Solomon stared out onto the Fort, but to call it a fort would be an exaggeration. A rickety wooden wall separated the horde of undead from the tent city. It was one of many hastily built walls meant to slow down the Wight King’s armies. A geyser erupted from the eastern lake, and he gave a silent thanks to the Virtues for the monster living within its depths. It kept the undead Horde from crossing the Cyrulian sea.

“Sir Solomon!”

Solomon turned to the gathered party around the table. They all wore similar plate mail to his except for their scapulars. The one who addressed him was a large man with a clean-shaven head and face with a long scar running down the side of his head and down his neck. His amber scapular bore the crest of Rook’hym, the Virtue of fortitude and perseverance, which was a tower overlaid on a shield.

“My apologies Sir Grenwhel,” Solomon said returning his attention to the war map.

“I understand your desire to please Touldan, but please pay attention,” the others laughed as they turned to the map, “We’re going to need to go back up the pass,” Grenwhel pointed to the slim road on the map, “Even with Touldan’s sword, there’s no possible way for us to fight an entire army by ourselves. It’ll take longer, but we can take this road to the quarry and then find another path through the mountains.”

“Why don’t we go around the Cyrulian Sea?” another paladin said. He wore a green scapular with a dove and rose, the crest of Hallomarae.

“It’ll take too long,” Solomon said, “And I don’t want to cross into the Shek’ Syra desert in the middle of summer.” This garnered a few laughs.

“But it should be safer,”

“Time is against us!” Grenwhel said.

“Sir Grenwhel’s right,” Solomon sighed pointing to map, “Summers are short in the Whyl highlands, and their winters are twice as brutal. This land is meant for the strong of heart, and even then, only the Vygaern can live here without hindrance.” His gaze turned serious, “Trust me.”

“Are you from this area?” a paladin with the crest of Syranda, the Virtue of loyalty and compassion, said.

“No…but my mentor was.”

“Then we’ll follow your lead after we leave the mountains,” Grenwhel said, “Finish your preparations, we leave in the morning.”

The paladins nodded as they headed out of the tent. Solomon passed through the well-made tents that belonged to the officers and lesser nobles. The tents were spaced out all the way up the pass until they reached the third wall that protected the greater nobles. Even on a battlefield, people had to separate themselves by class. Solomon stopped in front of the second wall, and passed through it when the soldiers slid a small section open for him.

Solomon looked down on the lower pass and the highlands beyond. He could see the amassed armies of the Wight King sitting a few miles away from the wall blocking the mountain pass. The undead just stood there, an imposing black mass upon the land. He proceeded through the pass.

Filthy, rickety tents were scattered haphazardly down to the first wall. Solomon passed a group of men who were conscripted into the fight. They stood in broken formation, wearing their plain clothes and wielding farm tools as makeshift weapons. The men sloppily saluted him, but he returned it with a reassuring smile. Further down the pass, he came upon a group of women hanging the laundry from tent poles. They smiled and nodded to him.

“Save me!”

A group of children were playing with sticks and pans pretending to be in battle. One group were trying to protect a little girl. One-by-one the kid defenders dramatically died until the girl was left alone.

She spotted Solomon and cried out, “Save me sir hero!” The kids stopped and turned to him.

Solomon chuckled and picked up a thin stick, “I’ll save you princess!”

The girl’s eyes lit up with her large smile. Solomon gently tapped each of the children with his stick causing them to die in overdramatic ways. After the last kid died, Solomon picked up the girl.

“I’m glad your safe princess,” Solomon kissed the top of her head. The poor girl blushed with a shy smile.

“A princess,” Solomon turned to see his wife standing behind him carrying a laundry basket, “Woe is me,” Schybara sighed dramatically, “My husband’s heart has been stolen by an adorable princess. What’s a hero’s wife to do?”

Solomon chuckled as he set the girl down, “Let me heal your valiant knights,”

The kids jumped to their feet laughing and ran away. The girl waved back at them as she followed. A gentle smile came to Solomon’s lips as he wrapped an arm around Schybara.

“They’re precious, aren’t they,” Schybara smiled as a tear ran down her cheek. Her lower lip quivered violently. Solomon kissed her gently. “So, you’re not throwing me away for a princess?” She teased.

“I don’t need a princess,” Solomon kissed her again, “Because I already have a queen.”

Schybara let out a beautiful laugh, “Aren’t you a charmer,” She propped the basket on her hip, and took Solomon’s arm, “How’d the meeting go?” They slowly made their way back to their tent.

“We’ll be leaving in the morning for Delmiere,” Solomon sighed heavily, “We’re going to try and find another way through the mountains.”

“And what about everyone here,”

“Only a handful of paladins will be joining the expedition,” Solomon said, “The rest will stay here with the soldiers to protect the pass. Hopefully, they can get the rest of these citizens to move south.”

“Sol, these people don’t have anywhere to go,” Schybara sighed.

“The church is offering to help,” Solomon sighed looking at the poor people, “They’re giving up land around their monasteries to help them resettle, and they’re pushing the nobles to take in more refugees. Yet, they continue to sit here.”

“I understand your frustration,” Schybara rested her head on his arm, “But this is something you can’t control, and you need to realize that.” Solomon nodded with a sigh. Schybara pulled him down and whispered into his ear, “How about I take your mind off it?” she smiled seductively. Solomon smiled as he let himself be dragged into the tent.

----------------------------------------

Solomon buried his face into Schybara’s hair. He deeply breathed in her scent as he kissed the back of her neck. Schybara ran her foot along his leg with a chuckle. She rolled over and kissed him multiple times.

“Feeling better now,”

Solomon rolled on top of her and pinned her to the ground, “Much,” he said, deeply kissing her.

“Sir Solomon,” a messenger stormed into their tent. His face turned red and he quickly stepped outside, “Apologies.”

“What is it?” Solomon sighed as Schybara chuckled.

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“The enemy’s on the move.”

Solomon and his wife jumped out bed, “What’s their formation looking like?” he said, throwing on his clothes.

“I’m not sure, but I’ve heard somarie dirgahn are leading the charge,”

Schybara stared in horror, “They have dirgahn,” she said, “Sol, they’ll tear through the walls.”

Solomon strapped on his plate mail, “Where is Sir Grenwhel and his party?”

“They’re by the third wall. I was told to collect you so you can start your journey.”

“What about the people!” Solomon growled as he finished donning his armor.

“I was simply ordered to collect you sir,”

Schybara gently touched his shoulder, “We should go talk to them,”

Solomon nodded and stormed out of the tent. The soldiers rushed about getting ready. The conscripted refugees stood in mismatched formation next to the well-regimented soldiers, and the women kept a firm hold on their children as they ran up the pass. There was no time for them to gather any of their belongings, so the lowest section was littered with forgotten remains.

Solomon snarled as they entered the second section of the pass. The knights and nobles had the citizens lined up against the mountain wall so that their forces could line up in formation. The women and children weren’t allowed to pass until the soldiers were finished, and the third wall was closed shut before the refugees could reach it. Sir Grenwhel and the other paladins stood by the wall with their horses.

“Good, the messenger got to you,” Grenwhel said handing him the reins to another horse, “We should leave now.”

“What about them,” Solomon gestured to the citizens begging for the walls to open, “What about the men getting ready to fight.” A loud roar echoed through the pass behind them.

“I understand your concern, but we need to be logical about this,” Grenwhel said looking down the pass, “If we stay, there is a chance that you could die. You are the only one wielding one of the seven weapons. The sooner we destroy the Wight King, the sooner this war will end. Now come.”

The wall opened for them. Soldiers held the refugees back, so that they didn’t flood into the third section of the pass. Solomon sighed in frustration, but he couldn’t look at the refugees. Time seemed to slow down as he took his first step.

Why don’t you think for yourself for once!

A smile came to his lips as he remembered Sir Garrod’s stern glare. Solomon grasped the hilt of Touldan’s sword, and he stood tall. The divine energy coursed through him.

“We should fight,” the paladins turned back to him. Sir Grenwhel cocked an eyebrow at him, “I understand your reasoning Sir Grenwhel, but we’re needed here. If the dirgahn aren’t taken out soon, then Fortress Delmiere will fall.”

“But what if you die?”

“Another hero will come along, as long as the Grand Cathedral stands,” Solomon said, “But if the enemy makes it through the pass, then they’ll head straight for Mrythala. If all the weapons are destroyed, then the Wight King will stand unopposed, and he knows this.”

The paladins’ thoughts were interrupted by a loud crashing noise sounded down the pass and was followed by men screaming. The sobs from the women and children joined the war cries.

“Very well,” Grenwhel said, “Olren, Del, get the refugees into the next section. The rest of you will join us in taking out the dirgahn.”

The paladins wearing blue and red scapulars nodded and ran over to the refugees. Solomon walked alongside Grenwhel as they made their way back to the front wall. The death cries grew louder, and the paladins stood in front of the soldiers.

“Men,” Grenwhel addressed the soldiers, “When the dirgahn break through, go for their legs. We need to bring them down here, so that the enemy can’t break through anymore of the walls!” The men shouted in acknowledgement.

Solomon drew his sword as a strange green smoke came from the other side of the wall. The smoke was accompanied by a putrid, rotting smell. A loud roar echoed through the pass, and the wall exploded in front of them. Heavy footsteps shook the ground as three dirgahn advanced.

The monstrous reptiles stood over ten feet tall, and they could barely fit next to each other. Their dull gray scales were flaky with sickly patches of skin appearing underneath. The saliva dripping off their thick jowls hissed as it landed on the remains of the wooden wall, and their claws dug into the ground. They blinked at the soldiers with their inner eyelids, and took in a gurgling breath.

“Quick shields!” Grenwhel said raising his hand, “Divine Ward!”

The other paladins followed in kind, and a golden ethereal shield separated the monsters from the soldiers. The dirgahns spat up a putrid bile that sprayed over magic barrier, but it didn’t protect them from the foul, acidic smell. Once the dirgahn were done, the soldiers charged forward.

Spears pierced the monster’s legs, but the cuts were small, unnoticeable. The dirgahn roared and slashed at the barriers with their claws, but their size made it difficult for them to strike. A blue aura surrounded Schybara, and she ran towards the center dirgahn.

She struck the monster with her axe, leaving a deep cut along the front left wrist. The monster cried in pain and turned to fight her. Its tail slammed into the right dirgahn, forcing it into the mountain, and it butted heads with the left one which caused it to fall off the side of the pass. They heard the monster crash into the water followed by its terrified screams which quickly died away. The right dirgahn bit into the other monster’s tail and tore it off. The two monsters hissed and snapped at each other in anger.

The paladin’s released their magical barrier and jumped into the fight. With their divine-infused weapons, they struck the monsters’ legs. Due to their size, the dirgahn couldn’t move fast enough to fight back, and at times they would accidently hit each other which caused them to start fighting again. Solomon drove Touldan’s sword deep into the chest of the center dirgahn. He willed the divine magic in the blade to drive deeper into the monster, and he slashed down the monster’s stomach. The magic cut the monster in half, the putrid entrails spilling onto the pass.

Solomon stepped away from the monstrous corpse and wiped the sweat from his brow. Schybara patted his shoulder and gestured to the second dirgahn. The paladins stood over the corpse with their weapons raised. The soldiers cheered.

“Return to formation,” Grenwhel called out, “Fall back to the third wall!”

The soldiers followed orders, and slowly marched backwards. The frontlines brought up their shields with their spears held at the ready. Solomon was about to follow the others back.

“It’s good to see you again, master Solomon,”

Solomon froze then slowly turned around. A tall vygaern man stepped past the dirgahns’ bodies. His black hair was now mostly gray, and deep wrinkles lined his eyes and mouth. He wore a thick coat and leggings with leather pauldrons, braces and greaves, and he carried two identical axes in each hand. His tattoos matched the blue aura around him.

Solomon stared in horror at the ghost from his past, “Benharren,”

Benharren smiled warmly as his eyes fell to the golden sword, “Congratulations on becoming a hero. His majesty…will be most pleased.”

Solomon pointed the sword at him, “Don’t patronize me!” he snarled.

“Come on Sol,” Schybara tried pulling him away.

“You should listen to the e’ga,” Benharren’s smile turned sad.

Five knights in black armor stepped from behind Benharren. The rotting stench of necrotic mana hung heavily on them, and Solomon could feel the seething contempt they had for him. The lich-knights drew their weapons.

“Should we…eliminate the paladin sir?”

Benharren sighed, “If you can,”

The lich-knights slowly approached. Solomon blocked the first attack and quickly stepped away from the second. Schybara blocked the third attack and forced the fourth knight to back off. The two continued to fight back-to-back fending off the undead knights. Benharren sat on the dirgahn corpse watching with a sad smile. Solomon growled, and grabbed the arm of the knight in front of him and shoved his sword into the knight’s chest. The lich screamed as the divine magic coursed through its body turning it to dust. The armor and weapon fell to the ground as Solomon moved to the next. One by one, each knight fell, leaving a pile of dust and armor.

Benharren clapped as he approached them, “Well done master Solomon,” he said drawing his axes, “Would you like to continue or flee?” Solomon charged him.

“Sol wait!”

Solomon couldn’t. The enemy commander stood right in front of them. If they killed him, then it would greatly weaken the enemy’s strength. He needed to strike Benharren before he could activate his magic tattoos. The Sword of Touldan pierced Benharren’s coat, then shattered into multiple sparks of golden light.

Solomon gasped as he looked at Benharren, “You’re…human?”

“I’m sorry, master Solomon,” Benharren’s blue aura appeared, and he struck at the dumbfounded paladin.

Solomon was tackled to the ground, and he heard Schybara scream in pain. The green aura surrounding her dissipated as she tried to hold her left arm together. Her shield split in half with a deep cut in her forearm. Solomon quickly picked her up and ran towards the third wall. He could see the soldiers slowly filing through the opening. Behind them, Benharren stood watching them flee.

“I expected better from you, master Solomon!”

“Dammit, I’m sorry Schee,” Solomon panted running up the steep path. They passed through into the third section, and he sat her down on a rock. “I’m sorry,” he said laying his hand on her wounded arm.

Healing magic seeped into her, knitting the arm back together. Schybara gently touched his cheek and wiped the dirt away.

“Don’t do something foolish again, alright,” she gave him a tired smile. Her eyes fell to the broken sword in his left hand, “What are we going to do now?”

Solomon sighed as he sheathed the blade, “It’ll repair itself, but it’ll take time,” he said helping her up, “Until then, I’ll just have to rely on my halberd.”

Schybara looked worried, “Who was he?”

“Benharren is a retainer to my former mentor,” Solomon cleared his throat, “He was deathly loyal to Garrod when he married Benharren’s sister, even now.”

“Then why is he fighting for the enemy?”

“Because…Sir Garrod is the Wight King.” Solomon held her tight which she reciprocated.