by P D Dennison
“I call upon you all now to help me muster our armies into two separate forces to make the pre-emptive strike on Graxxen’s armies before they have a chance to leave the high country. If we act with haste, we may be able to hold them in the western High Pass until reinforcements arrive. What say you?”
After some banter over his recent appointment to the position of Arch Mage of the Tower with Lady Kaalinda Flockhart Rostioff was able to bring the Council together and come to an agreement.
Rostioff had fully assessed the readiness of the Tower Garrisons, both Rangers and War Magi. Uuthor Caazan, High Commander of the Tower Ranger Garrison had reported back that he had ten thousand men at his disposal at present and that they stood ready to march in whichever direction Rostioff wished them pointed. Of course he didn’t intend to leave the city of Stroms Gate without any of its Rangers to defend in case of the worst case scenario where Graxxen somehow made his way to the foot of the Tower. He ordered half the men to remain in Stroms Gate while he divided the others and sent various commands elsewhere in Shaarn to the east toward the hidden pass and a handful to the North along with the Warrior Priests.
Haribiskaar Pumblamore Arch Mage and High Priest of Justice and Beatific Study, the commander of the Tower Warrior Priests had assembled his men at the Tower. Rostioff ordered a detachment of them north to the High Pass. He bid several companies stay at the city of Hilltop to await further command, fortifying their position there in case the pass were taken.
The rest, the War Magi and the Healers he would divide up amongst the company of the Rangers and Warrior Priests to serve where needed.
Rostioff had no idea what to expect next from Graxxen. He did know the lich possessed magick far beyond the capability of any of the Tower Magi including himself and that to face the beast in single combat would be foolish. He felt it best to protect the people of Shaarn and defend the strategic points of interest he felt Graxxen’s forces most likely to attack. The eastern pass and the High Pass north of Hilltop would be the keys to holding the South from the goblins for now, of that much he felt sure.
That still left the Northerners exposed to defend themselves. The Horde grew through the agesto be a sturdy and vicious breed of warriors in their own right. They’d have to hold the North with their own might until Haribiskaar and his men could secure the High Pass, make contact and send them aid. At the very least they’d have to hold out until the dwarven reinforcements from Stonehammer Keep made their way onto the plains.
He felt the dragon eggs to be of the utmost importance and prayed to Bragi for Manya to be back at the Tower to tend them as quickly as she could.
At this stage, he felt he ought to be feeling some sense of preparedness in facing the armies of the dark one, but still lingering doubt hung in his mind. The legends told by the old scribe Zeraan Taaselfee had said that the Land of Shaarn would see visited upon her an Age of Darkness. Rostioff hoped he would not be the man to lead the good folk of his realm into a time of such despair He fought off the thoughts of despair that plagued his mind and focused on ensuring the soldiers prepared to march.
The armies prepared and began leaving the following day. The War Magi arrived first to the courtyard the next morning as Rostioff had them on high alert. They held the power of the army and under his direct command as Arch Mage of the Tower with Raymoondo, the Arch Mage of Blood Magick, taking his direction and acting out his precise orders. The Ranger Garrison arrived next. They travelled light so they could be fleet of foot. The Warrior Priests, the shield arm and protectorate of the army’s hand-to-hand unit at large came in one massive force and assembled on the road outside the Tower to hear Rostioff speak.
The citizens of Stromsgate had never seen the army in its entirety. Taken aback by the sight of such might in the streets of their fair city, it was safe to say the the armies all assembled as one impressed the crowd. All of these people, save those of the races that lived long lives, held the luxury of being born into a time of peace and knew not of war and death. They lived happy quiet lives and such a military presence openly frightened the general citizenry.
Haribiskaar might have been a portly old fellow, but inside a fierce warrior’s flame burned brightly. A strategist at heart or he would have never been appointed over the Warrior Priests as their High Commander, he always took up the lead when going into battle. He’d worked all night with the tower cartographer to have a map created for each crew so that they could easily find the pass to the east.
Once all of the soldiers assembled, along with a great throng of citizens from the city, just out to see what all the commotion was about, Rostioff appeared on one of the high balconies of the Tower of High Sorcery which overlooked the city below to speak to his men.
“Good morn to you all! A fine day it is when the sun rises in the east warm and soft as it does today! Our children laugh and play freely in the streets and we enjoy great prosperity and freedom in the Kingdom of Castille!” He paused a moment as the crowd murmured cheerily below. “But that could all change. A terrible evil has awakened in the Mystpeaks and this evil seeks to take from us our light and airy mornings. It seeks to steal away our joy, plunging our land and our people into darkness under wicked and oppressive rule as slaves.
“We are a generation of men and women born to peace and ease in life, but that does not mean we are too soft to fight for that which we might take for granted at times. We are also a wise and hard-working generation and we are willing and able to fight for land and life when called to it. We will rise against this evil and fight for our freedoms. We will fight for our lives. And we will fight for the light! We will never surrender! Never!” With that he raised Danthalas’ brilliant white staff into the air in one hand and with his other arm drove his clenched fist into the air.
The crowd of soldiers below him responded with a great roar and fists raised high. Even the good citizens of Stromsgate raised their fists in support of the cause cheering and chanting for their army.
To the east marched Uuthor with the bulk of his Rangers, sending only a handful with the other crew headed north as scouts. Along with him and his five thousand men of the Ranger Garrison marched some healers of Kaalinda’s school of healing and portention and a contingent of War Magi for added support if needed.
Behind them marched Haribiskaar and his legions of Warrior Priests. They headed due north into the High Pass. Also among them travelled a handful of War Magi and several healers. It was thought the hardest fought battles would occur in the High Pass. He divided his force so almost half went east to support Uuthor and his Rangers and the rest came with him as he marched north.
Haribiskaar’s Warrior Priests seemed the most solemn of the throng of soldiers. They had seen some war with the goblins defending the gnomes in past seasons. They’d seen some fighting along the borders of the Mystpeaks into the horde lands at times when The Winter Wolf tried to extend their borders south of the range. The South always pushed them back, but not because the Barbarians were any less a military force, more so because they didn’t feel the need to live through blood lust any longer. More often than not they simply wanted to demonstrate their military prowess. Usually, once the horde had a few heads on pikes into the High Pass they backed into the North toward their own lands and let the Warrior Priests of the South have their victory by default. But this day, the priest’s marched to war facing the hammer of the goblin horde full on. They’d heard of the powers of the lich, Graxxen and the undead horde of ghouls he commanded, and they knew that there would be a sea of Southern blood spilled before the war was through.
Uuthor’s throng, though the more highly specialized of the two, was the smaller force and they marched into a pass they had not yet seen. It had only been described vaguely to them on a map that Haribiskaar had the Tower cartographer make. Theirs was a slightly different mission. They were ordered to take the pass and Dragon’s Maw Keep quickly, hold them with a company of some two hundred men, and move the bulk of the garrison into the Mystpeaks
to the north to the aid of the horde folk. It would also inhibit the goblin traffic into the North and put a serious choke point in place for their military travel. If they wanted in or out through that route they’d only be able to move very small contingents of goblin soldiers at a time to remain unseen in the woods, and even then it was quite likely that Uuthor’s highly skilled Rangers scouting those woods and mountain sides would spot them and intercept them before they could make it through.
Rostioff had also sent a small force of the Ranger Garrison, Warrior Priests, War Magi, and a handful of Kaalinda’s healers due east to the great wall near Gershmark in the Gnome Hills to ensure the goblins had no passage into the South without a blockade to meet them no matter which way they travelled. These men he also placed under the indirect order of Uuthor with scouts to travel in between the hidden pass and the wall at Gershmark with messages as required.
His plan was to take both passes. Once secured, he would reposition his forces to move into the Goblin Kingdoms through the Gnome Hills to put an end to their plaguing the good peoples of Shaarn once and for all. He was no military strategist, but he had the very good council of Haribiskaar and Uuthor. They understood what this war meant for the South and knew it wouldn’t be over quickly. Haribiskaar had gone so far as to predict it would span generations while Uuthor laughed that off uneasily, stating he believed they could take the passes within a couple of seven-nights and have the war won before next summer. Even a season-long campaign was a long haul for a people in a state of relative peace for many generations now. What Haribiskaar said truly frightened Rostioff. He hoped deep in his heart he wasn’t sending these men to the foot of a hundred-season war.
Chapter 20
Lady of the Faerie Wood
Late on their second day away from their companions, Postgaar and Turynn, along with their two wolf companions, Klo and Huggtand, made the great Upper Sarandanus River. It swelled and raged past them in a violent torrent of white wash. All bubbles and froth and every so often a sharp and dangerous looking rock peeked up from beneath the foam. The rocks looked large and sharp enough that it could steal a man’s head from his shoulders if he tried to brave the rapids.
The wolves that had travelled with the two stepped to the shore, took a drink, and then went back a ways to lay on the bank. Both Postgaar and Turynn had spoken to the wolves plainly a few times and just as the Lady of the Wood had told them, the wolves understood every word. They could not speak in the Common Tongue of men, but they could certainly understand well enough.
Postgaar found he’d already begun to pick up on the wolves’ body language. Dwarves possessed the gift to read and communicate with canines in a very gifted way, hence their people choosing to ride the Winter Wolves of the North into battle.
Turynn and Postgaar decided this was as good a spot as any for a campsite. Both agreed they wouldn’t be fording the river as the waters ran deep and fast. In places the riverbank deepened into a shallow gorge quite steep and rocky on each side. Across the river, they could see the forest of Nyxia’s sister, the Faerie Wood. It filled Postgaar with a strange feeling to even look upon it, as if he wanted to flee and get as far away from the edge of that wood as he could.
Turynn came up to stand beside him and survey the far shore of the mighty Sarandanus. He was of much the same mind as his dwarven companion and hoped for the wilds of the water and the shroud of the coming darkness to hold at bay whatever mysterious creatures lay on the far bank. The two returned to their camp, lay out their bed rolls, lit a fire, and took to smoking their pipes while noshing on dried venison and figs, sipping Postgaar’s precious ale between bites and puffs.
It seemed Postgaar travelled light in the food department, but everywhere he went he always had a few skins of ale for the road ahead and several pipes full of tobacco. They now drank ale of the gnomish sort. The Gnomes concocted a very potent and bitter brew with a hoppy finish. Neither Turynn nor Postgaar enjoyed the flavour or the potency of the elixir much, but it did its job and dulled their senses. They got themselves quite drunk on lager in a hurry and the tobacco they’d graciously been given by the gnomes also had a pleasant relaxing effect on them, which made sleep come on heavy. It left a man warm and groggy, cutting the chill of the lager and the night air. It didn’t take long before both men lay down and dosed off into a very deep and smoky slumber.
Turynn roused from the depths of his dreams first from the barking and growling of one of the wolves. The fire had nearly gone out so he must have slept a good long while before waking. It had grown unimaginably dark under the canopy of the trees, but a little bit of light remained available where the river cut through the forest and the moon shone down on their little camp site from there. Beside him lay the small form of Postgaar snoring loudly and heaving up and down with each breath, his ale skin clutched tightly in his little mitts. Turynn slipped from his bedroll silently so as not to disturb Postgaar. With all the stealth of a panther, he took up his bow and slipped on his soft-soled boots. He couldn’t see which of the wolves got worked up, but he sensed the creature to be close, maybe only ten or fifteen yards to the north of him. His elven vision and assassin-like stealth would serve him well enough. He could only see about thirty feet in the dark and needed to get a closer look.
The air felt cool and the wind low. He could smell the river and the trees in the damp of the night. Creeping silently through the bush, he began to see the tell tale heat signature of Klo take shape. She held her ground over Huggtand, who lay before her curled up in his side as if wounded. He wasn’t moving and his breathing appeared labored. As Turynn crept closer, he caught site of a form hovering in the air before the two wolves.
The figure that hovered in the air before the two wolves had no heat signature at all. All he could make out was a cold blank form like stone or death. Bat like wings buffeted slowly, clawed rear and fore paws hung from its tree trunk limbs. The creature seemed much larger than the ghouls they’d seen inside Dragon’s Maw Keep. The form hunched in the air, it’s slowly flapping wings the only thing to let a man know it even lived. No breeze came from the buffeting of the wings. No sound left the monster’s lips and it made no move to engage the wolf, but simply hovered there waiting. Turynn presumed it waited for the other wolf to move off so it could get at its kill. He nocked an arrow, crouched, and waited. Klo attempted to drag Huggtand away from the hovering form before her. Without a torch, Turynn couldn’t make out any details. As Klo moved, the form moved toward her. She set at it in a fit of rage barking and frothing at the mouth, but didn’t attack, nor did the great cold form. Turynn wasn’t quite sure what it was exactly, but he did remember the good Lady of the Danthar warning them that no harm should come to these wolves.
He had a thought it might be a ghost of some sort, but again, no light, no assurances. It certainly didn’t emanate the body heat of a living creature as it should. He knew of no beast in all Shaarn that cast a chilling pall such as this. He slunk back to wake Postgaar. The two of them could surely handle one beast of this size whatever it might be. Klo kept it at bay while he was gone. It was maybe two minutes and he returned with Postgaar and torches.
As they came into view of the wolf and the beast, they couldn’t believe their eyes. Postgaar dropped his torch it startled him so. A stone gargoyle hovered over Klo and Huggtand. It caught sight of Turynn and Postgaar as their torchlight fell on it. Its eyes flashed an odd tan glow momentarily. It roared, a terrible, gravely sound that shook the ground and trees around them fiercely. Both Turynn and Postgaar felt its icy breath on them. It had the look and feel of a dead thing like the ghouls, but its hide was stone. It moved toward them, not more than five feet away when Postgaar jumped forward.
“Back off, beast, or we’ll test that stone hide of yours against dwarven Mithril! I already know which is stronger! Care to find out for yourself?”
He stepped forward slowly and the beast roared again, taking a swing out at Postgaar with one of its massive stone paws. It moved quite def
tly for a giant gargoyle and caught hold of Postgaar, pinning him to the ground with ease in a most uncomfortable position. His legs and arms stuck out from underneath the massive paw, wriggling and kicking wildly as his mouth followed up with a series of curses the likes of which no mystic wolf or giant gargoyle had ever been privy to.
Turynn panicked and loosed an arrow at the beast, which it deflected easily. He quickly searched around the dark ground for Postgaar’s axe, thinking he might fare better with the Mithril axe than a bow. In doing so, he left himself vulnerable and the tail of the great beast came about and coiled about Turynn’s waist. It slowly began to flap its huge stone wings, lifting them high into air and heading southeast over the Sarandanus into the Faerie Wood. Klo barked as the beast took them from their campsite, but she had far more concern for Huggtand than she had to set into a chase after Postgaar and Turynn.
The Faerie Wood looked an altogether different sort of forest from the Danthar. The trees looked to be predominantly Willow and Maple with the odd Aspen, Birch, or Poplar thrown in.
The night air blew soft, cool and fresh and the sky clear with every star visible out in the blackness of the uncivilized woods. The gargoyle didn’t hurt either of them, but seemed to be taking them somewhere. Its grip, surprisingly gentle for such a massive chunk of stone. They flew low over the treetops and Turynn thought he heard the sound of voices below. Once it was laughter as he briefly caught a glimpse of firelight with a circle of folk seated about it, once it was simply talking they heard as the gargoyle passed over what looked to be a small village, mostly asleep. He couldn’t see just what sort of folk lived in the very mysterious Faerie Wood, but he guessed them to be elf folk by their height and slightness of build. After about ten minutes, the gargoyle began to descend on a clearing below with a small tower at its center. Light emanated from the windows.