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Chapter 1: The Messenger

It was a quiet, foreboding night. No creature stirred, nor breeze blew. Mother Nature's wrath-The dark clouds, heavy fog, and occasional splatters of rain- Caught any curious creature, human or otherwise, thatventured out unto the dark.

One such animal, a doe, took her time to walk out into the heavy night air to enjoy a small meal of the grass that grew along the cobblestone pathway. She bent down and grazed contently, the soft green blades ticking her muzzle as she ate. Her moment of peace was shortly interrupted by the clatter of hoof beats on the hard path. As she quickly trotted away, she caught a glimpse of the source of the noise as it cut through the fog. It was a messenger on horseback.

He was tall in bearing; his muscular arms classified him as a 'Son of a Warrior' and the well-crafted steel sword on his belt classified him as a Knight himself. He rode in rhythm with the great beast beneath him, a black stallion. A dark cloak was draped across his shoulders, covering his white surcoat and steel mail beneath that. His belt was fairly simple with the exception of the elaborate silver clasp, which depicted a pine tree framed by a wreath of olive branches. It was the symbol of a Messenger of the Falderian Empire. The man’s name was Versil, and he was the son of Dras Eron, who was Lord of Castle Orlu, a western outpost near the border with the Argentinites.

His father was one of the more defensive leaders in the kingdom, obsessed with building castles, walls, and fortresses across the kingdom to aid in any home-front defense. There was good reason for doing this, for far to the north, past the Mountains of Del’haran were the lands of The Ferdinii, the only foe of The Mighty Empire. They were fierce fighters, expert raiders and advanced seafarers, known to keep their axes sharp and their beer sharper. They were feared by nearly every kingdom and empire in the world and their massive, if highly unorganized, armies struck fear in the heart of every Falderian soldier. At the battle of Ardilcrae only a year before, a force of several thousand Ferdinii had crushed a legion of nearly 40,000 Falderian soldiers during a midnight ambush that changed the face of combat for centuries to come. Currently, several Ferdinii raiding parties were unloading troops at the eastern shores while hordes of Ferdinii were massing at the northern border of The Empire.. The hordes were growing rapidly and putting pressure on the garrison in the Pass of Teriasnae threatening to break through,

As the road took Versil through a rocky area, the various crags and cliffs loomed about him like haunting gods of old. Bare towers and walls jutted out through the heavy sea of mist. Quiet faces surrounded him, pursuing his humanity, a single hope and craving of life filled the air around him, an ancient yearning for the basic gift that drove his life-force. It was the guardians of the City, the first and most ancient defense of the brilliant city of Arlidain, the capital of the Falderian Empire.

Before him loomed the great walls of the city, a great mortar-and-stone construct measuring 50 feet tall at least. He could barely see the bastions and towers high above through the night and the fog, but he knew the eagle-eyed guards atop the wall had seen him. The gentle throaty call of a claxon cut through the night, notifying the men at the gatehouse of the approaching rider.

<-0->

"King's Messenger, I demand entrance!" Versil said to the old gatekeeper as he dismounted.

"Do I know you friend? You sound familiar... I don't care if you're Endenger's kin; you'll have to wait for the morning bell to toll before ye can pass through this here gate. No man, woman, or child shall enter this here city by order of the King. You know that guy who lives in the palace and rules over the Kingdom. Some say he..."

"Listen, old man," Versil said, cutting the old man off, "I would stay to chat, but I don't have time. I must speak to the king at once!"

"Of course we all want to see the king, but with this dreaded war, he keeps himself locked up in his study and the council hall..."

Before Versil could interrupt again, a tall guard strode up. "Alderaeus, this young man carries messages filled with important war information for the King. Do you remember Crestius? He carried messages as well."

A look of embarrassment and surprise crossed the old man's face. "Sorry, lad... Ye begin forgettn' these things when ye get a bit older," he said with a smile, "Come on through the gate before the ghosts of the past get ya."

The old man opened up the portal in the side of the gate and quickly ushered Versil through before quickly closing the gate behind him and the tall guard and heading back to the meal table.

<-0->

Usually in a city you hear certain noises of human occupation. The only noises in the city of Arlidain were those of the few children crying and the faint sound of hammers striking steel as the city prepared for war and the quiet chatter of Guards in the background.  The few citizens Versus rode past were but ghosts of the past, pale skinned and sickly. The war had hit more than the armies of the two countries, but the city folk were suffering from disease and famine as thousands of rarely-washed soldiers marched into and out of the kingdom's cities daily.

Quietest of all was the Imperial Palace, where the King met with his council... or so it appeared. After putting his horse, Beldain, in with several other horses in the Royal Stables, Versil strode quickly towards the Council Chamber. As he approached, he could hear raised voices shouting furious incantations across the room at each other... 'It appears the generalae have gotten themselves into another argument... I'd better find somewhere to take cover before I make any sort of entrance, or risk getting knocked out from a flying table... or worse’ Versil thought.

The voice of a General is something even the most un-educated peasant can differentiate from other professions. Sure, a shop wright can shout loud, but the sharp, booming monotones of a group of Generals in conference is like a thunderstorm in a theater. As Versil strode quietly and deliberately towards the brightly lit chamber, a noisy counter-argument sprung up, out-doing the original movement. Some shouting and the sound of chairs scraping across the stone floor ushered the entrance of Versil. He stood to the side, making sure to steer clear of the occasional free-flying fist. When the Generalae had finally stopped their brawl, Versil stepped out timidly into the light.

"My lords," he spoke, his voice echoing strangely in the stone chamber, "I bear grave news, the city of Ardilcrae is once again under siege and the garrison at the pass of Teriasnaehas been overrun by a force much larger than we anticipated."

Although they were practically small-scale enemies, the lords and generals around the table were all loyal to the king and their kingdom. When war was declared upon the kingdom, the lords would cease their mock warfare with each other and work as a team of a sort... or so they said.

Like all governments, it worked much better on paper than in real life.

"How many march against us?" asked Duke Wilhelm van Aldorain.

"And what of Lord Mithercraetus, Lord of Ardrilcrae? How many has he mustered?" asked the Order-Master of the Knights of the Sword and the Scepter.

"The enemy force is led by Jarl Draen Hogeun and consists of 10,000 heavy infantry; 40,000 light infantry; not to mention over 5,000 support troops. Scouts believe they have a half-a-dozen battering rams, two Orangers, and four dozen siege ladders. Our forces number at 5,000 longbowmen; 4,000 heavy infantry; 3,000 cavalry; and 8,000 men-at-arms. The Knights of the Sword and Scepter also have a garrison force of 547 Knights and 39 Paladins stationed there."

Looks of shock and horror were abroad the small chamber.

"Then our decision is already made!" spoke Eulendas, elf-advisor to the King, "We must muster a force to rescue the castle at ONCE!"

A wave of shouting both countered and supported his cause.

"We don't have enough soldiers!" exclaimed General Crestorian.

"How do you know they won't be able to defend themselves? They are garrisoned in one of the finest castles in all of the Empire!" shouted Duke Brackendack de Gordgen, shaking his fist in the air angrily.

The shouting and arguing carried on for two minutes, while the already crushed king looked slowly more and more dismayed until he finally stood and shouted "ENOUGH!"

"We will send a force to relieve the garrison. I am placing the able Sir Alderius in charge of this force and you," the king said, pointing at Versil, "will accompany him and report directly back to me when the force reaches the city. Now, was that so difficult?"

The crowd of leaders nodded solemnly.

"If that is the wish of the King, then I, Alderius de Arlidor shall not fail you! No matter if I am struck down and dying in battle, I shall make sure that the relief force reaches the city!"