go through to look like that," he thought. The man slowly approached him.

"Hello, my name is Rothan. You are the messenger from Norrish." Elrand nodded.

"The Grand Master is waiting, sir..."

"Elrand, Elrand Starliing."

The boy dismounted and followed Rothan. They entered the building. They walked down a long, wide corridor, lined with ornate armor. Dozens of tapestries hung on the walls, the floor was strewn with soft carpets, and the hallway was crowned by large wooden doors with silver fittings. The knights stopped, and Rothan removed his helm with a gesture, motioning for Elrand to do the same. The man had closely cropped black hair, which surprised him greatly, as it was fashionable for the knights of the Crown to wear long hair. The older knight, for that was certainly what Rothan was, ignored the boy's gaze and opened the silver-plated door. They entered a large circular hall, its marble floor gleaming pure white, and the walls were decorated with paintings of all the Grand Masters of the Crown Order. The ceiling was topped by a dome, atop which hung a golden chandelier with hundreds of candles. A dozen knights stood in the room, their eyes fixed on a beautifully ornate throne, upon which sat a tall man with long blond hair and bushy eyebrows. He was dressed in a silver breastplate with the emblem of a crown, over which flowed a blood-red cloak trimmed with gold, at the knight's belt was a sword inlaid with precious metals, the blade of the weapon struck the high soldier's boots.

"Greetings, brother, what news do you bring from the east?"

Erland bowed low, his red hair covering his face and sweeping the marble floor.

"Norrish..." Norrish fell.

Whispers echoed through the hall. Even Rothan's stony face, though unchanged in expression, paled considerably. The Grand Master of the Crown Order leaped to his feet.

"It cannot be," he exclaimed.

The young knight took a step forward.

"It is true," he began. "I am the only survivor."

The blond man slowly descended the throne steps.

"How?" He roared. "How in the name of demons have we lost?"

"Sir, the Horde appeared out of nowhere, hundreds of thousands of them, and..." he hesitated for a moment. "With them were figures in black robes, mounted on membranous winged beasts that surpassed all known creatures in size, and from their mouths burst pillars of fire.

There was a momentary silence, then the master's words came.

"Inform the king, summon troops from all over the land. And send messengers to Feanaor and Khammar Naar.

" III

"They are coming," a shout rang out. "They are coming." Elrand Starling hastily climbed the walls, where Rothan was already waiting for him. "

Look," he said, pointing to the horizon, beyond which the approaching armies of the united kingdoms could be seen. At the forefront of the elven army marched Khorrian archers, in golden armor, their helmets styled after eagle heads. Behind them, like a snake, writhed along the roads hundreds of litters carried by slaves, carrying the most distinguished mages of Feanaor. After a moment, dwarven troops approaching from the east could also be seen. At the head of the army, on a massive round shield carried by eight warriors, stood the master of the ruling Arr-Ghallad clan. His long red beard, braided into a dozen braids, fell over inlaid gromlite armor. In his right hand he held a silver hammer, and in his left the Khammar-naar crest, depicting two golden mountains set with jewels. Just behind him, shield after shield, the champions marched in their full glory. Their gold and silver armor gleamed in the sun. In their hands, they held various hammers and axes, with only one thing in common: diamonds, inlays, and all manner of other embellishments. The procession was concluded by dwarven warriors, who spent their time singing bawdy songs.

The next day, King Zaarion himself arrived in Esgharot. Escorted by the Crown Knights, they sat in the Grand Master's hall, planning their departure. Erland and Rothan stood on the wall, watching the setting sun. "

Just look," the boy said. "We've always fought with dwarves and elves." But when it came to what, what to... He pointed to a fire lit just against the wall, where a few people, elves and dwarves were sitting, drinking wine and joking among themselves.

"Rothan, and you? You have family, friends." The black-haired man looked him in the eye. But he averted his gaze at the sight of the knight's cold face.

"Why?" he asked. "So they would have someone to mourn." "I am a knight of the crown, and it is my duty to protect Lurinth.

" "Dog's blood," Elrand shouted. "And family, wine, and other joys of the world?" "

You can live without them. When you understand this, you can say you are a true knight. Now sleep, tomorrow we march."

It was early morning when the trumpet sounded from the southern tower to signal their departure. Three armies under the command of the Order's Master, King Zaarion, and the Master of the Arr-Ghallad clan set off towards the Grohhan wall. The knights of the crown, the dwarven masters, and the Grohhan archers rode in front, behind them stretched the Lurinthian troops, warriors, and mages.

Toward evening, a halt was called.

Starling sat by the fire with a few dwarves drinking wine and shouting to the skies.

"The horde of scum." One roared.

"The dog licked their balls." The other added.

The boy looked at the dwarves with pity. "Could these boors be the great warriors they were made out to be?" With that thought in mind, he went to bed, wrapping himself in a thick traveling cloak.

The sound of a dwarven horn roused him from his sleep. He stood up, brushing himself off. He saw Rothan at the horses, fiddling with his saddlebags. Without a word, he mounted and slowly followed the group. Time dragged on inexorably, and they rode in silence. Only occasionally did the joyful chants of dwarven warriors drift from behind. The sun was high when they saw the mighty towers of Norrish in the distance. But the sight did not bring them joy. Thick columns of smoke, black as Mother Night itself, rose from the keep walls. The smell of death hung in the air. The people were saddened; they knew that Norrish had truly fallen. They knew a fight awaited them. But how... How could they fight something that had managed to destroy thirty-meter walls and a steel gate five cubits thick? The Order Master turned his head slightly.

"Sir Rothan, take ten men and search the fortress. If you see anything disturbing, turn back immediately." The black-haired man nodded knowingly, then began shouting names. Finally, he gestured to Elrand.

They were several dozen yards from the walls when they noticed a hole, several cubits in diameter, burned in the massive stone wall next to the gates. As they rode through it, they were horrified to find the same holes yawning in the other fortifications. They had already passed the first two barbicans and saw the main gate ahead. Its large steel doors were wide open.

"The gates are open," Rothan began, "the portcullis is down." They fled. The enemy was breaking through the walls.

But what could have melted the stone, Elrand?" The boy's hands began to shake.

"I... I already told you." He stammered. "I was standing on the rear tower when it started. Those beasts were simply burning through the walls, clearing the way for the trolls and everyone else. We couldn't do anything; some fought in the courtyard, but most fled.

They entered a square, in the center of which stood a fort with two massive towers hundreds of feet high. Along the central wall, several meters high, were various buildings: a forge, an armory, barracks. All the structures were nestled against the thick wall. Bodies lay all around, hundreds of bodies. Some pierced by spears, some impaled on swords. A dozen or so burned men lay against the scorched wall. The only enemy corpses they could see were those of the lizardmen. They rested in a strange circle, in the center of which knelt a powerful man in Knight armor. It was loaded with dozens of pikes, and at his feet lay a great sword, the crossguard of which would have been as high as the top of any of their heads.

"Father!" one of the knights shouted. He jumped from his horse, removing his helmet to reveal his long blond hair and drawn face. He was younger than Elrand, his eyesight no greater than eighteen years. He ran to the dead man, ripping the spearheads from his breastplate. The body fell to the ground with a crunch of metal. The blond boy stood up, staring dumbly at his dead father.

"For Lurinth." He whispered, and in one swift movement, he drew the dagger from his belt and plunged it into his throat. Seeing this, Erland quickly jumped from his horse, trying to grab the knight's hand. But it was too late; by the time he reached him, he was already lying in a pool of blood, which spread evenly across the cobblestones, creating a crimson checkerboard. Then a terrifying roar reached their ears, followed by a gust of wind with the force of a hurricane. The horses neighed and leaped frantically as a massive, membranous-winged beast flew overhead. Its moon-black scales gleamed in the spring sun. The creature twirled in the air, then, with the grace of a butterfly, came to rest on one of the fortress's two gigantic towers. An icy chill ran down Elrand's spine. The knight stared at the mighty dragon, majestically spreading its wings.

"Camp!" he thought. "We must warn them." They spurred their horses through the courtyard to the point where they entered the keep. As they passed through the main gate, the battle unfolded before their eyes, revealing the clashing armies of the three kingdoms and the hordes. Only now did the sounds of battle reach them. The clash of metal on metal, the groans of slaughtered creatures, and the ubiquitous, savage roar of winged nightmares. Entire ranks of trolls, orcs, and lizardmen, supported by dragons flying around the battlefield, and massive humanoid figures towering like mountains above the other troops, charged the dwarven, dwarven armies, dwarves, and humans, dwarves in comparison. All the knights stood stunned, watching the battle, the end of which was already sealed. Elrand looked at the black-haired knight, a smile spreading across his young face. A smile saturated with sadness and fear.

"Sir Rothan," the boy said,

"Sir Elrand."

They both exchanged a knowing look, then put on their helmets and drew their swords. The rest of the knights did the same.

"For Lurinth," whispered Elrand

. "For Lurinth," the knights shouted in unison.