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Sigismund of Castle Nubilous
The enchanted valley

The enchanted valley

“My Lord, the lookouts are back!,” announced the standard bearer to the leader, not even trying to hide the dismay that had seized him. His voice was trembling and his gaze was fixed on the captain’s face, waiting for some miraculous solution.

“Calm down, my friend, and report what they saw in an orderly fashion” replied the captain with a tired but soothing voice. Meanwhile, he was looking far away, beyond the dense forest that bordered the plain lying at the foot of the modest sloped plateau, on which a small number of knights had arrived, waiting to meet their destiny.

“Tell me what they discovered,” he added, smiling, forcing himself to focus on the clearly bad news.

“We are lost, my Lord,” was the anguished response of the young standard bearer.

“Let me be the one to decide that,” replied the captain politely, “and bring me the news.”

The boy fixed his hair and cleared his throat, while the horse's muzzle touched his boot. “Forgive me, Lord, and do not think of me as a coward. It was weariness speaking, but now I have come to my senses. The scouts you sent to the North have spotted a large number of those filthy beasts advancing quickly toward us. Those returning from the South barely made it in time to avoid running into a group of enemies heading towards our position. Our rear guard has now returned from the West and it has noticed a tall and thick smoke of battle at a great distance...”

“And from the East? What curse is lurking to seize us, in the East?” the captain asked anxiously, as his horse stirred beneath him.

“From the East, my Captain... from the East, they have not returned at all,” was the mournful response to his last hope.

“Then, brother, you had well assessed our situation. We are truly lost. We are the last few ones standing after so many battles. It was inevitable that they would find us sooner or later...” The commander remained silent for a long time, his head bowed, stroking the mane of the now still horse.

After what felt like a very long wait to the standard bearer, the helmet of his lord suddenly rose, jingling the camail. In his eyes, left uncovered by the raised visor, shone the light that the young soldier had seen lighting up before every battle. He spoke and his voice thundered authoritatively: “Now go! Tell the men that I want to speak with them.”

The horse was quickly turned by his knight and started descending from the top of the hill, rushing toward the group of knights standing halfway up. They were impatiently waiting for the decision of their leader, foreshadowing their impending doom. Other times they had found themselves in desperate situations, facing a cruel and more numerous enemy, but they had always managed to retreat, leaving more fallen among the opponents than among their own people. Every time, however, their forces had thinned, while those black and deformed beings seemed to emerge from the very abysses of the earth. The distinguished and chosen company – the pride of the Army of Men – was a solid garrison of the southern borders, strong in thousands of bold lances that had always been undefeated. Now it counted only a few hundred tired and hungry exiles, some of whom were in poor condition due to the injuries suffered in previous battles. They had been forced to march for days to retreat, and their horses inspired pity to look at them, so only the pride of their masters still managed to make them move, when their past vigor was just a painful and faded memory.

The valley where they had arrived appeared mysteriously intact despite the evils of war, and preserved the fresh, vital joy of spring. It was shaded by white clouds that crossed the skies projecting epic portrayals of glorious deeds, that time never seems to tire to repeat, resembling those discouraged soldiers on the grass.

All eyes were turned towards the top of the hill, even those apparently directed to the ground or towards the welcoming forest that was only a few miles away. Perhaps that was exactly the destination chosen by the captain who would lead them under the wide towering arches, which served as a city for birds and squirrels for centuries. Would there be any shame in that? What could those derelicts do against the entire enemy army when many of them didn't even seem fit to fight? Yes, the forest. The forest represented the only remaining shelter, where they could find the peace and rest they had been yearning for. Its call, cheered by the graceful gurgling of a sparkling adamant river that split the valley in two, was irresistible even for the horses. The river came out from the North entrance and after a wide bend towards the East, it flowed noisily among the trees giving the entire forest a graceful freshness. Some of them, in the seemingly endless wait, had already absentmindedly taken a few steps in that direction, when suddenly an imperious voice called out men and animals from the dizziness caused by the heat and the fatigue, as if they were under a spell.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

“Men!,” the voice resounded imperatively, and those who had not already done so were forced to turn around.

“Knights,” repeated the commander, “the news we have received are the worst of the last few months, as hard as it may be to believe. Our long march has come to an end. We are surrounded, and before the sun reaches its zenith, our fate will have been fulfilled.

We have fought many battles without ever losing honor. The enemy knows our value, even higher than the thick piles of corpses that our swords and lances have given them. And for this, they hunt us down ceaselessly. Since their courage lies only in their number, they will arrive here bold and confident that the struggle that awaits them will not be greater than that of  slitting the throat of a dying old man, as they have done so many times in our burnt homes. So they will come unwise and unprepared to tarnish this beautiful valley.

But I tell you, soldiers, that they will not have to deal with an old, exhausted and defenceless man, because here, right in this valley preserved from evil, they will find the gates of the dark dwelling wide open to welcome them. You are not forced to stay by my side, as you have obeyed and followed me loyally and unselfishly for the entire war. Now I release you from your service and from all duties. If you wish, you are free to seek shelter under those branches and to spend the rest of your life with the animals of the forest, as long as it will withstand the black tide. Or you can choose to fight once again under my banner to leave the enemy with a memory that will spread fear for years to come.

One way or another, our fate is sealed. It is up to you to decide whether to dedicate these last moments to a peace you deserve, however short it may be, or to put an immediate end to our existence in this dark and nefarious era, riding towards death to cross the gates of everlasting fame at a charging pace.

As for me, know that I will not flee. My horse has the energy for one last gallop, and my sword was not forged to cut dry branches and create sparks against the stone. Different are the flames kindled by it when it descended upon the helmets of enemies, cleaving them, and upon the shields, shattering them. I want to see those fires once again, even if it is only one enemy, in whose blood I will dip its edge.

Forward, noble Knights of the Realm of Time, forward! Choose and declare now your fate, as long as you have the power. You are granted what is denied to most mortals as you can choose the time and the manner of your end. Therefore, make your choice, for time is pressing.” As he spoke, the soldiers' innate impetus began to re-emerge until the ancient enthusiasm that had impelled them to participate in the first battles, enflamed their spirits once again, stronger than ever. And before the echo of the words he had just spoken died, more than a hundred swords clashed, resounding against the shields, and the standards were raised so that the wind could grab them and carry them away. The young standard-bearer's swirled higher than all the others.

“Knights,” the captain addressed them, “you have regained the lost boldness and revived the courage that has never been extinguished. It will be an epic battle, and our civilization will disappear in the same splendor it was born in. Let us prepare, then. Battle and death await us, and you know both enough to know that they do not admit delays.

Since this will be our last clash, we will dedicate it to the people and the life we loved and who are no longer with us. Let us abandon these worn and tattered clothes and let us polish our armors until they shine in the sun and dazzle the black horde of the enemy. Let us leave the world with a memory worthy of what it once was and what today will return to be the most shining, admirable, and brilliant army of our Lost Realm. To the baths, men, and let us hurry, immortality calls us!”

It was not long before the sentries gave silent notice of the arrival of the first troop coming from the South. It consisted of foot soldiers, small in stature and equipped with light armors, but they were moving as quick as an epidemic. They were employed by the enemy for reconnaissance or to test the resistance of the opposing defences, and this time they were exceptionally numerous. Apparently, the strategist aiming at the destruction of the surviving knights had sent all available forces – or at least, those that could be diverted from occupying the vast domain they conquered – in pursuit of them, to conclude a war that he considered won.

The small black deformed beings rushed into the valley from the southern opening without escorts or patrols to precede them, spreading like lava in the center of the glade, while emitting grunts and stench, turning the river into a filthy mire. They stopped just long enough to sniff the air in order to detect the presence of the enemy, but that did not take long.

Suddenly, without understanding what was happening, they were hit by a wave of loud trumpets and blinding lights that poured over them from the nearby promontory. They stopped, paralyzed by amazement, before realizing that the dazzling ray of light was nothing more than the charge of the knights, with their lances, their chainmail interlaced with gold, and their white armors decorated with silver. They shone under the midday sun, dazzling the enemy caught completely off guard.

The squeaks and the curses that followed resulted in a disorganized rain of arrows fired against the attackers, which bounced off their shiny armors without causing any harm. The horde tried to deploy those carrying daggers and pikes, but it was too late. The terror, announced by the ringing trumpets, attacked compactly the disordered enemy ranks and overwhelmed them. The knights struck singing the hymn of victory, while madness took hold of those miserable creatures, making them entirely incapable of defending themselves.

Before the second cloud bank had flown over the valley, hiding the view of the massacre from the sun, none of the violators of that place was alive, yet their number exceeded that of the Knights by more than that of a man's hand’s fingers. There were few losses among the men, and victory had once again smiled upon the last rank of the Realm of Time.

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