Clouds, red cloak and city walls

Dark clouds were mounting on the distant horizon, directly in line with the red-walled city sitting on the turn of the river, the river reflecting the clouds, turning the normally bright water dank and sluggish.  The few boats floating struggled to make headway to their destinations, regardless of the skill and efforts of their crews. 

Interesting, he thought, considering the storm that’s coming. 

The traveller had come a long way to bring his message and offer his aid, through dark woods and over rugged mountains, but he had almost arrived at the walled city of Dellston.  High, well built walls surrounded the city, dotted with guard towers looking out in all directions, over the river and the plains and towards the distant hills and mountains.  Very little could approach the city without being seen.  Rising above the largest of these towers is the castle of the lord of Dellston.  White towers rise on a hill, shining in spite of the darkness growing in the sky, hope rose in the heart of the traveller, and he allowed a small smile to cross his grim features.

Just travel down the side of one more hill and we’ll be there.  But what kind of welcome will I receive, he pondered.  I’m not bringing glad tidings, though if the people survive they’ll be stronger than they can imagine for generations to come. 

His horse was slowing as they crossed the scrubby ground. Ordaldor felt the same fatigues that plagued his mount.  Neither had had enough food for several days, not since the last village. 

“There’ll be plenty of oats for you soon, Sagemoor,” he said, rubbing the horse’s mane.  “And a heated stable, the last few nights have been cold, haven’t they?  The days aren’t much better, I must confess.”  He pulled his crimson cloak further around his gaunt frame.  He should have been more powerfully built, but the journey had taken its toll on him.  His pale hair looked white, left unbound, it blew wildly in the wind.  His clothes were good quality, but worn and dirty from the long journey.

He continued on his journey, heading towards the wide bridge spanning the river.  He wondered about the bridge.  It was wide enough for whole armies to cross easily, yet too low for the boats on the river to pass under.  Guard towers stand at each end, the guards interviewing all those wishing to travel into the city.  While Ordaldor sees many people heading towards the city, he observes no one travelling in the opposite direction. 

Can they feel what’s coming?  He wondered. Everyone is looking to the city for safety.  Will it be able to stand through the coming darkness?  If everyone believes and pulls together, maybe it will.  But one spark of fear could tear down those walls faster than a thousand armies! 

He moved further forward, joining the people passing across the bridge.  Soldiers were checking the contents of wagons and questioning the newcomers to the city.  One of the soldiers moved forward to question Ordaldor.  Ordaldor’s hand moved to the hilt of his sword, his news wouldn’t be welcome in the city.  He took one more look towards the clouds before the soldier spoke.  He gasped, his heart suddenly racing.  There, in the clouds he saw the face of the coming enemy!  Was it just a trick of the clouds?  Or was the enemy watching him, the city, and the people whose doom he was planning? 

The wind changed briefly, grew to a howl and the face was gone as quickly as it formed. 

“I said, ‘Why are you coming to the city?’” shouted the soldier, snapping Ordaldor back to reality.  “I don’t have all day, but I do have a lot of people to deal with.”

“I, I’m a traveller, I’m travelling,” stammered Ordaldor, his confidence shaken by the apparition he had seen in the clouds.  “I’m coming to the city for a few days to rest before moving on.”

“How long?” The soldier demanded.

“Just a few days, I can afford to stay at an inn,” His face twisted in concentration. “I don’t know this city very well, can you suggest one?”

“There are plenty of good inns in the city, you’ll find one easily enough, get over the bridge,” he said dismissively.

Relieved Ordaldor nodded his acquiescence and clicked his tongue.  “You heard the good man, Sagemoor, let’s go find that stable and some oats.”  The weary horse resumed its plodding course towards the city gates. 

As they continued towards the city Ordaldor notice the crowd of people growing thicker, everyone was pushing to the city walls, avoiding the fields opposite.  Ordaldor strained up in his seat trying to see what the stimulus was for their actions.  He pulled Sagemoor’s reins, guiding him against the throng.  People started to cry out but then they saw that they could move further from the repellent they fell silent and filled the open space. 

Sagemoor moved out of the crush and into a wide, empty road.  Ordaldor looked to the fields to his right, the wheat was tall and golden and swaying gently in the breeze, ready to be harvested, but no one moved within the field.  He raised himself in his saddle; nothing could be seen to explain the strange behaviour of the people.  He led Sagemoor further away from the city, stretching his view around the carts and wagons trying to push through the masses into the city gates.  He rode Sagemoor to procession of carts and dismounted.  He stroked the horses face gently.

“You’ll have to stay here; you won’t get past these carts.  I’m sorry, my friend, but your warm stable will have to wait a little while longer.  There’s something here, something terrible.” 

He easily slipped through the procession of carts.  Even here, directly in line with the open gate he could feel the people’s desire to move closer to the river.  He passed around carts carrying families and wagons loaded with food, wood and hay, vehicles pulled by donkeys and horses and some pulled by the people themselves. 

He burst out of the other side of the cavalcade and his blood ran cold.  An immense warrior stood twenty yards away, projecting an air of complete malevolence towards all he saw before him.  He was heavily built, with thick cords of muscle visible on his bare arms, dark stains on his hands and breastplate and on the head of the huge, iron axe, its head stabbed into the ground.  A twin horned helmet protected his head, forged with a ghastly visage of a loathsome skull hiding his face, his eyes hidden in darkness despite the sunlight shining directly into his face.  He moved not a muscle, not a single twitch, but stood staring at the throng of people forcing their way into the city like a demonic statue.

Ordaldor found himself sweating despite the sharp chill he felt. How can he be here, unless he was sent ahead?  I left the moment I heard the message and I’ve ridden ever a harder pace than before!  He stepped forward carefully, drawing his long broadsword from its sheath.  His breath felt heavy in his chest and a bitter knife of fear plunged into his stomach.

“Why are you here, fiend?” he shouted, though it seemed his words came out as a whisper.  “Your kind shouldn’t be here until the equinox!”

The warrior slowly turned his head towards Ordaldor, his unseen eyes burning into his very soul.  Without a word or gesture he turned back to watching the crowd. 

“Hey! What are you doing here?” he repeated, brandishing his sword. 

The warrior turned his hellish gaze back to Ordaldor, drawing his axe out of the ground, holding it easily despite its massive weight.  He took a long step forward Ordaldor and raised the huge axe above his head.  He took two more thundering paces and slammed the axe down upon Ordaldor! 

Or upon where Ordaldor was!  At the last moment, he had twisted beneath the warrior’s mighty swing and came up behind him, slashing his sword with all his might!  With a speed they belied by his size, the warrior ripped the axe out of the ground and blocked Ordaldor’s strike!  He swung the axe in great arcs, forcing Ordaldor to back away and desperately try to block the powerful strikes!  He jumped back a few paces to give himself a moment to change the course of the fight.  He swung his sword as the warrior struck with his axe!  The two weapons clashed together, Ordaldor’s arms went numb as his sword vibrated in his hands! 

The warrior kept coming forward, implacably swing his axe.  Ordaldor could barely keep up his defence, his sword heavy in his hands, sweat dripping from his brow.  He took another step back, narrowly avoiding the warrior’s axe, and the ground beneath his feet crumbled and gave way!  He fell back into the ditch around the untended fields!  He lay stunned for a moment as the warrior moved to stand directly above him, lifting the axe high, ready to deliver the death blow. 

He found a rock beneath his hand and frantically threw it into the warrior’s face!  His attention was distracted for only a moment, but Ordaldor needed only a moment to avoid the fall of the axe and roll to the side.  He recklessly swung his sword, catching the warriors arm and severing it at the wrist!  The warrior roared with pain and swung the axe at Ordaldor with his remaining hand again and again! 

Ordaldor could sense a change in the attacks; they were slower, and their devastating power was diminished.  He swayed out of the reach of the strokes, timing them, and waiting until the right moment.  The axe passed within a hands span of his face and he sprang forward, shoving the base of his sword against the thick neck of his opponent!  He drew the full length of the blade against the flesh of the warrior until he heard the blade scrape against bone!  Blood jetted out of the warriors throats, whose screams were lost when his windpipe was severed! He slumped heavily to his knees before falling forward lifelessly onto his face.

Breathing deeply, Ordaldor regarded his fallen enemy.  He knew the powers of the enemy, the strange forces that had been commanded when the warrior reached Dellston before him.  He swung his sword in a high arc and severed the head from the body!  He’ll not trouble this world again, he thought, the coming enemy isn’t powerful enough to repair this. 

His thoughts were interrupted by a commotion behind him.  He wiped his sword clean of blood on the leather trousers of the fallen warrior before he turned to face the dumbstruck crowd gathering behind him.  Most had been watching since the start, whilst waiting to enter the city.  One man stood out; heavy in face and body, dressed in finer clothes than most of the people, and standing with the bearing of a man used to being obeyed. 

“Just what is going on here?  I gave orders that no one was approach him!  You sir, who do you think you are?” he shouted, spittle flying from his lips. 

“I’m the man who put the defence of your city above his own life,” replied Ordaldor.  “And who are you, who would see fear allowed to fester in the city when it can be stopped by the swing of a sword?”

“My name is Jaco, city magistrate,” he answered.  “Do you think that you are the first person to face that… that beast?  We buried many of our best warriors, and a dozen more are lying in the healing houses, few are expected to survive.  The rest of the city is now condemned to death by your actions!”

“You think you would live longer if you buried your head in the mud beside the river?”

“We were given a message, submit to the rule of his master or die!  We chose to live, even if it means bending our knee to another beside Lord Vaiskar.”

Ordaldor raised his voice so the growing crowd could hear him  “It won’t just be your knee that you bend, the enemy that is coming here isn’t just another lord wanting to expand his territory and his coffers; another human warlord wanting the glory of conquest and subjects to pay tribute. 

“Maleroth the Accursed, Maleroth the Loathsome, Maleroth the Abhorrent, murderer of civilisations and the bringer of atrocities, he is coming here.  You will be put to work in the mines collecting the materials for his dark works, and worked until you collapse and die.  He’ll reanimate your corpse and you’ll continue working.  The land around here will be stripped of the forests to provide fuel for the fires that will expand his army, a starting point for his continuing conquest of the world!  This land, this river, the city will die, along with all of you!

“You think submission beneath the boots of a creature that sees you as less than a cockroach is the best way to carry on your lives?”  He slid his sword back into the sheath at his waist.  He reached out and grabbed Jaco by his collar.  “Burn the body!  Destroy the armour and the axe!”

“Whe… where are you go… going?” stammered Jaco, sweat dripping down his face. 

“I’ll be with Lord Vaiskar, we’ll be planning the defence of the city,” he answered, as he strode away.  “If we work together and keep our hearts full of hope, we may be able to save ourselves and save Dellston from the worst threat that it has ever faced.”

He spun and pointed his suddenly drawn sword at Jaco’s neck.  He spoke in a hushed whisper that would drown out the most tremendous storm.  “Do not allow your fear to infect anyone else, or you won’t live to see the coming conflict!”

He walked toward his horse, leading it towards the city gate.