Destiny

by Pedro Urvi

  “Finish them! Death to the invader!” Solin shouted as he delivered strokes right and left, seeking to kill every Norghanian around him. The enemy soldiers launched themselves against them as if possessed by an insatiable thirst for blood. Gerart was overtaken by several enemies in the thick of the fighting and escaped death by a hair’s-breadth. The King was forced to move a few steps away.

  They were surrounded by enemies.

  All of a sudden a spear caught the King in the thigh. He lost his footing.

  Two enormous Norghanians hurled themselves on him, brandishing war-axes.

  Like a madman Gerart tried to get to his father’s side to help him, but found his way blocked by enemies.

  “The King! Help the King!” he cried desperately to his men.

  Several soldiers turned when they heard this and tried to reach the King, who was fighting back with all his might, dealing two-handed strokes. An enemy axe hit him with brutal force on the shoulder and it penetrated his armor. The King grunted with pain, but went on fighting and thrust his sword through the Norghanian who had wounded him. Before he could free his sword another war axe struck him on the side. Solin bent double in pain and yelled:

  “For Rogdon!”

  Gerart fought frantically to reach his father, his heart mad with anguish; he was almost at his side, almost with him.

  A Norghanian giant, as tall as he was massive, his blond beard stained with blood, his eyes blue and cold as ice, reared above the fallen King. With his axe he delivered a brutal two-handed stroke to Solin’s chest which pierced his armor.

  “Father!” Gerart cried out. Beside himself with anguish, he ran to the huge enemy, who was preparing to cut off the King’s head. Gerart swung his sword with both hands and slit his throat, then stabbed him savagely several times.

  He knelt by the dying King, and with the help of several soldiers protected his body. Gerart held his dying father in his lap. The King took his arm.

  “Listen carefully, Gerart… The moment has come… you must take my throne. The people will follow you after my death. Lead the defense. Fight for our people. Don’t fail them.”

  “Father, no… you must live. We need you.”

  “They have dealt death to me, my son. It is your hour, Gerart. I have taught you well. I have been hard with you, I know, but also fair. You are ready. You must be King of Rogdon. It is your destiny. So it has always been, and for that I have raised you.”

  Gerart bowed his head at his father’s words.

  “What other duty do you assign to me, Father?”

  “Honor and your feeling for your country must always guide you, Gerart. Do not forget… All my faith is in you…”

  “Father, don’t leave me… not now…”

  “My time is over, my son… I know you will not disappoint me… my heart knows it…” ‒ and with a grimace of pain, the King exhaled his last breath.

  Gerart raised his head. When he saw the enemy he rose to his feet and cried in fury:

  “We’ll fight till the end! Men of Rogdon, defend the entrance!”

  His men, spurred by the fervor of his words and the King’s heroic death, launched themselves against the enemy with renewed vigor.

  All of a sudden, war horns rang out in the distance.

  Gerart listened in puzzlement. They were sounding the alarm. The assault on the castle seemed to lose intensity, as if the enemy were hesitating. What was happening?

  “Hold fast! Push them back!” he cried, and ran to the top of the wall.

  On the horizon to the north, a line of figures filled the distant hills. Gerart stared at them, baffled. It seemed to be men, thousands of them. But who were they? Unmistakable war cries filled the valley, coming from those men’s throats: shrill calls, long-drawn-out, like a woman’s lament.

  And then Gerart knew who they were: The Norriel! It was the Norriel!

  The ensuing battle would be written in the annals of the Kingdom of Rogdon as one of the most heroic and bloody of all. From the hills, six thousand men from the Norriel tribes fell on the rearguard of the Norghanian troops. The men of the thirty tribes of the highlands charged as if possessed by the fury of a thousand wild beasts. They were armed with long Norriel swords and spears in one hand and round wooden shields in the other. They wore chain-mail and reinforced armor of tanned leather. Instead of cloaks they wore bearskins. Their faces were painted to resemble wild bears, and like them they roared to the wind as they charged.

  Kendas ran among them. The ferocity of those men had rubbed off on him to such an extent that he fully believed it would be impossible for anybody to defeat them. Glancing at the faces of the surviving Lancers alongside him, he knew it was true of them too. They had left their horses when they had entered the mountains of the highlands, fleeing from the Norghanian pursuit after the surprise attack on the siege weapons. He still had not recovered from his first impression on encountering the Norriel, thousands of them, answering the call for help from Rogdon. He was dumbfounded and grateful. And now he was running like mad, sword in hand, surrounded by those ferocious warriors from the mountains. And for the first time the Norghanians did not seem to him either so big or so fierce.

  The clash against the Norghanian rearguard was brutal. The Norghanians formed a defensive wall with their shields in an attempt to stop the onslaught. But the Norriel penetrated their lines as if they were heavy cavalry, breaking the wall of shields with the ferocity and impetus of wild bears. Kendas was pushed forward by his comrades and they penetrated deep into the Norghanian lines. The soldiers were trying to close ranks. He fought like a madman, surrounded by Norriel warriors who hacked the Norghanians to pieces as if these were no more than new recruits. Not only were the Norriel brutal and ferocious, their skill with weapons was amazing. For a moment Kendas felt jealous, then instantly felt proud to be fighting alongside warriors like these, delivering death among the Norghanians with amazing dexterity.

  One of the warrior leaders of the Norriel, the one they called Gudin, shouted orders in a language Kendas did not understand. He had never seen any man fighting with the skill of this one warrior. He was leading some two hundred men, and Kendas and the Lancers had joined him. Gudin was the tip of the spear penetrating the wounded Norghanian body, clearing a way, creating a wedge through which more and more Norriel warriors streamed in. The Norghanians could not beat Gudin and his men, and the trail of blood and death in his wake were terrifying. A Norriel beside him smiled and translated:

  “We’ll cut through until we reach the gate!” ‒ and he roared at the heavens. Kendas felled an enemy soldier and looked left and right amid the sea of Norghanian soldiers who were trying to stop them. To his astonishment he saw two other Norriel wedges opening a path for them.

  Kendas could not believe the amount of casualties the Norriel were leaving behind among the Norghanians, still less the confusion and havoc. The Norriel were destroying the Norghanian infantry. So ferocious and brutal was the attack that the Norghanians began to retreat. Kendas could not believe his eyes. The Norghanian fighters outnumbered the Norriel three to one, but they were giving way before the furious attack of these brutes from the highlands. He had never imagined that those warriors could be so damned good. To be honest, the Royal Lancer had to admit, he had thought the plan practically suicidal, but to his enormous surprise it was working.

  The Norghanian war horns rang out as the three wedges the Norriel had opened penetrated deeper into the enemy lines in search of the great gate in the wall. Kendas blocked a stroke to his face, and before he had the chance to counterattack, a nimble Norriel had already skewered his enemy with his spear. The Norriel gestured in amusement at Kendas and went on. The Lancer followed him, listening to the horns.

  They were calling the retreat. It was unheard-of! The Norghanians were retreating!

  He raised his head and saw Gudin and his men reach the great gate in the wall. The other two wedges arrived a few moments later, leaving a wake of blood and death behind them. The N
orghanians were running away from the fray and retreating towards the Nocean camp.

  In the Royal Castle, Gerart could not believe his eyes. He ran downstairs and encouraged his men.

  “Help is here! Keep fighting!” he cried, and ran to help them.

  “Gerart…” he heard behind him. He turned.

  From among the wounded he saw Aliana and Asti coming to him, carrying Haradin between them. The Mage seemed to have woken up, but he was limping noticeably.

  Fear filled Gerart’s heart as he saw his beloved approach. The enemy was still trying to take the Castle.

  “Get back, what are you doing? He’s not in any condition…”

  Haradin waved Gerart back.

  “I’ll contain them, we’ll gain some time,” he said. His face was very pale.

  The Mage looked at the gate and the enemy spilling through. He closed his eyes and cast a long spell. Gerart glanced at Aliana, who nodded.

  Haradin finished his spell. In the center of the great gate a circle of intense fire formed, blocking the access with scorching flames. From the floor to the arch of rock in the wall was a mass of flames. The soldiers who tried to come in caught fire amid spine-chilling howls.

  “I need to rest,” the Mage said. Aliana and Asti took him back to the side of the well.

  Gerart breathed heavily with relief. They had contained the attack.

  Before the circle of fire had extinguished itself, Kendas arrived with Gudin and a hundred Norriel warriors, finishing off the last assailants inside the city. The enemy troops had retreated south to the Nocean camp. When the Rogdonian defenders saw the Norriel arrive, they began to cheer them from the walls. The cheers filled the city and reached the rest of the Norriel who were then coming through. They roared, conscious of victory, while the enemy retreated at a run.

  Gerart saw Kendas and Gudin and cried:

  “Today is a great day, today I see Norriel and Rogdonians fighting together! Today I see the enemy flee! Today Gerart, King of Rogdon, salutes the Norriel, to whom he will forever owe a debt of gratitude which can never be repaid!”

  Gudin took a step forward and said:

  “Hail Gerart, King of Rogdon, we the Norriel salute you!”

  Gerart looked at Gudin and cried:

  “Hail Norriel! Hail the victors!”

  Five walk one destiny

  From the wall, Haradin was staring at the remains of his tower with his spirits low. The enemy catapults had reached it and like most of the city it had not withstood the punishment. The once-magnificent tower had been reduced to rubble. All his possessions had been buried there under the rocks and this saddened him, but worried him even more. Arcane objects of great importance and value were buried there under all that rubble. He longed to go and dig out the books, relics and artifacts he had collected with so much effort, but a stab of pain in his side reminded him he was in no condition to do anything of the sort.

  “How do you feel?” Aliana asked him. Asti was at her side. “You scared us back then, we very nearly lost you…”

  Haradin sighed and shrugged.

  “My magic doesn’t respond as it should, and I can’t move half my battered body. The pain comes back every time I dare take a step or even breathe, but I’m alive, and that’s what counts.” Haradin smiled at the Healer, who returned the smile sweetly. “I thank you from the bottom of my heart for saving me, Aliana. I have no words… you’re a divine blessing. I don’t know how you managed to keep me alive and drag me as far as the Castle, but allow me to praise not only your wonderful Gift and devotion but your courage as well.”

  Aliana turned to Asti.

  “She’s the one who had the courage. She looks frail, but she has the heart of a lioness, I can assure you. She’s the one who helped me stay strong in the worst moments.”

  “And drag my useless body through half the city, as I’ve been told. You have all my gratitude too, Asti, daughter of the unfathomable forests,” Haradin said, and bowed his head in a sign of his respect and gratitude.

  The Usik smiled shyly at the Mage and gave a slight nod.

  “Impressive warriors, aren’t they?” Aliana said, gesturing towards the Norriel camp which had been set up in front of the castle wall amid the ruins of the royal city.

  Close to five thousand Norriel were camped there, preparing fires for the night which was already falling. Beside them some three thousand Rogdonian soldiers, the last survivors, rested and tended their wounds. Gerart and Urien were sitting beside a camp fire in the company of the thirty Norriel leaders, in deep conversation.

  “They certainly are. A people like no other I’ve ever come across. A people of men of honor, ferocious warriors… They’re guided by their word and respect for their traditions and beliefs. I admire them greatly, and we owe them a lot at this hour. I’ve always had a very soft spot for them in my heart. I’ve been traveling their lands for many years, and I have some very good friends among them.”

  Suddenly Asti pointed at Gerart and the Norriel leaders. “What happening now?” she asked.

  Haradin and Aliana turned to her in surprise.

  “I don’t know, Asti, but I fear our troubles aren’t over. The Norriel victory was thanks to their ferocity and the surprise of the attack. The enemy wasn’t prepared, they weren’t expecting it, and their rearguard was caught by surprise. But the invading forces have regrouped, they’re getting ready, and this time we can’t hope to surprise them again.”

  Aliana’s face became somber. “Do you think they’ll attack again?”

  “If I’m not mistaken, at the moment the enemy is making deals and planning the final attack. Their camps are one now, and it doesn’t look as if they’re fighting among themselves. I very much fear they’re planning a joint attack. From what we know, with the two armies they have close to thirty-five thousand men. They’ll certainly attack. I’m sorry to be a bird of ill omen, but that’s my opinion.”

  “Then we’re lost… I can’t believe that after so much suffering, fighting and courage it’s all come to this. I refuse to accept it! I refuse!” Aliana cried.

  Haradin was about to answer when he felt a tremendous power coming closer, a power of such magnitude that a shiver ran down his spine.

  “Perhaps there is hope after all…” he said, pointing at a strange group approaching the lower part of the city, escorted by a group of Norriel warriors.

  Aliana half-closed her eyes to see better. The group reached Gerart and the Norriel leaders, then stopped.

  “It’s them! It’s Komir’s group! They made it!” the Healer cried joyfully. “I can see Komir, Hartz, Kayti…”

  “And with them are the two Bearers they went to look for,” Haradin said.

  “I feel three medallions there,” Asti said, pointing at the newcomers, “and two here,” she added, pointing at Aliana and herself.

  Haradin stood tall. Spreading his arms wide, he proclaimed: “And the five Bearers will be brought together, and the long-awaited day will come at last.”

  It was midnight when the group gathered in the Throne Hall. Gerart had called the meeting and was sitting in his father’s throne as the new King of Rogdon by right of succession. Standing by the throne were Haradin and Urien, the old Royal Counselor. The Queen, deeply saddened by her husband’s death, had excused herself and was absent. In front of the throne the five Bearers waited: Komir, Aliana, Iruki, Asti and Sonea. A little behind came Kayti, Hartz and Lindaro.

  Gerart addressed them solemnly.

  “Thank you all for coming here in this critical hour for the future of the lands of the West of Tremia. Let me tell you that the situation is very dire, even desperate. Thousands of good Rogdonians have already perished, and had it not been for the surprise attack by the Norriel, we would all have died at the hands of the enemy armies. Death and desolation are around us; we have lost friends, brothers, fathers and sons. Our souls bleed with suffering. Yet we are here still, and we will fight on until we win or die, without yielding an inch.”
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br />   Aliana gazed at the young King, so handsome in his dress armor, with his fine regal features. He radiated personality and appeal. Listening to his speech she felt great joy, not only for him, for how much he had matured, for the authority he now radiated, but for the wellbeing of his subjects, herself among them. She knew Gerart would be a great King. And yet all the same Aliana could not take her eyes off Komir. The young Norriel warrior had not even deigned to look at her, or even acknowledge her presence, and she was mortified. Gradually a controlled rage at the Norriel warrior’s cold indifference was growing within her. He was avoiding her on purpose, and her blood was beginning to boil in her veins.

  “Haradin, are all the medallions present here?”

  “Indeed, your majesty,” Haradin said, and pointed out the five Bearers one by one.

  “Let the new Bearers step forward and introduce themselves,” King Gerart said.

  Iruki took a step forward with her head held high.

  “I am Iruki Wind of the Steppes, of the Blue Clouds, of the Masig people, daughter of Kaune Eagle Warrior.”

  Gerart nodded in acknowledgement.

  “I know your tribe, Masig. They make their camp beside the great sacred lake.”

  Iruki nodded.

  “I am Sonea, apprentice Librarian of the Order of Knowledge of Erenal…” Sonea said, her voice unsteady.

  “I know your Order, and my father was a friend of King Dasleo. I wonder why he hasn’t come in answer to our call for aid.”

  Lindaro stepped forward.

  “If you will allow me, your Majesty… My name is Lindaro, priest of the Order of the Light. We have grave news; we believe the kingdoms of the mid-east have been attacked. We witnessed the fire of war in both their capitals. We believe that both the Kingdom of Erenal and the Kingdom of Zangria have been invaded.”