My Unfinished Stories" Part 6 Chronicles of the Lands of Lhydia "Black Horizon" I

When they reached Salenhorn late in the evening, the eastern horizon blazed red. Walverde wondered how much longer the eternal city of Charlesdam could resist the invaders. By a stroke of luck, they managed to evade the undead patrols, hiding in the fog and sailing along the shoreline undisturbed.

The Templar stronghold had been built on a small island off the coast, where, in addition to the castle itself and its harbor, the village of Bregenns had been established, which was now unusually crowded. Refugees of all stripes who had managed to reach the island camped in makeshift tents in every courtyard. Among them were gnomes and humans from the Land of Salen, but dwarves could also be found, conducting their business in almost every corner of Lhydia. Besides them, the island was inhabited by elves, whose way of life here closely resembled that of humans. Although the village had many trees, bushes, and shrubs, and perhaps flowers in spring, the local elves had adopted a more human lifestyle: they cultivated the land and lived in wooden two-story houses.

Khail was the only one billeted in the keep; his companions were placed in the house of the priest Mijamogh. He promised to visit them as soon as he was settled. Little Mitch, whom Walverde had rescued with his parents in Northend (???!), had become very attached to him, and Khail had promised to teach him the art of swordsmanship. He had grown very fond of the boy and was looking forward to seeing him again.

Meanwhile, Walverde stood in the main chamber of the keep by the fireplace, where a small fire danced eagerly on a large, round log of wood. The warmth brought him great pleasure after days spent at sea. He hung up his soaked cloak, but he didn't take off his trousers and boots yet, instead pulling a chair closer to the fire and sitting with a silver goblet of mulled grape wine. He waited for Kharim de Nendal, the fortress's acting Grand Master in his absence.

He thought of the defenders of Charlesdam, of the dwarves guarding the eastern gate, where the fighting was fiercest. He thought of the young king, of his wounded brother, and finally of Kharonaey's prophecy, which had thrust him into the vortex of events and the confluence of strange circumstances. He finally thought of the source of all these misfortunes—Xenor of Ashyria, the hated persecutor and perpetrator of all misfortune.

The opening of the door roused the paladin from his reverie. A short man dressed in a silver and black tunic entered the chamber, with, Walverde noted, a piercing gaze.

"Welcome to our humble abode, my lord," Nedal began, pulling up a chair and sitting beside him. "We have been watching for you for some time. Our spies have reported that the horde has abandoned the siege of Charlesdam."

Walverde jumped at Nedal's words. He smiled sadly and continued:

"Unfortunately, this is only a pause in the siege. Xenor controls the area around the Eternal City. He only abandoned the assault..." He paused to sip from his cup. "...There is no longer any route to the city, neither by sea nor land. He himself set out to meet the united army of the lands, which has gathered on the southern outskirts of Charlesdam Forest. Lewinthian of Windhir commands there. Our legions are gathering on the Ravenhill Heights; Master Fioldshoff set out there two days ago as well. He took two-thirds of Salenhorn's army with him. If they attack us, we won't last long.

" "One must always hope," the paladin replied. "Even when all else has failed, brother. Have you forgotten that?

" "No, of course, thank you. Sometimes I need words like that. You see, in our situation, our only option is to flee to Indirland; we can't go any further back." The Order was founded to defend the Land from all evil, but unfortunately, we're losing to Xenor, and clearly so for now.

"It's true, if the horde reaches Indirland, there will be nowhere left to flee. Everything is in Kharonaey's hands.

" "Yes, everything is in the Holy Lady's hands. Tell me what your plans are," Nedal changed the subject and poured the wine into the goblets.

"I'd like to rest here for a few days and then move on to Earthland. Unless the horde reaches there before us, too. Then I'll take the boy to Indirland, where he'll be safe under the care of the priests. At least for a while."

Walverde glanced around the chamber. He had to admit that the knights had decorated the hall quite nicely. Black and white curtains with the Order's coats of arms hung from the high windows, and various humanoid statues and racks of armor were placed along the shorter walls.

"There's someone here who wants to meet you," Nedal began after a moment. Seeing the paladin's surprised look, he quickly explained,

"Bettlehorn arrived here a week ago. He wants to see the boy. "

Walverde stopped admiring the chamber and looked at Nedal. He smiled and added,

"You can meet him at the temple in the morning. He's helping the refugees.

" "Good old Roh Bettlehorn. I haven't seen him in eight years. He probably hasn't changed at all.

" "He's gone a bit gray, and his beard seems longer," Nedal explained.

"When I was little, on Indirland, Bettlehorn used to visit me and other young boys. He always said that Lady Kharonaey would be very useful to us. Later, he taught me spells at the school at the monastery. He used to say, 'Patience is the greatest of virtues! Anyone who wants to learn spells and conjurations must first learn patience!'"

They continued talking until midnight. Finally, Walverde's exhaustion took its toll. He couldn't control his yawning, so he politely thanked him and, escorted by his host, went to the modestly furnished cell prepared for him.

The next day, Walverde awoke well after noon. He grabbed a quick snack, passed through the kitchen, and went straight to the temple, which towered over the village like a building from another dimension. Situated on a small hill, it provided an excellent defensive position in itself. Many people bustled about in front of the building, including several priests who were bringing aid to the arriving refugees. However, the paladin couldn't see his former teacher anywhere. He approached one of the priests and asked,

"He's inside the temple, preparing a potion for one of the sick."

He found him in a niche behind the altar. The pleasant, soothing scent of the forest wafted around him. He stood with his back to the cauldron and, without turning away, said,

"Greetings to my most gifted student!"

"And I greet you, my friend."

They embraced tightly. Bettlehorn studied the paladin for a moment. Then, after this inspection, he said with amusement,

"You've grown old, boy. Perhaps I should make you a herbal infusion?

" "No, thank you. I'm grown now and I make my own herbs."

They both burst out laughing. The old man invited the paladin to a carved table. He took a carafe of wine and two cups from the cabinet. For over an hour they drank and reminisced about old times, until finally the old man said,

"We could go on and on, and day and night wouldn't be enough. But let's get to the heart of the matter. Are you sure the boy is the heir?

" "You'll sense it when you see him. You're more sensitive to magic than I am, and I can sense him. Besides, he has a mark on his wrist.

" "You say Xenor rides Yendhor, guardian of Ashtar's barrow." He thoughtfully stroked his beard.

"For now, there's no way to catch him. He has artifacts that give him unimaginable power. He's practically immortal.

" "We need to call a council in Earthland. It will take some time for all the brother priests to gather.

" "Let's go," Walverde said, standing up. "Let's see what our little chosen one is up to."

They found him in the yard, playing with other children. He shouted with delight at the sight of the Paladin and ran up to them, giving Khail a punch.

"When will you teach me to fight with a sword?" he asked.

"Soon, maybe even today.

" "Now! Now!

" "Easy, Mitch. First, I'd like to introduce you to someone." Walverde indicated the priest, who smiled benevolently. At that moment, a slight shiver in the air was felt. The old man closed his eyes. When he opened them, a broad smile appeared on his face. He looked at the Paladin, who smiled back and said to the boy:

"Run to your friends. We'll practice this afternoon."

The boy, delighted, ran off to show off to his friends. Walverde and Bettlehorn stood still, watching him.

"You sensed it, right?

" "He has such power. We'll have to run some tests. There's the right equipment in Earthland. Who are the parents?

" "They ran the inn before Xenor arrived. They're the only ones who survived his... Return.

" "The boy has been through a lot. Fortunately, children forget quickly."

Mitch had already told his friends about the adventures he'd had and that the Paladin had promised to teach him how to fight. Now they were running around with wooden swords, pretending to be knights.

Over the next few days, they visited the boy several more times. Walverde taught him fencing, and the priest taught him herbalism. Of course, Mitch learned swordsmanship more eagerly and quickly, but he also made progress in herbalism. Then, together with the children, he continued training in the yard. The weather was getting worse. Heavy, dark clouds drifted across the sky, and heavy snow fell from them. The temperature dropped day by day. In place of the tents, buildings were hastily erected to house the refugees. The situation was becoming increasingly difficult.

***

II

The freezing snow clung to armor and chainmail. The chilled army, weary from waiting for battle, was growing impatient. It was becoming increasingly difficult to control them. Cases of desertion, skirmishes, and courts-martial multiplied. Finally, after a week of waiting, one of the patrols sent out to scout the land brought news of an approaching horde of undead, orcs, and various allies of Xenor.

King Lewinthian ordered full readiness and summoned all the chieftains for a briefing. When everyone had gathered in his tent, he began without further ado:

"Dear friends, the lands are in turmoil. From the north comes Xenor's storm, against which we will give a decisive battle here. From the south, his countrymen are also preparing an attack." Therefore, despite the objections of some of you, I have sent further reinforcements there for the Templars guarding the rear.

"It is not fitting to arbitrarily dispose of forces," objected Lokher ad Engelheard, ruler of the Everwood Lands, neighboring Charlesdam. Several lesser princes echoed his sentiments. A general uproar ensued. Lewinthian sat down resignedly and buried his face in his hands.

"Calm down!" the aged nobleman and Supreme Master of the Templar Order's Forces, Prince Nilf Appendale, slammed his sword flat on the table. "You're behaving like women at a marketplace!"

The Master's face, flushed with anger, seemed to reflect the views of the other leaders, who did not protest Lewinthian's decision. When silence fell, Appendale continued in a calmer voice:

"We can't leave our rear unprotected. We all have one goal. We must stop the horde. No matter the sacrifices we may incur," he said, looking at those who had just raised a fuss, "but perhaps not all of us care about that. Understand. If Xenor passes through us, there will be nothing left to defend."

No one else spoke. Lewinthian rose, nodded, thanked the Master Templar, and said,

"You chose me as leader. It's too late to change anything now. If no one objects, I propose placing the Kharonaean Order's cavalry on the left flank, while King Engelheard and Prince Preamonn's riders will stand on the right. Let us move! May the gods aid us with their wisdom and grace.

The weather had cleared somewhat. The snow was falling less harshly, and the wind was no longer blowing with such force. Lewinthian and his headquarters took up position on a small rise overlooking Ravenhill Highlands, where the united forces of the Lhydian Lands had gathered.

At the forefront were the commoners armed with scythes and axes, along with the regular infantry: pikemen under the banners of Lewinthian of Windhir, Leon de Baarkhadd, and Hakll of Southville. Alongside them were dwarven axemen under the command of William of Hammer and the elite guard of the king of eastern Myrd, Sorren Hollowdsen. Behind them, on the wings were hordes of archers and crossbowmen from Heall and southern Shivas, and crossbowmen of Prince Dinnar of Abadoonth, seasoned in the recent Katharian war. Supporting them were archers from the western coast and elves under the command of Prince Amvinn. In front of Lewinthian's tent, the entire cavalry (over ten thousand) awaited the signal to attack, divided into light cavalry, horse archers, and finally, almost at the king's feet, the heavily armed flower of the lands' knighthood.

This sight filled the chiefs with pride and demonstrated the strength and power of the army, which included a multitude of priests of various religions and beliefs, as well as several court magicians, led by the most renowned of them, King Lewinthian's advisor, Matthiss of the Purple Fields. In all, some forty-five thousand troops were gathered at Ravenhill.

To the front, several lightly armed riders emerged from the deep forest in three different locations, pursued by orcs mounted on large wolves. The riders were recently dispatched scouts. A commotion rose among the troops. Everyone waited in suspense. Lewinthian ordered a detachment of mounted archers to ride out ahead of the infantry. When the scouts passed the line of arrow fire, it was clear they would outrun the pursuers. The orcs, known for their ferocity, drove their wolves further after the fleeing ones. The order was given to open fire. A hail of arrows rained down on the orcs, who fell slain right behind the scouts. The remaining orcs, led by the purple-cloaked orc mounted on the largest wolf, rose. A joyful cry rose as the survivors reached the front ranks of the united army. The orc turned his riders toward the forest wall, where a rapidly thickening fog was already gathering.

The scouts arrived at Lewinthian. They were tired and dirty, but they kept their composure. There were six of them, half of the scouting party.

"This cursed fog is veiling everything, Sire," the scout leader began, bowing. "We ventured into it. I ordered the men to split up. Three by three. We left our horses at the edge of the forest. We went deeper. There was little to see, but the sounds made the hairs stand on end. The howls of wolves and the damned, the shrieks of orcs and the transformed, and the stench, a rotten stench, came with the wind.

The lord stood silently listening to the scout's report, the mere memory sending shivers down his spine. Lewinthian saw fear in his eyes. It wasn't fear of the enemy. He was certain of that. It was fear of the unfathomable force they had encountered in the forest.

"We had reached two hundred paces into the thicket when, out of nowhere, the fog cleared. We saw entire hordes of orcs, undead, and other terrifying creatures. My Lord, do not take me for a coward, but every filth of the Realms is marching towards us, and something else. Something very evil, dark from the very depths of hell." The soldier shuddered involuntarily. "You couldn't see it, but you could feel its power and purest evil!" Then the orcs riding in front, as if under some command, rushed after us. I lost half my unit before we reached the horses. Forgive me, King, we were caught off guard," he concluded and bowed.

The scouts departed to rejoin their troops. The entire army was on full alert, horses snorted excitedly, and the priests' quiet prayers and incantations could be heard. The fog was thickening when suddenly a faint shadow rose above the treetops. It grew larger as it approached. When it reached the edge of the forest, fear gripped Lewinthian's troops. Lord Xenor of Ashyria appeared before them. In a purple cloak, like a demon, he rode the ice dragon Yendwill. With unimaginable speed, he flew over the gathered army. A terrifying laugh echoed overhead. Everyone froze. Some ducked their heads, others would have fled long ago if not for the discipline of their commanders, who shouted at their soldiers:

"Hold the line! If anyone starts running, I will kill them personally!"

Meanwhile, the dragon circled and returned, descending. A voice echoed in everyone's heads, like the grinding of stone slabs:

"People of the Lands, cease your futile resistance. You will only worsen your situation. Cease resistance! Humble yourselves before the heir of Ashtar!"

Lewinthian stepped forward before the pale nobles and roared at the top of his voice:

"People of Lhydia! This is our moment of glory or death! We face the choice of a slavish death in the devil's service or a glorious death with song on our lips in defense of our homes! Courage and strength, brothers! For freedom! For honor!"

Contrary to expectations, a low murmur arose, followed by a proud and powerful cry from the warriors determined to die.

"You have chosen!" said Xenor. "None of you will ever return home!"

The dragon's shadow passed over the army once more. As it reached the forest wall again, the dragon let out a prolonged roar, so powerful that the earth shook. This was the signal for the horde, which launched its attack. Hundreds, then thousands, of various creatures burst from the trees. On the right, armed orcs, in the center, transformed northmen, and on the left, a variety of creatures, summoned by the lord of darkness and screaming wildly, charged Lewinthian's army.

The first ranks of the horde collapsed under a hail of crossbowmen's bolts, who opened fire from the wings, supported by mages unleashing fireballs and lightning bolts. The further ranks of the horde slowed only momentarily, but, propelled by some invisible force, quickly regained their murderous momentum. Once again, successive ranks of the enemy fell under a hail of arrows fired by archers. The elves, especially, renowned for their keen aim, rained death upon the enemy ranks. However, more and more of the dark army continued to emerge from the forest, and Lewinthian surmised that this was, for now, the outpost of Xenor's actual forces.

Lewinthian glanced at the fortified line at the very front of the infantry. They seemed to stand calmly and disciplined, awaiting the horde's attack. But the king knew perfectly well what was going through the minds of these soldiers.

Meanwhile, the horde's pressure increased, and it became clear that they couldn't be held at bay for long. A moment later, it happened. The front ranks of the horde clashed with the royal infantry. The clash of steel, cries, and an inhuman howl rose from the heights. At that moment, Xenor reappeared on his dragon, breathing its breath without regard for his own troops. Most of the commoners and a significant number of the pikemen fell lifeless. In response, a hail of arrows flew at the dragon, but Xenor skillfully maneuvered his mount, evading the threat. He continued to laugh maniacally.

The king ordered the infantry to advance against the new horde, among which the archers continued to wreak havoc. The front rank: the combined remnants of the commoners and the elite of the Myrd guard, under cover of crossbowmen and archers, charged the enemy, crushing their advance formations. The orcs turned and began to retreat. Lewinthian realized he could now inflict serious losses on the horde. He unleashed the dwarves, whose impetus destroyed everything within reach of their axes. The enemy retreated. Horns were blown. The United Lands infantry retreated to their previously established positions.

"Report! Report!" shouted the king. A moment later, one of his generals began reporting:

"Seven hundred peasants fallen. Some two hundred and twenty pikemen. Three dwarves. The enemy's losses were much higher."

The slope of a small hill was now littered with corpses, mostly orcs, undead, and humanoid creatures summoned by Xenor's necromancers. The ruler, however, realized this was only the beginning, a kind of examination of the enemy by the sorcerer. The real attack was yet to come.