“ Children of the oak, it has been many years since the last chosen were sent into the lands of the human.” Cadeyrn called out cupping her hands together to project her soft voice. “There has been no need of the title since my father’s death and we have had no need to risk travel to the mainland. But the time has now come and so it falls on me now to watch over this sacred tradition.” Cadeyrn continued and the sudden noise sent a flurry of birds nervously into the dusk coated canopy. “Many of you have heard rumor of why I have called this to pass.” Cadeyrn continued as she walked back and forth in front of the chosen and crowd behind them. The council of Elves was a tradition that led back as far as anyone could remember. It predated her father’s rise to power and had always been a honey pot of whispers. Cadeyrn could not sneeze without rumors of a cold reaching the furthest hut in the village before she had time to reach for a tissue. “I hide nothing from my people, as my family has always been open and honest so shall I.” Cadeyrn said and there was a slight shake to her voice showing she had still not fully come to terms with Diadan’s loss. He had been a hero to her people and a beloved figure to all, but more than that he had been her father. Composing herself and once again cupping her hands she continued. “I have been advised that the humans seek an artifact of magnificent power. I know this trinket to be the Dragon heart which froze during the last battle of the Dragon blight.” The hushed silence was broken by some of the older Elves who remembered the battle. They had been close enough to see the backlash of the spells that ended the war. They had seen the death and destruction that it had wrought on both sides of the conflict and feared the power of anything to do with those times that were best left to the history books. The chatter faded quickly and once silence returned to the clearing Cadeyrn continued. “With the heart we could finally join our lost in the spirit realm and leave this forsaken world.” Cadeyrn called out and she knew that not everyone would agree with her dream, and she was right as it was met by a mix of hushed opposing views. Cadeyrn started pacing back and forth. Worried the calm of the people would falter. The debate on leaving the world is one that had turned heated many times in the conference rooms of the palace. “Be calm my people. I understand your fear of leaving this place. It is my home too. But understand this. We would finally be free of the shadow that has lurked in many events since the time our mother tree fell. You know in your most inner thoughts that this Dragon blight was brought to being by the same dark hand. This dark demon that has its sights set on Valadfar. Those of you who can feel the whisper of the druids know that this dark force stirs in the shadows once more. Do we really need to see such horror again?” Cadeyrn stopped pacing back and forth and waited for an answer from the crowd she figured would not come. Many believed the danger the druids could feel was just paranoia a fear of the demon that was supposedly behind the fall of their previous home so long ago, but none were confident enough that Cadeyrn and her druids were wrong to directly appose her. Cadeyrn continued. “I was too young to see the hardship of our kin yet the pain still flows through my veins and because of this, I your queen, as my father’s daughter, make you the same promise he would have. That I do what is best for my people, for you. We will find this heart. We will use it to leave this forsaken realm and we will find true peace as we do deserve, now with that to you my knights.” Cadeyrn said turning to face Fintan and the other competitors. “ Do not harm your opponents’, use of magic is permitted. Wooden blades only and if someone wishes to quit allow them to with dignity. No teams may pass this test, you must fight this alone. Each and every one of you is on their own.” Cadeyrn stepped down to join the watching crowd. “The fight starts when the last ray of sun that disappears from view at the horizon. Earth Mother watches over you.” She said. Fintan watched the others around him. He could feel his chest beating like a drum and his mouth was dryer than a desert oasis. The five other competitors drew their weapons with such confidence that it made the slight shake Fintan found occupying his hand an obvious weakness. His stomach churned with nerves as he watched the sun low on the horizon burning red. The long dark shadows of the trees grew as if stretching out to reach the clearing. The whole of the Alienage held its breath as the last rays began to fade and suddenly as if being sucked into the mouth of a giant the sun vanished below the horizon.
Chapter six – fall of a hero Fintan was not the only one who was preparing to battle on the night of Dumon. In the nights that had passed since the marking of the New Year. Briers Hill had stood in safety but the giant like people called the Poles were not known for their peacefulness. They were naturally barbaric and even at times of peace enjoyed tests of strength and boxing along with other blood sports. If the town was not raided by the Poles then the fort should have been, but for some reason things had remained still and quiet. Sir Dean was an experienced man and he waited inside his walled keep for the dagger in his back. Something was coming, something big. He did not know what the Poles were planning but there were only two possible explanations to the doldrums that had befallen no man’s land. Either the Poles were too sick to wage war, in which case replacements should be arriving from Raidaridin or they were preparing for something. Unknown to Sir Dean was the reason the Poles had not attacked and that was because they had plans to make. You see it was not only the Elves who had sympathizers inside of Neeskmouth. An order had arrived at the Poles fort and they waited for further instruction from their king Ingaild, the hand of war. Unlike most of the races on Valadfar and particularly Neeska, the Poles did not carry a surname. It was a law King Ingaild believed in wholeheartedly, he agreed with the belief that each person should make his own fame and not follow that of his parents. It was he who had first driven his people to adopt the name of ‘the Poles’ after their massive weapons. For each of them were weapons to him, their goal to take back the country that in Ingaild’s mind belonged to him. He was the hand of war and his people the Poles were his weapon. Ingaild had issued an order to march on Briers Hill within moments of his spies telling him of King Harvey’s plan to recover the Dragon’s heart. He would send the full force of his army and let those who survived the battle prove they were worth sending in the first place. Ingaild’s advisors had recommended searching for the Dragon Heart in the hopes of finding it before Harvey but Ingaild did not see the point in trekking after some little trinket that may not even exist. No he had a better plan. By the time the ‘weak’ Neeskmouthains found the heart, Ingaild planned to have razed Neeskmouth to ashes or sit at its throne. It would do them little good finding some magic trinket if their throne room was already occupied by Ingaild and his army. He planned on marching straight through Briers Hill to avoid the town of Port Lust and the two forts along the coast. That would limit the warning Neeskmouth had and the reinforcements they could muster. Ingaild would leave Raidaridin in the morning and join his army within a few days as they made the week long journey towards Neeskmouth. While he traveled there would be no little raids against the fort, unlike he had ordered in the past to keep the soldiers there busy. No this time they would wait until he sent word and the full force of his men stationed at Briers Hill would clear any opposition and be ready to merge with the battalion of men he rode with when they arrived. Harvey may have planned to use magic and deception to take back Raidaridin but Ingaild would use the sheer power of his weapon. His Pole army to march across Neeska and claim it before Harvey’s lackey ever found the Dragons heart.
The courtyard in the Pole fort was empty, the commander of the fort had received orders two nights before to hold fire and prepare the men for war. It was a task he now eagerly awaited, he was a man born to shed blood and he relished the prospect of an all out war. He was filled with joy when he saw at around midnight on the sixth, the familiar sight of Ingaild’s hawk as it soared over the fort gracefully catching the moonlight on its soft white under belly. The men may have been climbing into their hammocks but it turned out that the only thing that would get to rest that evening was the hawk. The news of King Harvey’s pl
ans changed things and the war would not just be waged at Briers Hill but out across the whole of Northern Neeska. It was an order the commander had been waiting for. The stalemate had been grating on his nerves and knowing tonight it was finally over was wonderful. The tired Hawk was treated for delivering the news and tucked into the flesh of a fallen Handson knight, whose corpse had been hung in the courtyard. The hawk ripped free a lump of putrid flesh before taking flight with it up to the roost. The high tower that was used as both a lookout point and a roost was one of the main differences to the two forts that outlined the horizon. In almost all other respects the fort of the Poles was not all that different to its shadowy image across the no-man’s land. After all at one time the two forts would have both belonged to the Handson Kingdom. The Poles still held a grim museum from when they had first raided the fort below the ground. Its cellar was filled with skeletons’ of the captured soldiers and their families that had been stationed there when the Pole first crashed down against Briers Hill. The raid had happened quickly and before Neeskmouth could send aid. The people of the fort had tried to lay down arms and surrender but had been forced down into the lowest part of the keep and left to starve in the darkness. There was little need for anyone to go down into that vile smelling and damp part of the keep to see the dead now but if they had they would surely have noticed that many of the dead showed signs of cannibalism from the poor souls that had lived the longest. The Iron Giants, now known as Poles were notorious for this barbaric and forceful nature and it was the reason that they had once ruled all of Neeska aside from the Handson Kingdom before the Dragons came, it was with this bloodlust that the poles would soon flood out into battle. They had spent the last two days training inside the fort. The army of Poles knew every stone of it, and so because of the similarities knew the same of Hallows fort. They could plan exactly where the Handson Kingdoms archers would be standing on the wooden balcony that followed along the top of the forts walls. They knew the best places to pressure the gate to make it fall swiftly. The fort in which Sir Dean was stationed only a few hundred feet away would have subtle differences but the Poles were ready. They had however thought they might get a decent nights rest before going to war, but that was not the commanders’ way. So the silence that came with the dead of night was broken by the gravel laden voice of the old commander.
“ King Ingaild has given order. Wake you dogs and arm. We go to war tonight.” The commander, Annar of the east, screamed at the top of his lung startling the feeding hawk who leapt into the sky making its way back to Raidaridin, it seemed not even the hawk would rest on the commanders watch. Annar knew his voice would echo out across and warn the Handson kingdom and he reveled at the idea of the panicking in the other keep as they tried to prepare a defense that would fail. Annar was a seasoned warrior and had led countless battles across Neeska and its northern lands for almost thirty years, he was not worried about the enemy knowing he was coming, no for he knew that panic made an army weak. It was second only to starvation for bringing an enemy to his knees. But the void would swallow him up before Annar sat back and waited for starvation to kill his foe. No the honor of raising the Neeskmouthains heads onto spikes would be his.
Annar watched in the open unafraid of an early volley of arrows as the fort was filled with rushed preparations. By three the army was ready. The forts huge gates opened like the snarling grin of a demon as its aged hinges creaked.
“Roll out the catapults’ and fetch our Handson friends from the cellar .” Annar said with a twisted smile coating his face. “Let’s return them to their families and show the Handson just what they can expect by dawn.” Annar called out again with a husky cackle. The enjoyment seemed to be shared by the hundred or so men scattered below the keep that began to carry out his warped order. It took a few minutes to load the long dead into the catapults and ready them to fire, giving the time needed for the rest of Annar’s army to suit up in chain linked armor. The grey looked almost black in the darkness of night a contrast to the white of the bones which lay in the cup of the catapults. The effect the commander had hoped for was soon achieved. The twang of the rope that released the dead cargo sailing over no-man’s land and down behind the walls of the Hallows Fort was met with screams from inside, even the strongest of knights was brought to his knees as body parts rained down and clattered across the floor. Most of the bones had been picked clean by rats, but not all. Rotten foul smelling flesh was cascaded across no man’s land. Annar heard Sir Dean shout something from across the night but the sound of cheering from his own men drowned out exactly what it was. With the catapults’ empty and pushed aside the battle begun. The poles poured out from the fort like ants from a nest and formed into lines twenty men aside, as they marched forwards across no-man’s land the heavy fall of armored feet churned up the earth in a cloud of dust and mud. The grass fell flat and the animals of the night scampered away into the brush. The large built Poles carried their huge spear-like weapons high above their heads, the axed edge pointed forward like the teeth of a bear closing down on its pray. The weapon was an unusual one but one the Poles had carried for many years. It was similar to a spear; a long thin shaft around six feet in length, at its head was a sharp point. Just below this was affixed a huge axe-like blade that could be brought down with enough power to shatter stone. The shafts were always inscribed and elegantly decorated but you would not have seen that as the army moved onwards in the dark of night. Clouds shifted above covering the moon and bringing an icy chill to the battlefield. It may have been Nylar the first month of the planting but the cold of Winnan had not yet faded. The Poles approached the middle of the clearing and the peak of the hill that separated the two forts and the men slowed to a halt. They had planned their attack like a well orchestrated ballet. They dropped to their knees pulling shields up over their head. This was not the first time they had pressed against Sir Deans men and the volley of arrows fell as expected, cascading down and bouncing off the steel shields, they splintered and only added to the litter that already cluttered the floor. One or two Poles were grazed by broken arrows but none fell dead or were even gravely wounded. The Pole army knelt in the mud hidden behind their defenses the men counted, one, two, and three. The Poles knew they had only a few seconds before the next volley would come so they acted quickly. The man at the front held position, spear down straight ahead stopping any frontal attack if Sir Dean’s men tried anything new. Each and every man remembered his task, and so they begun, their shields at an angle towards the sky to protect against projectiles if the archers on the forts walls were faster than expected. Not all Poles carried the namesake weapon or shield, at the back of the ranks those without spears took to their calling. They launched with their mammoth sized muscles rocks the size and bulk of people’s skulls clear over Hallows Forts high wall. The projectiles did trivial damage to the old stones of the fort doing little more than knocking old moss free and the attack could easily be defended against by the archers if they moved quickly enough. An untrained commander might have wondered why Annar had even bothered to get his men to do this but the Poles knew from previous attacks that the many of the archers on the walls would have to retreat inside the main keep to make room for their comrades who had been caught by a falling rocks, that would buy them valuable extra time to press forward. While the Neeskmouthains were distracted by stones falling from the sky, the Poles could move. This was the moment they had trained for over and over in the keep. The knelt knights raised their spears and begun marching forward again towards the forts walls before the archers returned to their stations. Annar had not sent all his men in one raid, his reserve ranks at the Poles fort had readied the catapults’ a second time and they fired again. More corpses sailed across no-man’s land and dropped down behind the walls of Sir Dean’s men. A few slow archers were caught in the falling bodies and dragged off from the balconies crashing down into the courtyard below being pinned down by the bodies of boney companions, a grim reunion of death. Sir Dean’s m
en were losing ground fast. Many of his men had been asleep when they had heard Annar’s call and the fear that had gripped them to such an abrupt wake up had been intensified by the bodies that now cluttered the keep. Soldiers inside waited with swords drawn for the enemy to come close enough to charge while others clung to the ramparts avoiding the shower of stone and putridity. The Handson army had managed to hold the Poles at bay many times before by waiting them out. Letting them get close and cutting them down from the walls and it seemed they Poles had adapted for that. Sir Dean would have to try something new. Annar satisfied things were going to plan joined his men jogging across to them as they pressed deep against the walls of the eastern keep. He’d expected the archers to be ready and firing back but it seemed the bodies of their fallen had slowed them more than he had expected. It was typical of the weak Neeskmouthains to be afraid of the dead. They had two choices now that they had surrounded the walls, try to scale them or breach the huge doors. The old bricks were easy to climb if needed, ivy had grown up its side and those that were not coated in ivy had been worn down by wind and the moss growing on them making perfect finger holes but the walls were still tall and it gave Sir Dean’s men plenty of time to drop things from above, which they had already started doing and the clattering of stone echoed out as the Pole army sat like frogs under lily pads with their shields high above their heads. This close to the forts walls meant the archers could get a better aim on the men below and this time the arrows that fell did more than graze the men they hit. Annar waited. He knew he couldn’t sit there for long or the arrows and stones that dropped would intensify as more men replaced the archers his catapults and stone throwers had scattered. The climb became less of an option with each second as another Neeskmouthain head appeared above so the gate it would be. The decision was taken away from Annar as the doors swung open and Sir Dean’s army sprinted out in a surprise attack. The two armies clashed like the sea against rock. Bodies fell as steel from sword and spear tore chunks out of the limbs from each side. In the heated battle friendships faded as lifeless body after body fell to the ground. It was not long before the fighting masses were literally falling over each other. The Poles had height and strength on their side, not to mention the numbers as many of Sir Dean’s men were at the town drinking in the complacency of so many peaceful nights. But the Poles huge weapons took time to swing and could be avoided. At least that was the plan of Sir Dean’s men. If the lucky victim moved at just the right time the huge axe head at the peak of the spear would crash down into the mud and get stuck rather than cleave his head in two. This gave vital time for the Neeskmouthain to plunge his sword deep into the chest or neck of the giant man assaulting them. The sheer number of Poles meant that even being slower there were two axes for one sword. If a knight was lucky enough to dodge the falling spear and press his blade into a Pole another axe was already falling against him. The battle was one sided and Sir Deans men soon found themselves pressed with their backs towards the wall. The initial onslaught from Sir Dean’s man faded and like the waves they had portrayed the men soon started to fall back away from the rock like Poles leaving only red pools to show were they had been. A few of Sir Dean’s men had tried to drag fallen comrades back with them but soon gave in as the Poles pressed harder on them. Seeing their fallen allies ailing in pain demoralized the Neeskmouthains further as they were forced back within the walls of the keep. The Poles gave chase entering into the giant doors of the fort they were filtered into thinner numbers and a second wave of knights lead by Sir Dean himself squeezed the sides of the men outnumbering the pressed army two to one. It was now the Handson knights that had the advantage. Sir Dean nodded to a younger soldier who was stood by him and the young man took to running. He slipped passed the fighting mass at the front of the fort. His loose fitting leather armor allowed him to duck and roll. He scrambled on his knees when he had to and it didn’t take long before he was out on the open road. He was to make it to Briers Hill and warn them. To call back the drunken guards that were there to support the pinned down Handson knights.
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