Chaos of Choice: Book Four - Chapter Thirteen

 

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Chapter Thirteen

Year 3632, the Sixth Age, forty-eighth day of Winter

 

For five days Raith had been stuck in the town of Tyrn on the Krnōrel-I’ender border, annoyed and very bored. The day that he had arrived looking to cross into Krnōrel and continue towards Gun dürin was the same day that Lord Cradizt of Bregta in Krnōrel had decided to attack the border fortresses. Tyrn had responded aggressively and battle had broken out on the borders. The Lord of Hollenfll to the south of Tyrn soon joined the fray and they forced Lord Cradizt to retreat back to Bregta. But the Lords of Tyrn and Hollenfll were not satisfied with just that and they made an assault of their own across the borders.

Raith sighed heavily as he was once again stopped by soldiers as he was making his slow way north. The armies of Tyrn and Hollenfll had just started their siege of Bregta but there were still many check-in stations in place in the armies wake.

“Where you headed?” Demanded a soldier, who looked at Raith with squinted eyes.

“North,” Raith replied, thoroughly sick of that question.

“Joining our assault are you Nevārancien?” asked a second soldier, “We don’t need you, our men can take the town of Bregta no trouble.”

“What’s your business in the North?” asked a third soldier and he spat on the ground.

“None of your business,” Raith replied dully.

“I reckon he is a spy for Krnōrel,” the squinty eyed soldier said to the second soldier.

“I have already passed two of these stations,” Raith said with a frustrated sigh.

“Hey boss,” the third soldier called over his shoulder and towards the large tent that was pitched at the side of the road. “Hey, Captain. We got a Nevārancien here looking to go north.”

A large and strong looking man emerged from the tent and eyed the situation seriously.

“Where are you coming from Nevārancien?” the strong man asked as he walked over, his plate mail clinking with every step.

“Alabast,” Raith sighed heavily.

“And you are heading north?” the strong man asked.

Raith rubbed a hand over his face, “Obviously.”

“To Bregta then,” the strong man nodded.

“That was not my intention,” Raith said.

“But you will have to,” the strong man replied, “We are cutting off the other roads. Once we take control of the town you will be able to continue on. Until then all travellers going north must go to Bregta.”

Raith sighed again, “Fine, will you step aside then.”

“Hold up,” the Captain exclaimed before Raith could be on his way, “I will accompany you. Need to deliver some messages to the Commander.”

Raith had no chance to dispute the company for the Captain rushed back into his tent and the other soldiers continued to prevent him from moving on. The Captain soon returned and a horse was brought for him, and only then did the soldiers step aside and let Raith past, with the Captain riding alongside him.

“The names Holfen, Captain Holfen,” the strong man said as they rode along. “You got a name?”

“Raith.”

“Did you say that you were coming from Alabast, Raith?”

Raith only nodded slightly.

“Bad business happening down there alright,” Captain Holfen continued to talk, “First the King assassinated and now Lord Haron is taking his place. I would have preferred Lord Aggman to be the new King, but that’s politics for you.”

Captain Holfen continued to ramble about things and recent events, much to Raith’s annoyance. But he could not think of a way to get rid of the man, especially considering they were heading in the same direction.

Later that day they came upon Bregta and much to Raith’s surprise the town was already sacked and the forces of Tyrn and Hollenfll had moved into the streets.

“You will need to check in with the Commander, before you can head on your way Raith,” Captain Holfen remarked as a group of soldiers let them through the broken gates.

Raith suddenly became suspicious of this situation, but he decided to continue to let Holfen take the lead.

The Captain led the way through the muddy and bloody streets, passed burning houses and rows of Bregta soldiers being executed. Houses and shops were being broken into and looted by the victorious side, and the spoils were being passed around as well as the women.

Soon Holfen stopped at the military barracks near the castle and dismounted. Raith followed suit and let the Captain lead him into the stone building and to a small room with a table and chairs where the Commander was talking to some of his soldiers. Raith casually took up one of the seats and rested back as Holfen moved to the Commander and whispered a few words in his ear.

“Close the door,” the Commander instructed one of the soldiers and he smiled at Raith. “Captain Holfen says your name is Raith, Nevārancien.”

Raith nodded slowly, bemused expression on his face.

“I am Commander Darrendorf,” the Commander continued to smile, “You are coming from Alabast and heading north, is that correct?”

Again Raith nodded, not really sure what the Commander was working towards.

“Did you know you are the only Nevārancien that has come this way?” Darrendorf remarked.

“Get to your point,” Raith cut in irritably, “I grow tired of this delay.”

The Commander smirked, “I am sure you know what happened in Alabast recently. The King assassinated, the castle crumbled. But it might be news to you that the Queen survived the attack. I hear she doesn’t say much these days and her beauty has diminished, half the time she whimpers in her bed and shakes uncontrollably. But she survived and she identified the assassin as a Nevārancien.”

“I see,” Raith smirked and leant forward in his chair, “Because I am Nevārancien it must have been me who killed your King.”

“Like I said, you are the only Nevārancien that he been seen travelling from Alabast,” the Commander replied seriously.

“And the common folk want closure for the assassination,” Captain Holfen cut in angrily.

“So I am to be your scape-goat then,” Raith laughed nastily.

Commander Darrendorf nodded seriously, “Yes you will. You will be taken back to Alabast in chains and beheaded in front of a cheering crowd.”

“Except there is just one problem,” Raith smiled as he leant back in his chair, “I have business in the north.”

In a sudden movement Raith kicked the table in front of him causing it to slide into both the Captain and Commander. In the same motion he spun from his chair and drawing his swords he quickly dispatched of the two soldiers by the door. Both of whom did not realise what had happened until Raith’s sword were impaled in their chests.

Twisting his sword free Raith turned to Captain Holfen who had recovered and drawn his longsword. The Captain lunged at Raith, sword tip leading the way. Raith slapped the blade aside and stepped wide of the Captain’s arm driving his sword into the man’s armpit which dropped him to the floor.

The Commander was more ready and came at Raith with a calculated attack. Raith stepped side on with his blades vertical in front of his chest and blocked a powerful sweep from the Commander. Raith stepped quickly and kicked the inside of the Darrendorf’s leading leg, forcing the Commander to one knee. Just as quickly Raith’s arm shot forward and his sword dived through Darrendorf’s eye and out the back of his head.

Raith kicked the dead Commander from his sword and wiped them clean before snapping them into their sheaths as he headed out the door. Quietly Raith closed the door behind him and casually left the building where his horse waited in the hands of a soldier.

“Captain Holfen will not be much longer,” Raith remarked as he swung into the saddle of his horse, “His is just having a few words with the Commander.”

“Right then,” the soldier nodded, “Be on your way and keep out of trouble.”

Raith smiled to himself and headed for the northern gates. By now the officers and Lords from I’ender had the city under control and the crazed looting and raping was brought to an end as the soldiers went about securing the town.

As he reached the gates the soldiers were racing about, barricading the doors shouting for men to man the walls.

“You can’t leave now mister,” one soldier called to Raith, “The armies from Calias and Waifald are bearing down on us.”

“I don’t care, let me out,” Raith snapped back angrily.

“I have my orders,” the soldier replied sternly, “Take your problem up with Lord Braun of Tyrn or m’lord Wyndenr of Hollenfll.”

Raith sighed angrily, “And where are they?”

“The castle where else,” the soldier grunted and went back to completing his orders.

Raith angrily turned his horse away and headed for the castle just as the first catapult missiles crashed into the walls.

When Raith arrived at the castle, which stood atop a small hill at the centre of Bregta, the two Lords were upon the wall looking out at the approaching armies.

“Stop there Nevārancien,” commanded one of the personal guard as Raith approached the Lords along the wall.

“I wish to leave this town,” Raith said loudly, “And it seems the only way to do that is to get permission from one of you.”

Raith was not enjoying himself, and in truth he could have simply jumped the wall and headed off on foot. But he preferred to ride the long distance to Gun dürin instead of walking.

The two Lords looked at him curiously before talking quietly between themselves.

“Let him through,” Lord Braun of Tyrn commanded and the soldiers parted in front of Raith.

“We have a proposal for you,” Lord Wyndenr of Hollenfll as Raith stopped before them. “Help us fight back this assault and you may go where you will, and we will pay you a nice sum.”

Raith became a little bit interested at the mention of potential battle, but he held his stern expression.

“How much?” Raith asked even though money was not a concern.

“Enough to retire on Nevārancien,” Lord Braun replied in a booming voice. “What we require you to do is to stay by us and make sure we do not fall.”

“If you plan on staying up here, I am sure that will not be very difficult,” Raith remarked sarcastically, “And a waste of my time.”

Lord Wyndenr looked shocked and angry, but Lord Braun laughed out loud.

“It is good to see you have a sense of humour,” the Lord from Tyrn roared. “Lord Wyndenr will be remaining here, but I will see battle.”

Raith looked at the tall, broad shouldered Lord with a slight sense of surprise. The man had dark hair and a thick beard, he wore a fine set of armour, and resting easily at his hip was a heavy broadsword. But Raith’s sense of surprise came as he noticed that the Lord’s armour bore many dints and scratches which showed that this particular Lord led from the front of his army.

Lord Wyndenr however was almost the exact opposite and wore rich robes and no weapon was belted to his hip.

“I thought we discussed this,” Lord Wyndenr said nervously.

“You can stick to the tactics my friend, but I was made for the battlefield,” Lord Braun laughed back.

“And what are you paying me to do?” Raith asked seriously.

“Stay with Wyndenr,” Lord Braun replied which brought an irritated sigh from Raith. “I can handle myself, and my elite guard will watch my back. But if the enemy get through you have to defend Lord Wyndenr. Will you accept this job?”

“Will you let me leave the town if I do not?” Raith asked bitterly.

Lord Braun laughed again, “Not on the back of your horse. But I doubt I can stop you from jumping the wall. So you have to ask yourself: do I like walking?”

Raith glared at the arrogant Lord, “Fine I will take the job. The money had better be worth my trouble.”

“Of that you can be certain,” Lord Braun laughed again and moved past Raith and instructed his guard to follow as he headed down to the battlements.

“Do you have a name Nevārancien?” Lord Wyndenr asked politely.

“Raith.”

“Well Raith, I feel a lot better knowing  an individual as skilled as yourself is watching my back,” the Lord of Hollenfll smiled and turned his attention back to the oncoming armies.

“How do you know I am skilled?” Raith asked absently as he lent against the stone railing.

“Why, you are a Nevārancien,” the Lord Replied as if it was obvious.

Raith sighed again and his pale purple eyes looked out across the city and the black tide of the coming army. Banners of Calias and Waifald flapped in the wind and great catapults launched heavy boulders through the air and into the stone wall around Bregta.

“No doubt they were coming to support Lord Cradizt,” Lord Wyndenr remarked with a smile, “But we beat them into the city, and now they are forced to lay siege.”

“A siege benefits them,” Raith replied with a bored expression and drew a surprised look from the Lord.

“You know a bit of tactical warfare,” Wyndenr nodded, “It may benefit them in the long run, but they won’t be patient. When the catapults make little impact on the walls they will be forced to use man power and ladders, perhaps even siege towers in time. And we will break them like waves upon rocks. And when more support comes from Valier we will strike out from the walls and destroy them.”

Raith just nodded, not really caring.

Lord Wyndenr looked through his spyglass and wrote down some notes on a parchment before looking back through his telescope.

“I do not see any banners from Ledolm, or Woodlands,” Lord Wyndenr mumbled and wrote some more notes. “I suppose that is good.”

Raith yawned and picked some dirt out of the corner of his eye.

Lord Wyndenr let out a laugh of triumph, “See they are advancing.”

The Lord wrote something on the parchment and called out for a messenger who was already waiting beside the wall.

“You boy,” Wyndenr commanded, “Take this note to Lord Braun as quick as you can. Go.”

The messenger nodded and sprinted from the castle courtyard and down into the city.

As Raith turned his attention to advancing army another volley of catapult missiles came over the city walls and crashed into the houses. Wood and stone went flying in all directions and deathly screams echoed up from the streets.

The armies of Calias and Waifald reached the city walls then and ladders were stood against the stone and hundreds of soldiers climbed atop the barricade and began fighting.

Raith stretched his fingers angrily, annoyed that he was not at least among the fight.

“Messenger,” Lord Wyndenr called, “Reinforcements to the eastern side.”

Another young boy sprinted from the castle courtyard.

For hours the battle continued and Raith continued to watch on in boredom. The eastern side was almost overrun, but Lord Braun led a squad and secured their hold.

The day slipped into evening and trumpet sounded for retreat. The soldiers of Calias and Waifald left the walls and moved back across the battlefield. A cheer rose up from the streets and Lord Wyndenr laughed in triumph.

“The day goes to us,” the Lord cheered.

But Raith scratched the back of his head in boredom.

As the night set in Lord Braun returned to the castle and he and Lord Wyndenr retired into the castle for a victory feast.

But Raith had had enough of this farce and he slipped into the shadows of the city. No total of gold was worth this amount of inconvenience.

Catapult missiles thundered into the city walls intermittently as Raith moved silently through the streets. He regretted the fact that he would be leaving his horse behind, but he could not stand this delay any longer.

The strong wall of Bregta was heavily guarded but jumping it was a simple task for one of Raith’s skill. He dropped down the other side and onto hundreds of dead bodies which were piled atop each other and the ground was soggy with blood, but Raith gave it little notice and vanished into the night.

Just as silently as he had slipped from the city Raith moved between the tents of the camped army, avoiding any patrolling soldiers. Filtering his way to the back of the encampment he came across the tents of the Lords from Calias and Waifald, and thought how easy it would be to slit their throats as they slept.

But Raith dismissed the thought and continue to move through the tents. He soon came to the back of the camp and came across some tethered horses. With a smirk Raith quietly saddled a tall grey mare and led the steed past the sleeping soldiers and out of the camp.

It had been so easy for him and when Inüer rose the next day he was riding along the bank of the river Vanyin. The river joined and flowed from the river Hywater and Raith forded the river to the west bank and headed along the road north to Ledolm.

It struck Raith as odd that he had not come across the army from Ledolm, maybe that was just because the Lord of the hold did not want to waste his time with Bregta.

But the columns of smoke to the north did make him think that perhaps it was something else. One of the smoke plums was far to the north over Woodlands, but the other was much closer and it seemed to be coming from Ledolm.

Cautiously Raith slowed his mount as the haze of smoke began to thicken about him. Two tall stone towers appeared out of the smoke before him, the wooden door that once stood between them was nothing more than a pile of cinders. As he moved through the falorn entrance and into the town the smoke began to lift and his eyes widened in shock.

The entire town of Ledolm had been gutted by some great fire and all that was left was a blackened cirlce and smoking shells of houses. The stone of the castle was black and much of the structure had collapsed. Slowly Raith rode past the broken walls and through the dead streets of Ledolm. It was so empty, one would have thought that if it had just been a fire it would have been put out before any real damage was done. Raith realised that the only thing that could have done this was magicks, very powerful magicks.

Raith continued to ride through the ash choked streets, but he soon realised that there had been no survivors. He left by the northern gate soon enough and continued on his way to Gun dürin. As he rode through the sea of grass and single figure in the distance caught his eye. A young woman stood waiting for him, her black hair and white dress blowing in the gentle breeze.

Raith shook his head and slowed his mount as he came along side Kreha.

“Are you lost?” Raith jested as he pulled his horse to a halt.

Kreha smiled up at him, her dark eyes sparkling in bemusement.

“We are not lost, not lost at all,” Kreha smiled, “For many years we were lost inside that prison, but no longer. You go to Gun dürin like we said, we knows. There you will meet a Zirarien called Baelor and man named Elardōre. Follow Baelor’s lead, and be careful of the man Elardōre. We will contact you when it is time. Very soon now it comes.”

“What comes?” Raith asked curiously.

“We knows,” Kreha smiled menacingly, “Yes we do indeed.”

A concerned look came to Raith’s features and he looked in the direction of Gun dürin. When he looked back to Kreha she was gone, Raith glanced about but he knew that he would not see her again until she wanted him to.

Raith shook his head in frustration and urged his horse onwards and long into the evening. Eventually he stopped as it grew dark and cold to let his horses rest. Snow fell during the night and before Inüer peaked over the horizon Raith was back on his horse and nearing the Iron Mountains.

It was mid-morning by the time he came to the black city of Gun dürin as it sat ominously at the base of a tall mountain. Dead trees as white as bone lined the old road and the large gates stood open. Cautiously Raith dropped from his saddle and approached on foot with his horse casually following him.

As soon as he moved through the gates and into the broken streets he was suddenly surrounded by grim faced Blood Elves with their bows drawn.

Although startled Raith kept his calm and continued to walk through the streets, forcing the elves to part before him suspiciously.

“Stop where you are Nevārancien.” One Blood Elf demanded, but Raith kept walking towards the path that lead up into the city and towards the castle.

“I have business with Baelor, not you,” Raith replied confidently.

“I said stop,” the elf growled, but Raith kept walking and the archers kept moving out of his way.

Raith smirked and continued to walk up through the city to the castle.

The elf looked furious and shouted some orders to his companions before lowering his bow and following closely behind Raith. One elf raced ahead of him and up the curving streets to the castle while the others drew their swords and watched him closely.

As Raith walked the broken streets he noticed that among the Blood Elves were many Wood Elves, Sātor Warriors, a few Mōrgul Cats and many dwarves. It seemed that Baelor had again gathered another army of Elder Races to fight for him. Curiously Raith also noted a handful of Snow Elves among the gathered force, usually the Lithinüer stayed well away from the troubles with humans but this lot were young and no doubt filled with ideals.

Soon Raith came to the courtyard and he strode confidently across it and pushed his way through the large doors of the castle which led into a grand entrance hall. The hall was long with white marble floors and massive black pillars which framed an imposing throne at the end. In between the tall pillars stood marble statues of ancient kings and noble warriors, but sadly most had crumbled with age or had been destroyed. It seemed that there had once been a great statue behind the throne but that had also been cast to ruin.

In the tall backed black marble throne sat a handsome Blood Elf with piercing pale green eyes and rich crimson hair, and standing beside the throne was a short bald man with bare feet and a chimera tattoo on the side of his head.

Raith studied the pair curiously as he walked the long hall with many of the elves following catiously behind him.

“Greeting Nevārancien,” the Blood Elf said, “I am Baelor. Tell me what brings you to this long forgotten city?”

The question made Raith pause for other than coming to Gun dürin Kreha had giving him no reason to be there. Why indeed was he here?

“I came looking for you Baelor,” Raith replied honestly, not knowing what else to say.

“And how did you know I was here?” Baelor asked suspiciously.

“A reliably source,” Raith shrugged.

“He is a strange one Baelor,” the bald man remarked, his eyes narrowed. “I don’t like the way he smells, it reminds me of a time long past.”

Baelor sighed irritably, “Why can’t you speak normally, Elardōre?”  

The bald man looked outraged and exaggeratedly crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“Did Kil’dar send you Nevārancien?” Baelor asked Raith seriously.

Raith hesitated as the name sparked a sense of recognition within him, but he nodded in reply.

“I should have known he would send someone to keep an eye on things,” Baelor shook his head and sighed, “Very well, do you have a name?”

“Raith.”

Baelor nodded slowly, “Welcome to my army Raith, I am sure I will find some use for you.”

Raith half nodded as he still tried to work out why the name of Kil’dar was so familiar.

“Here now Baelor, what’s going on?” shouted a gruff dwarf as he pushed his way to the front of the crowd.

As Raith and the dwarf saw each other the dwarf’s eyes went wide before a look of fury took him.

“It’s you,” the dwarf roared and drew for his axe, “You shadow flirting son of a whore!”

The dwarf roared and charged at Raith his axe swinging for his head. A wave of confused recognition flooded over Raith as he quickly stepped away from the sharp axe. Somehow he knew this dwarf, but how?

Sudden images flashed through Raith’s mind and caused his head to pulse painfully. He felt the scar at his eyebrow split apart and warm blood streamed down his cheek. Raith fell to his knees in pain and the colourful Fog seeped from his wound. Through bleary eyes he saw the dwarf’s axe rush down from his head and slam into some unseen barrier which sent the dwarf flying backwards.

Raith clutched at his head as images of him meeting Lieut in Crydon flashed in his mind. He remembered how controlled he had been then, how his every action had been dictated and he had no choice of his own. He did not even know what choice was then.

Another image of him meeting Lieut in the Foglornt Forest came to him and he remembered the dwarf then. Bārdin son of Bain was his name, a friend of Lieuts, as were the other companions he had met. A human named Vythe Varrintine and a beautiful Blood Elf called Fairris.

Pain shot through his head as more images and memories attacked him. He remembered clearly how Kil’dar, his commanding officer, had thought Lieut compromised and forced him to part with his companions. He remembered Kil’dar telling him to kill Lieut once his brother had completed his Purpose. He remembered Lieut’s friends being sentenced to be executed and the group of soldiers taking them into the jungle for the execution.

So vividly Raith recalled how by chance the Sātor Warriors had saved Lieut’s friends and how he had received the gash on his eyebrow. It was after that point that he began to realise that he did not need to blindly follow orders and that he had choice in what he wanted to do.

The next memories that returned to him were of the time he met up with Lieut in the city of Pentra and where they bartered a passage to Crystallis Isle. But then his memories suddenly went fuzzy again and the next thing he saw was a pool of red blood on the white marble floor of the castle of Gun dürin.

Taking in deep breathes Raith staggered to his feet and wiped the blood away from his face as wisps of Fog disappeared into the air. All around him were horrified expressions and dead silence. Even the dwarf Bārdin had been so shocked that his anger had subsided.

“Told you he was strange,” Elardōre spoke up, his dark eyes regarding Raith suspiciously. “And that smell, gets my hackles up.”

“Enough Elardōre,” Baelor snapped angrily, “Enough of your babbling. Where is that army you promised?”

“My Djarcs will be here by nightfall,” Elardōre replied unblinking. “Dalethain could not make it, he lost his head. But Smaulin will be here, don’t you worry.”

“Good,” Baelor nodded and sat back in his throne, “We will make our assault on Bregta tomorrow night then.”

“And burn it to the ground,” Elardōre laughed gleefully.

“No,” Baelor was quick to say, “I told you not to do so with Ledolm, and you most definitely won’t do so this time. This is my war Elardōre and don’t you forget that, you had your chance once before and you failed when you betrayed your own kind. This is my time, and you will not bring me to ruin.”

Elardōre sneered, but nodded his head and went into an extravagant bow, his hand and twirling in the air before him.

“Of course commander,” Elardōre said through clenched teeth and headed from the long hall, giving Raith a suspicious look as he passed.

“Don’t you all have preparations to be making?” Baelor said loudly to the elves and dwarves who were still in the kingly hall. “Raith, Bārdin, as you two already know each other you will be in the same squad. Now everyone leave.”

“Have you gone daft Baelor?” Bārdin roared, “You saw the Fog coming out of this son of a whore’s head. I don’t know about you, but I am a little curious, not to mention suspicious that he showed up out of nowhere. And where is Lieut, you bastard?”

Bārdin held his axe menacingly and glared at Raith.

“He is in Skelledaris,” Raith replied simply, drawing a surprised looked from the dwarf.

“You mean he’s not dead?” Bārdin asked, his axe lowering.

“No, why would he be?” Raith replied with a perplexed expression.

“I can tell you two will be great companions,” Baelor said hurriedly, “Now leave I have much to plan.”

“Baelor,” Bārdin said with frustration, “The Fog in his head.”

“Do you expect me to have all the answers?” Baelor snapped, “I do not know, how can I know? Ask Raith yourself and stop pestering me.”

Baelor stood up from his throne and quickly left the hall, ending any attempts of further questions.

Raith sighed as he turned and followed the rest of the elves and dwarves from the hall.

“I should still kill you,” Bārdin huffed as he stomped alongside Raith. “You may not have killed Lieut, but I know you are working for that Kil’dar person. I should kill you for just trying to have me executed.”

Raith smirked, “You are welcome to try dwarf.”

Bārdin grumbled something under his beard as the moved out into the courtyard, where Elardōre was waiting.

“I got my third eye on you, Fog head.” Elardōre announced menacingly and shoved a grubby figure towards Raith before spinning on his heels and walking swiftly away.

“I don’t like that madman,” Bārdin spat to the side, “All that talking of Smaulin and Delathian got me worried.”

“Even I can tell he is Gildon,” Raith replied simply.

“What? How? That don’t make sense,” Bārdin balked in horror.

“Dark power emanates from him,” Raith replied, “And the way he talked about Delathain and Smaulin is evidence to show that he cannot be anyone else but Gildon.”

“That’s impossible,” Bārdin shook his head in fear, “He was defeated. Everyone knows that.”

“Defeated but not destroyed,” Raith said, “He must be Gildon, there is no other explination. After you rule out everything else, whatever remains must be the truth. So despite how absurd it sounds he is Gildon.”

“By Dhror’s bushy beard, what darkness has been unleashed unto the world,” Bardin said quietly and shook his head, “And what is Baelor playing at bringing Gildon into this?”

“What is there to worry about?” Raith asked as he began down into the city. “Baelor is in control, for the time being. And Gildon was defeated once, so he can be again.”

“What is wrong with you?” Bārdin asked seriously as he followed, “If he really is Gildon do you understand what that means?”

“What is it with you people and fearing power?” Raith asked suddenly and he glanced to Bārdin. “He is flesh and blood, so he can die like anyone else.”

“That’s easy for someone as strong as Lieut to say,” Bārdin replied, “But you’re from Nevārance, you don’t know that pain Gildon caused on this land in the Third Age.”

Raith clenched his jaw at the comparison with his brother, but did not reply.

“This way,” Bārdin said and motioned for Raith to follow him towards the west side of the city.

Raith followed hesitantly and the dwarf led the way through the broken streets and town squares filled with squads of Elder Races preparing for battle. More pale white trees stood throughout the city desperately clinging to the stones as if they were still living.

“So what is Lieut doing in Skelledaris?” Bārdin asked as they walked along.

“Looking for someone,” Raith replied vaguely.

“Well I doubt he will find her there,” Bārdin said, “Last I heard Fairris joined the Grey Company and was over in Sparren.”

Raith did not reply and the images of the blonde haired woman came to his thoughts and frustrated him as he tried to remember.

“Here we are,” Bārdin said as they came to a small square with a bone white tree standing over the dozen of occupants who mulled about.

Most of the occupants were dwarven, many who bore large burns on their skin or wounds from a recent fight. But catching Raith eye was a trio of gruff looking dwarves and a beautiful Wood Elf sitting at the base of the dead tree.

“Raith.” The Wood Elf exclaimed as she saw him and getting to her feet she skipped over to him. “I never thought we would see you again.”

“Who is that Fluna?” Asked the dwarf with the thick black beard.

“It is Raith, Dwilt,” Fluna replied and moved to the side so Dwilt and his two dwarven companions could see.

“Come to finish the job have ya?” Dwilt roared and jumped to his feet, axe in hand.

“What’s going on?” Bārdin roared and came between Dwilt and Raith.

“Me King, this Raith character was the reason me other companions died,” Dwilt explained and Bārdin shot Raith a curious look.

“No he was not Dwilt,” Fluna cut in, “He had the chance to side with that fiend Hrult but he did not, remember? He knew we were not Dun kār. I know you want someone to blame for what happened. But you cannot balme Raith.”

Dwilt lowered his axe and grumbled something before nodding his head and returning to his seat.

“No more fighting,” Bārdin commanded, “If anyone is to kill this shadow dancing son of a whore it will be me, got it? There are enough problems around here as it is, we don’t need no more.”

Dwilt nodded respectfully and waved Raith over to their seats.

Hesitantly Raith joined them and Dwilt had a few questions for him, as did Blarren and Nald who were the only others who had survived the fight on the road from Valier.

“I find it curious,” Raith said after the discussion had died down, “That you were adamant about not being Dun kār, and yet here you are now.”

Anger suddenly flashed across Dwilt’s face, “What do you think we would do after what had happened? Those damn humans forced us into this position. We had nothing against them before, but I will as sure as the Abyss kill everyone I come across now. And what did they think would happen after pulling that stunt? There are all idiots. Racist, greedy idiots.”

Raith looked to Blarren and Nald and could see that they thought the same, even Fluna nodded grimly to Dwilt’s words and Raith said no more on the topic.

Later that day he joined Fluna for a walk around the city and atop the battlements. It was a strange realisation to him that he was glad to have met Dwilt and his crew again. He was also glad to be spending time with the beautiful Wood Elf again and her smile kept his attention as they talked and walked.

As the afternoon grew late Raith and Fluna were still walking the city walls and it was there that he saw the coming army of Elardōre’s Djarcs. Like a black tide they came from the tree line of the Foglornt Forest in the southwest and right up to the gates of Gun dürin where Elardōre walked out to meet them.

By now many of the elves and dwarves were also standing atop the walls and looking on in horror at the grotesqueness of the Djarcs.

“Djarcs. It is like the army of Gildons,” one elf remarked ominously.

“Do not worry, my friend,” another elf reassured, “Baelor is in control, he will not betray us.”

Many other elves agreed to the statement as they watched Elardōre approach his army.

At the lead of the Djarcs a tall man shrouded in malice came forth and knelt before Elardōre a blood red cloak over one shoulder and a heavy broadsword belted at the opposite hip.

Many words were exchanged between Elardōre and his commander Smaulin before the tall man stood and waded back into the mass of the ugly fiends. Much to the relief of many standing on the wall the black tide receded and seemed to disappear into the coming night.

Raith and Fluna soon returned to the small square where the others had all turned in for the night using the half ruined houses about the place as accommodation.

“Hold me tonight, Raith,” Fluna said alluringly and she took him by the hand.

Raith’s first reaction was to pull away, but a slight smile came to his face and he let the Wood Elf lead the way into a small house that she stayed in by herself. Having some previous experience with Rivian back in Alabast Raith let himself enjoy Fluna’s touch as they lay down on her sleeping bag, and enjoyed being better than Lieut at something.

The next morning Raith was sitting quietly with his back to the dead tree as the rest of the squad awoke and gathered preparing for the battle. Bārdin slumped down heavily next Raith and groaned.

“Don’t ever drink Raith,” Bārdin said as he grabbed his head, “I suppose I don’t need to tell you that though.”

Bārdin snickered and groaned again.

“Stick to water,” Bārdin said, “Hangovers are worse than death.”

“Then why drink at all,” Raith asked curiously, and he studied Bārdin closely and the pain that was on his face.

“Look around you,” Bārdin said and motioned to the few dwarves about the place. “I used to have a clan of over a hundred. Eight is all that’s left.”

“What happened?” asked Raith, genuinely curious.

“Human greed and blood lust,” Bārdin sneered, “You wonder why I drink so much? You would too if you been through what I have. You would too if all the dwarves that looked to you for leadership and protection died needlessly.”

Bārdin sighed heavily and said no more.

Before Raith could say anything a messenger came with word that Baelor wanted to see him and Bārdin.

“Hey Drünarg,” Bārdin called to one of his clan members, “You got command until I get back.”

The heavily burned dwarf nodded to Bārdin and continued about his preparations and Raith and Bārdin headed for the castle.

They met Baelor in the courtyard in front of the castle doors where he was talking with a few elves and sending them on errands. Beside Baelor stood his beautiful assistant Fanriel, who was taking notes and nodding as Baelor said some things to her.

“Damn that Elardōre,” Baelor exclaimed as Raith and Bārdin came up to him. “Our time to attack has moved forward. Elardōre’s Djarcs sacked the town of Calias during the night and they are position to charge the grouped armies of Waifald and Calias as they continue siege on Bregta.”  

“I hope you are still in control Baelor,” Bārdin said seriously.

“Of course I am,” the Blood Elf snapped, “The squads will be teleported into Bregta as planned. As for us three and Fanriel we will teleport directly at the castle and take the head from the forces. All the other squads will land scattered throughout the town and we will take it from within as Elardōre’s army cripples the joined forces of Calias and Waifald.”

Just then and elf came running to them.

“Everyone is in position,” the messenger said, “We await the signal.”

Baelor nodded and the messenger sprinted back into the city.

“Now is the time,” Baelor said commandingly, “Now is the time we strike fear into the humans. When the Elder Races assert their power over the humans and demand that equality reign over all.”

Raith felt magickal energies build around Baelor and as the elf punched his first into the air a red missile launched high into the sky and exploded in a shower of sparkling rain. Suddenly Raith felt a surge of magicks build within Gun dürin and release as hundreds of Elder Race squad teleported from the city.

Just then the black city blurred before Raith’s eyes before shattering like glass. A bright white light glared in his face and then the castle of Bregta was before him.

Raith saw Lord Wyndenr turn from surveying the battlefield atop the wall, a look of surprise marked clearly on his face.

“Raith,” Lord Wyndenr exclaimed, noticing him, “You have returned, and brought some magicks wielding friends along.”

Lord Wyndenr’s next words were interrupt as he coughed up blood and fell to his knees, and a barrage of invisible spears had thundered into his chest from Baelor’s spell. Lord Wyndenr looked at Raith in confusion and betrayal as his blood gushed from his mouth and stained his expensive clothes.

Raith shrugged in reply and the Lord fell on his face.

By now the forces of the Elder Races had swept through the streets of Bregta killing many before the soldiers surrendered. There were few soldiers around the castle and those who were surrendered before Raith could draw his swords.

With a disappointed sigh he went and stood atop the wall by Lord Wyndenr’s body and looked out at the army Djarcs as they routed the rest of the combined forces of Calias and Waifald.

Minutes later those combined forces were in full retreat in the direction of Waifald, but relentlessly the Djarcs chased them to the north east. Raith heard Baelor curse loudly as he saw the sight and he quickly teleported from the castle. Amazingly the Djarcs soon stooped their pursuit of the fleeing army and returned to the walls of Bregta, but did not enter the town.

“That was easy,” Bārdin remarked as he stood beside Raith. “I wonder what death and destruction Baelor and Elardōre have in mind next.”

Raith nodded in agreement and continued to look across Bregta which marked the first victory for the Elder Races as they fought for their equality. But Raith was wondering why Kreha had sent him to Baelor. What did she have planned? 

 

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