Their rest was not long: an hour before dawn, Robuald was awakened by the announcement of a new impending threat spotted by the sentinels at the edge of the forest. A large column coming from the West was marching towards them.
Sigismund woke up worried about the soldiers' chatter as they received their captain's orders, and immediately realized that they were facing some kind of crisis. He couldn't quite grasp what it could be: they had travelled just the day before from West, so could the hunters have already caught up with them? It had to be so, yet, since he had woken up, a new hope had blossomed in his heart, increasing a flattering promise of imminent victory while the harsh dawn light grew brighter. The knights went outside and were engulfed in a thick fog that had risen despite a clear night, twisting around the trunks of the trees and breaking apart fading when touching men and horses. Cracking sounds coming from the dense foliage reached them as if they were muffled by a premonitory warning that ran through the entire wood, and the soldiers felt as though they were being watched and followed in every move. The camp was taken down amidst the chaos of voices and the metallic clanging of moving weapons at the highest possible speed allowed by that unexpected crowd that had suddenly slithered around them for the sole purpose of hindering them. And the knights, eager to hear the news that their lord must have received, mounted their horses quickly. Riding, Sigismund approached Robuald's steed and, since he felt the sudden oppression of the dripping, icy vegetation less intensely than the others, he whispered: “If I haven't completely lost my sense of direction, beyond these oaks the forest ends and the road from which we came opens up. We'll find ourselves on the top of a slope and we can easily charge the enemy, thus we'll have the sun at our backs and the advantage of the position.”
“But not that of surprise, if we position ourselves on a hill against the rising sun,” replied Robuald.
“Yet,” insisted Sigismund, “if we want to fight on horseback, we have no other choice, and on foot, what chance do we have?”
“Certainly none,” agreed Robuald. “Very well. We will do as you say,” he decided, and gave orders to his officers. Shortly after, the two cavalries, united in a single body aligned along the crest of the hill, and waited for the sun to dissolve the thick fog that hid the identity and consistency of the troops they were about to face. But even before the warm rays of the rising star penetrated the pale curtain, an upcoming rattling began to be heard: it was the rhythmic sound of armors clinking to the pace of the march. Now, at least, they knew they had to face foot soldiers, which was already an advantage, but would they face a detachment equal to theirs or larger?
Sigismund suddenly remembered the fallen standard-bearer and the words he had spoken only a few hours before “...from the West rises a dark smoke of battle…,” which were his last ones. Despite this, even now that he glimpsed the imminent danger, the hope that had arisen with the new day continued to grow in his chest, and even his stallion, usually restive in the presence of the enemy, remained motionless while gently waving its tail to free it from the night frost. What mirage could await him, though, if not that of dying in battle, quickly and with glory?
That morning the sun seemed to linger, obstructed by a heavy layer of gray clouds, while the unknown enemy kept moving closer. Robuald, waiting next to him, whispered, “Is the ground before us completely clear, as I seem to recall?”
“Completely,” he replied. “It spreads out into a vast valley and no obstacle stands between us and the moving forces.”
“Then I suggest we attack immediately, before a neigh betrays our presence and gives them time to prepare for defence,” said Robuald.
“So, let us attack and stop a mile from here, where a modest hillock rises. There we can regroup and turn around to charge again.” Sigismund had just finished speaking when a dark shape appeared below them at the foot of the slope, and shouted “Halt, soldiers! This treacherous cursed fog could hide an entire army hiding and I have no intention of offering myself as a gift to those beasts. Raise the wall of shields in a circle and wait for the sun to dissipate the mist.”
The Knights of the Lost Realm stood petrified: that was the voice of a man they knew well, but was it a trick of the enemy or the words of a traitor? Any doubt would soon be dispelled as the dark figure began the climb up the hill together with three others. At that sight, Robuald raised his arm to give the order to attack, but Sigismund grabbed him and held him back shaking his head, while his face assumed an expression of the most dismayed astonishment.
All the knights remained still. They suddenly appeared, like silent stone guardians, placed to guard the way since time immemorial, to those who climbed up, who, after a brief moment of confusion, drew their long swords and sounded the alarm to their fellow soldiers left behind. Before they could realize what was happening, Sigismund threw himself off his saddle and lunged at the man who had first stood in front of him, gripping him tightly and exulting: “Well met! Well met, Astor, my brother! You appear unexpectedly among the shadows, as if you came from the afterlife! What other surprises do these days of doubt and death hold for us, eventually? Now it's clear to me why my spirit soared to the sky since morning, even though it was hidden! Are you really noble Astor? Have you survived the massacre then? Hope is reborn with the new day!”
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After joyful tears greeted the unexpected encounter, Sigismund separated from his old comrade in arms and, addressing the new one, said excitedly: “Robuald, precious friend, this is Astor of Fort Unconquerable, a brave fighter and my relative. Captain of the best troops of our infantry and ruin of all enemies. No one has ever managed to capture his insignia, and I see that even in this desperate hour he has not agreed to surrender them. Welcome again, dear friend, and may the hunter now fear the prey!” concluded Sigismund by placing his firm hands on the shoulders of the rediscovered companion, who reciprocated the gesture with equal intensity.
“I also welcome you on behalf of my people, Captain Astor, and truly boundless must be the joy of Lord Sigismund, since every single one of his thoughts and words fly towards you, but I understand and share the delight of meeting a friend who was thought Lost. If such grace were to happen to me, I might be completely shaken.” He fell silent, sighed, and continued “Allow me, then, to introduce myself: my name is Robuald, Captain of the troop that only a few moments ago was about to commit the most tragic of mistakes, if it had not been for Sigismund’s devotion that allowed him to trust his heart and recognize your voice when your face was still hidden.
I come from the Lands of the East and only yesterday my people met yours, impetuously united in the melee that saw us victorious over the dark enemy. Victorious but massacred. However, now new energies increase our power, thus enhancing auspicious presages and infusing us with new courage. And if, as I believe, the valor of your soldiers is equal to what we admired in your Knights, then we have truly become a formidable force for anyone, much more dangerous than our numbers may make us appear. Let this be my welcome, noble Astor.”
Astor replied, “I thank you, my lords, for your kind words that I feared I would never hear again outside of my company and let me share with you, with the greatest and most sincere joy, the immense pleasure I feel for this meeting. The words of the beloved Sigismund, however, are dictated more by the nobility of his soul than by sincerity. How can I, in fact, call myself a captain, when I was leading my infantry towards a deadly trap? Although, I have some doubts about the possibility of you overwhelming us in battle,” he coughed, clearing his throat. “Looking at you, with no intention of being disrespectful, you don't give me the impression of being in a situation much better than ours, and I sincerely believe that, if not with swords, we would all certainly have died of exhaustion!” he laughed loudly. “But, of course, this does not diminish my recklessness, and if I were you, I would certainly not be here now laughing heartily if opposing soldiers had awaited me. However, if we want to prevent such an accident from happening for real, it will be better to leave this path as soon as possible, which seems very well-travelled, even if, so far, only by brave men-at-arms.”
The three captains led their men to the shelter of the trees that had hosted them that night, which, in the full light of day, had taken on the welcoming aspect of tall and peaceful guardians. The same ones that had inspired the knights the previous morning. Lookouts and sentinels were once again deployed at the two entrances of the valley, which seemed stubbornly determined to not let them leave. It seemed as if it aspired to exchange its privacy with the protection offered by men against the presences that were enemies of nature and all its creatures.
So it happened that on a clear sunny morning, Sigismund and Astor sat next to each other facing Robuald, in the center of the wide circle formed by all the warriors. Before speaking, they enjoyed a plentiful and invigorating breakfast. At the end of it, Astor exclaimed, “Well, by all the orcs of ancient times! Now I feel capable of beheading an entire army of monsters. It's nice to share food and thoughts with trusted friends, and it almost seems like ordinary life has resumed and cheered us up. What a lovely place we find ourselves in, while a few leagues from here... I confess that the burden I have carried during this time has been very heavy. I thought I had inherited the difficult task of keeping the human race alive from the desert of death that is draining us.”
“As far as I understand,” interjected Robuald, “the subjects of your kingdom have convinced themselves that they are the only living men. Tell me, then, to which race do the people of the East seem to belong?”
“You must excuse us,” intervened Sigismund promptly, who had noticed Astor’s tawny moustache curling and his eyes lighting up, “but you must consider, my friend Robuald, that until recently we were completely unaware of the existence of inhabitants similar to us in the eastern lands, to the point that we considered them wild and inhospitable. May our words not offend you. And you, Astor, don't forget that I am alive, and perhaps so are you just because our new allies have come to my aid, allowing me to escape a certain doom. Now, my friends, let's not argue among ourselves any further and try instead to establish what is wiser to undertake.”
“Then you should know,” added Astor, “that except for other tribes unknown to us, those in this clearing are the only survivors of the war. I gathered every survivor I encountered along the way. They are all well-equipped, as the weapons collected from the fields of death, belonging to our massacred soldiers, were not scarce, alas, nor were armor, shields, and whatever else is needed for the fight. What is missing are the arms to wield them and I really don't know where to find them,” concluded Astor with his inconsolable gaze fixed on the ground, while his powerful yet fatigued hands hung open from his crossed knees.