Years ago a Targonian army led by Broka Lanka landed on the southern shores of Kolraim. In swift battles they crushed the Kolraim military and used it as a base of operations to invade the fertile lands of Shanzon. After conquering Shanzon they settled down and Broka Lanka became the first Targon King. Two years after consolidating control of Shanzon and Kolraim an unnamed warlock offered his services to Broka Lanka. Seeing an opportunity to acquire more power he agreed. Soon warlocks became an integral part of the army and assisted in conquering Pragonen with relative ease, thereby establishing Shanzon as the capital of the new empire, called the supremacy.
History of the Targon Supremacy, written by Warlock Donal of the High Council 1132 LP (Light Period)
After five miles of walking in the gloomy forest, Trogon could see a town ahead in a broad clearing through the thick forest branches. Trogon was exhilarated at the welcoming sight of the sturdy wooden walls made up of thousands of logs thrust deep into the earth to enclose the town of Mantria. A moat encircled the tall wooden walls filled to the brim with the town’s disgusting waste. A veil of brown wool swayed over the town, used to ward off the powerful heat of the sun. A narrow, dark bridge made of redwood spanned the moat. With four town guards standing watch on the bridge dressed in green surcoats, emblazoned with the Mantorial tree in the centre, and wearing heavy chainmail underneath that clinked noisily as they patrolled the path leading into the forest.
The carriage made its exit out of the dark, bleak forest, the horse whinnying buoyantly at being out in the light again, the guards on duty catching sight of a huge dark man striding forward in front of a carriage garishly decorated with dragons, a symbol the witches had taken to using, to represent their power. The guards startled at their appearance, watched with fascination as the carriage and strange man approached. One of the guards began to frantically wave his arms about, probably shouting instructions Trogon thought. A young boy scurried off to deliver the news of the new arrivals to the guard captain. The boy swiftly took off, running into the neighbouring barracks to alert the captain. A few seconds later the guard captain appeared, running out of the blocky grey, square-shaped barracks attended by several guardsmen, in heavy chainmail and surcoats, wielding steel swords in hand.
Trogon took in the sight of the guardsmen spilling out of the town with an equanimity that belied the fiery nature of his temper. He stopped the moving carriage as they neared the bridge that was now blocked off by the Mantrian town guard, and gave Iron Foot a quiet word or two not to worry. Then he poked his head through the opening where the carriage door had been to speak to Mira. Lady Mira gave a startled squeak at seeing Trogon’s colossal head duck into the carriage, which Trogon chose to ignore as he beheld the interior of the carriage. He whistled softly in appreciation at the wealth on display. Mira sniffed in annoyance at the intrusion to her privacy. “What is it?” she demanded.
Trogon surveyed the interior for a few more seconds before speaking. “We have arrived at the town of Mantria, and it seems we won’t be receiving a warm welcome despite our arrival in a carriage with the dragon emblem,” he said, and pointed his arm at the bridge where guards were piling out fully armed and equipped for a fight.
Lady Mira studied the guards spilling out of the town for a minute, and then offered her hand to Trogon who stared at the thin golden hand, perplexed at what to do. Mira gave another irritated sniff and with a cold voice said, “Help me out, you hulking oaf”. Trogon took an uncommonly gentle grasp of her delicate hand, and assisted her out of the carriage. With an insistent push she got Trogon to walk alongside her towards the bridge under the blistering sun and blushing red sky.
The guard captain, seeing their approach, swiftly chose two of his best swordsmen and crossed into the centre of the bridge to wait for them. As Trogon drew closer to the bridge, sweating in his linen white shirt, and Lady Mira draped in her fine blue silk gown that was going damp with sweat, he noticed the expressions on the faces of the guards blocking the way into the town. The guard captain a stocky man, with more than a few years resting upon his shoulders; his scarred, weathered face carefully stained with mud to protect himself from the sun betrayed an underlining of fear. That presented itself in the form of twitchy eyes and feet that were constantly shifting. The hand resting on his sword had also gone completely white from gripping the hilt too tightly. Trogon could see the same edge of fear written upon the mud-coated faces of the younger men beside the guard captain as well.
Lady Mira gave Trogon a worried frown, as she too noticed the miasma of fear written all over the guards’ dirty faces. “I am here to see Lady Sandria of House Crushing Foot,” she said to the guard captain.
The captain’s expression switched instantly to surprise. “My Lady,” said the guard captain in a worried tone. “Lady Sandria was murdered six day ago,” he said with a hint of confusion.
Mira gasped; she had known Lady Sandria well from their days working together in a laboratory on another type of death curse that was supposed to help with the witches’ war effort. Trogon placed a hand on her shoulder to comfort her, but she shrugged it off absentmindedly, still focused on her goal. “How was she murdered, guard captain?”.
The man clenched his fist harder around his sword hilt before speaking. “Black figures, with yellow eyes, cut their way through the gate guards protecting this here bridge,” he said with sorrow. “They then headed to the centre of town slaughtering all those in their path.” His sad eyes looked into Mira’s. “Somehow the creatures knew where to go, because they went straight to the Snoring Inn where Lady Sandria was residing at and …” The guard captain cut off.
His voice started to crack. “They tore everyone inside apart, I have never seen anything like it: the town mayor, the town mayor was there too with his family visiting Lady Sandria when it happened.” Blood drained from Mira’s face; the yellow-eyed humanoids had shown up here as well. This did not bode well. It seemed they were targeting witches, but why? Why target witches? What was their goal in destabilising an already war-torn Empire? She pursed her lips thoughtfully.
Trogon, however, was still curious about the fear that was emanating in waves off these men. “It doesn’t make sense,” spoke Trogon in his gravelly voice. Their faces turned towards him. “Why are you and your men so afraid of us then?”
The guard captain gave a nervous smile. “Well, we thought, since you arrived in the carriage of a witch, that you had been sent by the council of witches to …” Lady Mira cut the guard captain off, giving a small, knowing smile to Trogon, and finished what the guard captain was saying. “They feared the repercussions they would face in failing to protect Lady Sandria.”
The guard captain gave a remorseful bow. “We apologise for the un-friendly reception, but we expected word back from the council of witches days ago so we feared the worst.” Trogon nodded his understanding as things slotted into place in his mind. Expecting retribution days ago for failing in their duty to protect and serve a witch.
The guard captain must have thought that they would receive the ultimate punishment, devised by the council years ago. A hex of such abnormal power that it forced those within the hex’s proximity into a feeding frenzy that had them tearing each other limb from limb for food. Lady Mira, who must have been thinking the same thing, abruptly threw up, spilling the contents of her stomach onto the bridge in front of her, splashing the feet of the guard captain who leapt back, startled.
“CAPTAIN,” shouted a guard from atop the wooden walls of the town, pointing furiously back towards the forest. Trogon swung his head around, and groaned inwardly as he saw thousands of black-robed figures springing out of the forest, running towards them carrying two short coal-black swords in each hand. The guard captain's face went grey,and froze, completely shocked. Trogon, seeing the captain frozen with fear, roared, “EVERYONE INSIDE NOW! WE MUST SHUT THE GATES.” His confidence and booming voice, galvanised the men outside into action. They immediately began hurrying into the safety of the town walls. Trogon took Lady Mira gently by her arm and pushed the guard captain unceremoniously forward to get him moving. Together they entered the town of Mantria, where the citizens of the small town crowded the streets, wondering why the guards were running inside.
Releasing Mira’s arm, he moved to help the four guardsmen struggling to push the large wooden gates shut. He charged forward and threw his entire weight against the gate. Slowly the gate under the combined weight of five men was grinding shut. The humanoids, seeing the gates closing, sped up their pace and threw hidden daggers concealed in their sleeves at the men closing the gates. A wave of agony crashed into Trogon as a dagger hammered deep into his muscled shoulder. Clenching his jaw, he ignored the pain and kept pushing. The gates slammed shut with a thud and the heavy locking bar was dropped into place. The men working the gates slumped to the ground like bees losing their stingers, breathing harshly from the effort.
Trogon, wincing from the pain in his shoulder, groaned as he plucked the dagger out and chucked it into the nearby scrub. Mira, seeing his wound, rushed over to his side. “I’m okay, just need to stop bleeding,” he said and tore off a piece from his white shirt. Mira took the piece of cloth and tied it on around his arm to staunch the blood flowing out. Done, she looked at him worriedly. He heaved himself up onto his feet.
“Listen, I need to see what is going on up top.” Mira mutely gestured for Trogon to go. He nodded his head to her in thanks, and clambered up the ladder to the top of the rampart where dozens of guardsmen were scrambling out of the barracks located on either side to form a line with loaded crossbow bolts. All of them were dressed in the Mantrian town guard uniform. The two lines of men rapidly formed up at the wall waiting for the signal to rain down fire upon the enemy. The humanoids, oblivious to the men lining the walls above, were tearing across the open plain between the forests and the town to the bridge.
A man dressed in shining plate armour with the tree of Mantoria engraved upon his shoulder guards and chest plate came running onto the rampart to take command. Drawing his long sword in a flashy show of skill he shouted, “FIRE”. A volley of bolts whipped through the air to rain down into the enemy, sending black-clad humanoids flying backwards as they were struck by the powerful steel bolts. “FIRST LINE RELOAD, SECOND LINE GET READY,” shouted the commander to his men. The second file opened up a gap to let the first rank past. The second rank of men advanced to the front and raised loaded crossbows. “FIRE!” A second volley was loosed into the mass of humanoids below, causing more chaos. “SECOND LINE RELOAD, FIRST LINE GET READY!” Volley after volley was released into the humanoids.
The humanoids, however, did not stop. They leapt over the corpses of their comrades and pressed onward towards the walls. Lady Mira climbed up the ladder to join Trogon on the rampart, her eyes blazing with concentration on the humanoids. He was about to tell her to go back down where it would be safe, when she let loose a barrage of lightning blue fireballs from the palms of her hands to explode into the humanoids. The fireballs left scorch marks and piles of charred corpses on the ground where humanoids were burned to death. Trogon grinned in delight at the destruction of his enemy and unslung his battle axe.
The humanoids were finally arriving at the bridge only to be slaughtered as they were forced to funnel onto the bridge, hundreds of corpses mounted the bridge quickly. The humanoids, realising they wouldn’t be able to cross over in great numbers, tried a different tactic. They picked up their dead and held them up as shields to advance across the bridge and draw the crossbow fire from above, while the humanoids protected at the rear. They dragged away the corpses of their dead and dying to fill in a patch of the moat.
They made a bridge stuffed full of black-robed bodies packed in tight, to ensure it wouldn’t fall apart. As soon as it was finished the humanoids flooded across the newly made bridge, avoiding the fireballs and crossbow bolts to begin climbing the walls frantically. The commander alert to their approach barked, “SECOND RANK DRAW SWORDS AND PREPARE TO RECEIVE THE ENEMY, FIRST RANK FIRE AT WILL!” The back rank clipped their crossbows to their waists and drew their swords with a rasp and unslung their round shields embossed with the tree of Mantoria from their backs to wait for the enemy. They did not have to wait for long.
***
Raid had eventually come out of the forest of Mantoria into the scorching hot sun, when he heard explosions coming from off in the distance. He instinctively swung his head around to search for the direction the sound was coming from. Once he realised that the sound was coming from the direction of his hometown, fear and anger surged within him. He placed the thief gently down on the ground, and headed in the direction of the explosions. He slid his blade out of its sheath and ran fast. He cut through the wind at great speed, giving Raid his first sight of home for a long time, blanketed with thousands of black-robed figures wielding two short blades, besieging his beloved town.
Raid paused for a brief moment to catch his breath, taking in the sight of the enemy clambering over their dead and dying. Watching with a mixture of fear and awe as these black robed figures danced across the bridge. The sound of their feet pounding the earth, as they emitted an eerie shrieking sound that ached the ears. Angry at his hesitation and unsure what to do? He looked on.
Seeing the enemy reach the wall, and begin climbing the walls. He growled in frustration at the black specks marring his hometown, pulled the hood on his cloak over his head and hoped it would be enough to disguise his features then dashed forward to push himself in amongst the black robed warriors.
Robed bodies pressed in all around him, bolts flew overhead to kill the creatures unable to dodge or move amongst the throng. Realising he wouldn't make it to the gate easily, he began to hack his blade into the backs of the robed creatures to clear a path for himself. With the creatures so busy focusing their attention on assaulting the walls, Raid made easy progress slicing his way into their backs. He swirled deeper and deeper into the mass of bodies that constantly shifted in their attempts to approach the wall unscathed.
Raid’s form was a blur of action as he whipped his sword back and forth to hack away at the uncomprehending enemy. His blade sliced through enemy chests, arms and legs like they were rotten wood. Soon Raid was covered head to toe in the blood and gore of his enemies. The robed fighters arriving at the bottom of the tall wooden walls milled around the base of the town probing for places on the flat wooden walls to climb, while other black robed figures threw themselves bodily at the town gates hoping to break the gate in with weight of numbers.
Raid his body exhausted from swinging his blade slipped on the hand of a dead humanoid, getting his first glimpse of the robed warriors. His jaw dropped open in surprise, the young girl inside the robe had ruby red skin, and eyes the colour of gold. She must have been at least fifteen, a young girl. Sadness engulfed him. Slowly he leant over her still body and gently closed her eyes, murmuring "rest young one". Taking a breath he tried to get back up on his feet, but was constantly buffeted back down by robed warriors stepping on and over him. Growling he leapt up and continued pushing, shoving and cleaving his way forward through the enemy.
The clash of steel on steel rung in the air with its screeching sound as the Mantrian town guard fought for their lives against the trickle of humanoids leaping over the walls to attack them in their flowing black robes. The humanoids’ midnight blades darted in and out to find easy openings in the men guarding the wall; any man too slow to drive the humanoids off the wall died in seconds. For now the two lines of trained guardsmen were able to deal with the few humanoids coming over the top. To reduce the amount reaching the top, guardsmen slashed away at the hungry fingers of the humanoids trying to reach the tip of the wall. Their fingers cut to ribbons, as they were sent toppling off the wall into the horde of black-robed bodies below. The commander in his steel plate armour was a blur of action, ordering the crossbowmen to keep firing at the enemy at point blank range and leading sorties to drive the humanoids back over the wall that have managed to seize a foothold on the ramparts.
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Trogon, with his huge war axe that was wet with humanoid blood, was sweeping his axe back and forth to knock humanoids off the walls, being careful not to lose his cool and lose control of himself in the heat of battle. The ensuing fight atop the wall grew more and more frenzied as Trogon saw two oversized humanoids from the corner of his eye hop onto the rampart and burst open the line in the centre of the defenders. The pair of humanoids fought back to back, a whirlwind of black blades seeking vulnerable flesh. Guardsmen closed shields and tried to compress in around the pair to cut them down.
The pair, seeing the wall of steel coming towards them, launched daggers from their sleeves. Three men in the shield wall were hit: two were badly wounded and another died from a dagger thrown into the eye. The humanoids used the opening provided by the fallen men to carve a path into the guardsmen, laying out another two men, too slow to block their blistering attacks. The men fell back in retreat, as more of the humanoids leapt over the wall to join the huge pair. The humanoids, given room to plan, surveyed the fight with their yellow eyes, assessing their chances of victory upon the wall.
Judging Trogon to be the greatest threat they came at him in strength. Trogon growled with outrage and fury at the death of the men, compelling the sleeping titan within him to wake, fuelled by his anger. His heart beat faster and faster. His veins swelled in his arms, chest and legs. His eyes became bloodshot as the berserker rage seized him. He roared at the humanoids attacking the men and stampeded toward the twin humanoids in black robes. His axe swished through the air with dazzling speed, the honed axe head a blur in the breeze.
The humanoids, unable to block the powerful swings of the axe and unable to swerve out of the path on the tightly packed rampart, were cleaved in two, dying on a growing mound of dead corpses. The guardsmen, seeing Trogon slaughter the huge pair of humanoids, hooted and rushed in to help him kill the remaining humanoids that had come over the wall behind the pair. When Trogon twisted his head and growled like a rabid wolf at the soldiers. The men halted at the wave of hatred and rage thrown their way. Trogon fought for control of his rage, but his titan blood screamed at him to tear everyone apart. With all the strength he could muster, he punched himself in the face. The pain at being clobbered in the face allowed him to take control of the beast within him. Breathing hard he watched as the commander, seeing danger, raced over to throw back the last humanoids in the centre.
Feeling calmer, Trogon caught his breath quickly and twisted his head to see how they were doing, when six humanoids leapt over the wall simultaneously, breaking the line to his left this time. Three guardsmen were on the ground, bleeding from mortal wounds delivered at spectacular speed. The only survivors from the swift strike were two bloodied guardsmen hiding behind their shields, both men receiving a heavy deluge of blows to their shields as the humanoids tried to tear their shields away from them.
Trogon, with no time to apologise to the men he had nearly attacked, no time to rest, ran towards the men struggling to survive. Bumping into the commander in his plate armour running in the same direction, the commander yelled over the din of battle to him as they ran. “DO YOU KNOW TORTOISE STRIKE?” Trogon nodded his head grimly. Together they struck the enemy, Trogon’s axe clearing a path for the charging commander, who used his shield to smash into the humanoids securing their position on the rampart.
Two of the humanoids were driven off the wall by his almighty charge. Trogon killed the humanoids, trying to surround the commander with careful swings of his axe. The soldiers, given a reprieve from having their shields battered, roared with vengeance at their slain comrades and dashed forward to join their commander. Together they fought alongside each other, the well-protected commander using his shield to block blows coming at Trogon while he delivered deadly chops of his axe downward into the enemy.
The humanoids forced to give ground as more guardsmen arrived to assist were finally thrown off the wall. With their flank secured, Trogon felt his arms go wobbly from swinging the axe. The commander gave Trogon a slap on the back with his gauntleted fist and headed back to the men in the centre. A detachment of guardsmen from the other side of town poured onto the ramparts to reinforce their position. The humanoids launched three more assaults upon the wall, but with the reinforcements they were easily able to break their attacks. The humanoids, having never come against such determined defence, lost their nerve and began to fall back. Trogon breathed a sigh of relief as the humanoids began to flee and looked for Mira.
***
Fireballs crashed into the ground around Raid and bolts hammered into the enemy. Raid, unable to get to the gates, immersed himself in the field of battle. He no longer considered the safety of the walls as his first priority. He threw himself wholeheartedly at the enemy, confusing the black robed fighters who did not understand why they were dying from within their own ranks. Panic began to set in, as the crossbow bolts and fireballs took their toll on the war host.
Gatlan, leader of the fiendish war host, watched in amazement from a safe distance as his warriors were being driven off the wall by a big human with a wickedly large axe. He flinched as a fireball zoomed across the sky to crash into the earth beside him, narrowly missing him but managing to kill his second-in-command Trombone whom he had never liked. He wiped the mud that had splashed onto his face from the earth exploding next to him and continued to watch as his warriors, unable to make a real dent in the town’s defenders, were being forced off the wall. His grand attack was being repelled back, like a fist bashing into a stone wall. His troops, panicking, were fleeing the battlefield. Seeing no way to halt this catastrophic defeat and unwilling to risk his own life to rally the war host, as he considered sacrifice to be a crude manner of dying fit for only common soldiers and not beings of higher power such as himself, he stood to the side and watched at the unfolding scene of destruction.
Snorting angrily in frustration at this easy defeat, Gatlan squeezed the hilt of his sword tightly in his fist and cursed the town’s inhabitants to a gruesome death, then spun on his heels to leave the field of battle. As he did so, he noticed a group of his fellow warriors falling down around a figure coated in the blood of his people. The man was dancing outside the town walls, tearing his warriors apart with a skill that was unmatched on the battlefield. His blade was flickering in and out of his warriors, chopping off heads and cutting open throats to further soak the ground in blood. Galtan drew his pitch-black long sword and gilded forward to meet this man who dared to spill the blood of his warriors.
Raid’s ears aching from the sound of fireballs smashing into the earth nearby with such force it tossed humanoids into the air like toys. Steel clashing on steel above on the walls and bolts whistling through the air to pluck enemies away. Raid, encircled by enemies, was beginning to feel tired from his one-man fight against the enemy. Sweat trickled down from his brow and down his spine. The robed warriors, finally comprehending there was an enemy warrior amongst them, came at Raid in tight groups of three and four, their slick, fluid movements becoming a definite problem for him. He nearly lost his life several times, due to their immense speed and agility. Only able to save himself barely with natural skill and footwork. Raid sighed tiredly with fatigue, then grunted as another trio of robed fighters noticed him amongst their ranks, attacking him as one. The creatures’ quick, deft movements and numbers quickly gave them the advantage.
Two of the robed warriors were able to slip past his defensive posture and strike blows to his chest, ripping through his chainmail to slash wounds into his chest. deflected by his light chainmail. More crossbow bolts whistled down from above culling the two warriors in black robes facing him. Raid, thanking the light for assistance, rolled forward with uncanny speed to drive his Mantorian blade into the third of the trio who clasped the blade in his chest with blood gurgling out of his mouth before collapsing to the ground. Having exerted a lot of his energy in the fight, Raid clutched his bleeding chest and leaned onto his bloody sword, letting it sink into the soil.
Taking a moment to breathe, Raid smiled when he saw the robed warriors starting to break and flee, his smile widening further as they avoided his blood-soaked body. Relishing the fear and terror he inspired in the enemy he rested, when, without warning, a colossal figure dressed in crimson battle armour came striding towards him, wearing a helmet shaped in the likeness of a devil in between its massive shoulders, easily standing twice the size of an average human, with arms heavily muscled and glowing yellow peeking from within the red faceplate of his helmet.
It knocked aside the black-robed figures that were fleeing the battle as it strode towards Raid, swinging its long ebony sword as it came. This must be the leader, thought Raid dully and drew his sword out from the ground, and nearly fell to the muddy earth as his overtaxed body simply wanted to rest.
Focusing his remaining energy he blocked out all sound and stared into the eyeholes of the devilish helmet that looked like dark caverns with pinpricks of light within and waited. The creature stopped a few paces away from him and spoke. “You fight well for a human,” grated the creature in a rigid voice. Raid nodded his head at the compliment. Then with a burst of speed he attacked the crimson armoured creature hoping to end this fight quickly.
Their blades met with a thud as in rapid succession their blades crashed against each other. Sparks flew from their blades as Mantorian blade met obsidian steel. Seeing no easy openings they both searched for holes in each other’s defences and began probing with feinting strikes. Raid, grimaced in pain from the cuts he had collected earlier, and tried to watch his footing as he fought this armour-clad warrior, careful not to trip over the bodies of the dead warriors he had killed. Each blow Raid parried aside with his blade shook his arms and weakened his grip on the sword hilt. Sweat was dripping from his temples to sting his eyes. Panting, Raid desperately needed this duel to end.
Gatlan, leader of the humanoids, knew he was winning this fight and laughed with the joy of battle. He chose to play with this human a few moments longer before deciding to take the fool’s head and place it on a spear as a warning to the humans and give them a taste of what was to come. It would also serve to remind them that they would return. Gatlan spun his blade in a succession of arcing strikes that hammered the puny human backwards.
Raid, struggling to defend himself against the blows cascading down upon him, knew he had to try something soon. So he made his final move, deliberately tripping over a corpse behind him. The bulky humanoid laughed at the sight of the pathetic human falling and swung its sword in two hands downwards to finish Raid. Having pretended to trip, Raid snarled as he leapt forward to ram his blade into the opening the humanoid had given him, thrusting his blade through the red-plated armour. Gatlan sagged to his knees in the blood-drenched ground, blade sticking out of its broad chest, with blood sheeting out from its gaping wound. He tugged off his red-horned helmet and let it fall to the earth with a metallic thud.
Raid stared into the face of the red-skinned warrior with long ashen grey hair and amber eyes that looked back at him. Without really thinking, words slipped from his tongue in curiosity. “What are you?” questioned Raid.
Its yellow eyes blinked in surprise at the question. “I am Gatlan, war leader of the Two Swords caste,” replied Gatlan in a strong voice. “You have been lucky today, very lucky, but it won’t matter in the end; they will come,” he said ruefully, his yellow eyes flashing in the sunlight. With that, Gatlan, leader of the Two Swords, embraced the churned up the earth to die. Raid, completely worn out, couldn’t think any longer; he just wanted to lie down and rest. Then a thought punched him in the gut: the girl!! He had left the girl behind in the forest, right in the path of the retreating horde of black-robed warriors. Cursing, he sheathed his sword badly, stood up on his aching legs and stumbled off towards the forest, clutching his throbbing chest.
Cursing himself for being such a fool at leaving the girl behind in the forest all alone, Raid tried to speed up his pace towards the edge of forest where he had left her. Upon seeing the ground ahead empty where he had left her, his face went pale, his heart pounded audibly in his chest and thoughts of what they would do to a young girl filled his mind, increasing his distress.
Unwilling to leave a child in the hands of the enemy, Raid moved to go into the forest when he heard a voice calling out for help weakly. Urging his legs forward, he scrambled towards the sound coming from his left to see the girl being lifted up onto the back of a black-robed figure. The creature ran with its prize bouncing on its shoulder. Without hesitation Raid drew out his blade and in one fluid movement threw his blade with the remaining strength he had at the robed figure. The blade spun through the air, end over end, to punch the creature in the back. The girl dropped to the ground, knocking her head against the stony earth. Gasping for breath, Raid ran to the girl and placed a hand on her throat to see if she was okay, feeling movement beneath his fingers. He sighed with relief and picked up the unconscious girl, heading back to town with the young girl nestled in his tired arms.
***
The Mantrian town guard laughed and cheered as the humanoids ran back towards the forest. A tired Trogon leaned on the rampart to observe the fleeing humanoids, while receiving light slaps on the back himself, and congratulations for his actions in saving the town. A bone-weary Lady Mira stood beside him, her eyes alight with merriment at their victory. Trogon rubbed his eyes exhaustedly, then rubbed them again as he saw someone walking haltingly towards the town gates, crossing over the ground littered with dead and dying figures in their torn black robes. The celebration died down in a flash, as guardsmen saw Trogon looking perturbed. Many followed the direction of his gaze to the area where Trogon was staring and they too began to watch the lone man walking towards the town. The man below was completely covered in blood and carrying something cradled in his arms as he made his way to the town gates.
Lady Mira, of all people, was the first person to recognise the man coming towards them. “Its Raid,” she gasped to Trogon. After examining the man again, he too recognised him. That familiar graceful walk, those proud straight shoulders: it was Raid all right. “Open the gate,” he called to the bloodied guard captain. “It’s a friend.” The guard captain, wavering on his feet, clutching his shoulder, looked up at Trogon. Then gave a nod of permission to the men nearby, and they called down to the men below to open the gates.
Trogon, with Lady Mira following close behind, climbed down the ladder to where the people in the cobbled streets were celebrating their victory shouting, drinking and cheering. Doors were open all along the street and women bustled out to hand food and drink to the guardsmen who blushed with embarrassment and thanked the women dressed in white skirts and blouses. The townsmen dressed in dark blue trousers and white shirts congratulated the men with slaps on the back and firm handshakes exclaiming over their bravery. Before Trogon’s feet even reached the cobblestones he was inundated with thanks by elderly men whose whiskers drooped, and women offering him refreshments.
A few of the younger women even gave Trogon shy, seductive smiles hinting at more on offer. Trogon shook his head in amazement at the speed with which the festivities had begun. Now he had an inkling of why Raid had always spoken fondly of home. The people, the atmosphere and the warm, open smiles gave him a pleasant feeling in his chest. Grinning, he strode towards the town gates, all the while shaking hands and rebuffing attempts by women to give him food, all of whom seemed determined to feed him.
Lady Mira, trailing behind, received the same warm smiles and respectful curtsies by the women, with even a few of the elderly women walking alongside her for a moment to ask her for some advice. The men nodded their heads in thanks and welcome. All of which startled Lady Mira, as she had never in all her life been treated with such respect. Often the case wherever she visited, witches were despised, hated and disliked by most people for bringing about the Arcane War and causing the world to slowly die. Enjoying the glowing admiration of the Mantrian townsfolk, she followed Trogon in a daze.
Raid, wobbling forward on wooden legs, gave a relieved sigh as he saw the town gates gently swing open. Trogon and Lady Mira were there waiting for him, Lady Mira with her arms folded, face smudged with dirt and edges of her blue silk dress burnt, Trogon standing beside her grinning like a boy with a new toy. His huge frame blocking the way into the town; his white linen shirt torn, ripped and caked with dried blood.
Giving them a weary grin of his own, he went over to them; Trogon moved to meet him halfway. “You made it,” said Trogon in a jovial voice. Raid opened his jaws to speak, but his throat was dry. Incapable of speech, Raid handed the girl over to a shocked Trogon. Trogon took the girl in his arms and looked at Raid questioningly. Raid, though, had already tumbled to the soil, his body no longer able to hold him upright. Eyes closed, he dreamed.
Lady Mira, seeing Raid tumble to the ground, rushed over to his side. Lifting her skirt in her haste to reach him, she fell to her knees beside him and placed a dusty hand upon his chest. Feeling the steady beat of his heart, she gave a satisfied grunt and punched Raid in the ribs. Raid cringed at the blow, but remained asleep. A worried Trogon spoke from behind him. “He okay?”
A confused Lady Mira replied, “He will be fine, he’s just tired.” Emotions were swirling within her. “I will show him not to scare me like that,” she muttered angrily. Trogon, overhearing her, gave a muffled laugh. She gave him such a glare that he could feel his bones going cold from the ice in her eyes.