Tarold was sitting on a stone bench in the courtyard, sharpening his sword. He still lacked the raw strength required to effectively use a two-handed longsword, so he used a one-handed sword , with a eighty centimeter long blade. It was a great work of great quality steel, which Cadell had procured him a few months ago. The two of them had become great friends, in the last years.

He assumed that his friend was with the Lady Alis now, after the usual training of the morning. He had won a few times this morning, but also lost. Cadell truly was an excellent swordsman, to be able to stand up to him.

When he was satisfied with the sword, he put it in the bland leather sheath, and stood up and stretched. He was frustrated that it had come to war between the two dukedoms. It was meaningless to fight each other and loose human lives, when the real enemies were still out there, probably laughing at them. Like dogs fighting over meat their masters had left, he thought with bitterness.

It had angered him when he had not been allowed to come with the duke on campaign. He could have won a decisive victory for them and quickly ended the dispute. He wasn’t even sure who had started the dispute, with both sides ambushing and attacking encampments alongside the river of Fallian. Maybe I should just ignore this and go to the Alfa forests as planned. But he just couldn’t gather himself to leave this castle. He had a great time here, and it was a very long time since he last had enjoyed life so much.

The bailey felt empty, as few guards patrolled the walls, and the training fields were clear, as well as the large majority of the barracks. Most of the servants had followed the army as well, with many others to sustain the eight-thousand man strong army of the duke. But it was foolish, to send a man who had spent 23 years in peace on a campaign. Tarold was afraid that the Duke Gawen would be swiftly defeated by Smithien’s generals whom had been trained by the the Notharns themselves.

“Hope for the best and plan for the worst,” he mumbled to himself, while going towards the grass fields outside the castle to take a nap. He had to come up with a plan of some sort should Smithien bring the fight here.

As when he walked through the gate, he spotted a rider at full gallop, rapidly approaching in a cloud of dust. When he approached, Tarold saw that it was a peasant, and a small but robust horse. He was desperate, or else he wouldn’t ride like that. It would eventually kill the horse or make it collapse, and both he and his horse looked exhausted.

Tarold stepped to the side to let him ride through into the bailey. He clumsily got off the saddle, after which he ran over to the guards. Tarold followed him, being very curious at the situation. Then he heard the man beginning to shout.

“My village was attacked! You…” He had to breathe a little, while a few guards had stopped him one of them brought a chair. “You have to help us! We are being slaughtered!”

“What? Where is your village? How many enemies?” A sergeant guard asked, with concern visible in his eyes.

“It’s Brilduan, eight kilometers west, at the sea… I think there were a hundred enemies… Or more… They came on a ship, with a dragonhead! They were huge, they were… demons!!” He said with a scared and exhausted look.

The guards quickly assembled, gathering twenty-eight men. They simply couldn’t empty the castle of all the guards in time of war. They grabbed for weapons, and mounted horses. When they were ready in the courtyard, Tarold joined them and rode over to the sergeant.

“I will take command of this.” He said.

“Sir, you are not armored. You shouldn’t come.” He said with respect, but firmly. Tarold had only a dark green cape, and silk clothes. But he had his wand, and a sword.

“It wasn’t a request. It was an order. Now, follow me.” He then rode, with the unit of guards only reluctantly following him. They knew he had powers and skills with a sword, but what they didn’t new was if he was any good as a leader. They were going to find out. 

They rode at an increased pace for two hours, but not at full gallop. Riding at full gallop for two hours would leave them and their house exhausted and at the mercy of their enemies. They had no idea who the attackers were yet, though most of them highly doubted it was demons.

They passed through a few other small villages and farms who pointed them in the right direction again. Soon they spotted a village, so close to the sea that you could hear the waves slamming against the beach. They approached the village, cautious, with their weapons drawn in one hand and shield and the reins in the other.

A few corpses were left here and there, mainly of older men, and a few had died with a kind of improvised weapon in their hands. They couldn’t spot any of the assailants’ corpses. But by the number of houses, there should have been at many more in the village, unless they had somehow reached safety. They rode in between the houses, watching the miserable spectacle.

“Sergeant, search the houses. Look for signs of the identity of the raiders, but be cautious.” He turned his head towards him. “These raiders seem long gone, but there is always a risk.”

The sergeant nodded and shouted some orders. Tarold swung himself off the saddle, and walked over to one of the corpses. The dead man was still holding a hammer in his hand. Or his arm was holding it, because it had been cut off. But not cleanly, it was like the blade had only got half through the bones, but then it had torn off the rest of the arm off with sheer force. He examined the wound a little closer.

“Impressive.” He muttered. It may have been an axe that had been used, a small one, and not a war axe. It had must likely been a hatchet. That was a tool, and only a weapon in last resort. It must have been peasants that defected to bandits. Though this one is a really large one, he shouldn’t have problems finding work. He suddenly heard a scream.

“Ambush! Defend the Court Magician!” He quickly stood up and readied his sword, with his left hand taking out the hidden wand. He had wanted to keep it as a trump card, but the idiot had just revealed it to the enemies anyway. He looked around, and saw them.

They were coming from behind the houses, a few from inside of them. They were on foot, but they were huge. Some of them had a little armor, most of them just thick wool clothes and fur, and had lumberjack axes and the smaller hatches. They roared as they charged his guards, and he already saw the corpses of a few who had been killed when searching the houses, some were still fighting though.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“Charge them, idiots! Help your comrades!“ He screamed, his voice breaking into a high-pitched sound.  The ones still on their horses charged in all directions to help the guards whom were already fighting.

He pointed his wand at them, concentrating. But nothing, he couldn’t feel his magick. Dumbfounded, he looked at the hand holding the wand. The left hand which he knew was covered in the mark up to the elbow, and therefore had the leather gauntlet on. Cursing he took the gauntlet off, but nothing changed. He put his wand in his belt again, trying to come with a solution. But his men were all tied up in the fights, so at this point there weren’t really much he could do, other than joining the fray, but then he would lose overview of the situation.

A few of the raiders tried to meet the charging horses by a slash on the head, one of them succeed. The savages pulled men from the saddle while sustaining heavy injuries; a spear through the thigh, or an axe in the side. The most disturbing thing was their total lack of fear, constantly disregarding death. Some of them even had savage smiles on their face. He had never seen such a thing before. Sure, some Alfas would embrace death with a smile when the time felt right for them. But this was utter madness.

Many horses were taken down. They stabbed them with daggers from their belts, and hacked them to death with their woodcutting taxes. They even punched them sometimes. But quite a few of the enemies fell to under the guards’ initial charge.

He saw two approaching him with a sadistic grin. Behind them was a guard with his legs crushed under his fallen horse. They both had red hair in long braids, as well as impressive beards. One was almost two meters tall, and the other a little less, but had a very large build.

The taller one was a few steps ahead of the other one, so Tarold sprinted towards him so he didn’t have to take them both on at the same time. The giant man met him with a huge swing of his axe in a circular movement. It was excellently executed, but very predictable. A Lumberjack indeed, He thought.

He evaded the strike easily, plunging under it and sliced the thigh of the man before quickly retreating to dodge the next swing. At first it could look insignificant, but with the blood quickly pumping out of the leg he knew that he had cut through the vein in the thigh. It would severely weaken the man, and it would only grow worse from now on because of the blood loss.

But he didn’t even look fazed. The other warrior had caught up by now. Tarold was puzzled, he would have expected the wounded one to fall back and try to stop the bleeding.

Obviously, they didn’t wait for him to act. The wounded man made a sign with his head to the other, who nodded back. Then he attacked, alone.

Tarold simply couldn’t understand why he was so confident in himself. He was fearless and very strong, but was completely outclassed in skill. The guy nevertheless charged him with a ferocious roar. Tarold aimed for the neck, to properly kill the enemy this time, but still kept an eye on the other guy. He just hoped that the sword wouldn’t get stuck. Then he would be in trouble because of the other warrior who patiently was waiting behind.

The tall redhead raised his axe over his right shoulder, and Tarold stepped forward, meeting the charge to exploit the opening. His sword was halfway through the strike to the neck, when he noticed the axe swinging down on him.

His eyes widened. If he killed his opponent, the momentum of the axe was going to injure him very badly at best, and might even kill him in the worst case. He acted extremely fast, changing the course of his blade and putting it between him and the axe. The heavy axe smashed in his longsword, and bowed it slightly, and the sheer power made it hammer against his body.

He was thrown to the ground, and his left arm was most likely broken or fractured. The pain came in sharp waves and made him clench his teeth. He saw the wounded warrior step over to him, and the latter tried to kick him in the head, but he quickly rolled away, clenching his bent sword in the right hand. He noticed that it wasn’t a kick to kill, but to incapacitate. Maybe they wanted to ransom him; because of how much he looked like a noble thanks to the silk clothes.

He stood up again, took a deep breath and fixed his eyes on the enemy again.

“Who are you?” He asked, surprised to see the warriors making approving smiles.

“Du kæmper godt, selv om du er tynd og svag.” The tall one said. Tarold eyes narrowed, he didn’t recognize the language. With a quick look around him, he saw that the guards were losing. The last of them who were still mounted began to flee, abandoning the few on foot and easily outrunning the raiders, who didn’t bother trying to pursuit.

“Damn it. Where is my horse when I need it?” He mumbled. It had probably left the fight. It only left him with one desperate last option. As the raiders were forming a circle around him and the wounded giant redhead, he suddenly ran toward him. He had readied his axe and was focusing on him.

I threw my sword at him. By reflex he raised his arms and axe in front of his head and ducked. The sword just bounced off his shoulder without doing any serious damage, but the guy was vulnerable. When he looked up again, realizing his mistake, it was too late.

Tarold grabbed his arm, and invaded his mind. His furious and desperate attack destroyed the small mental defense of the warrior, but then he hit a wall. In front of him, thousand of entities were present before him, and they all threw themselves at him, with a thundering battle cry.

They made clumsy and ineffective attacks, which he easily destroyed by tens, fighting on for minutes, but there were too many. With a last attempt, he formed his mind into an extremely sharp spear and he pierced through almost a hundred souls, but were then slowed too much down and had to retreat while fencing off isolated but numerous attacks.

Exhausted he was thrown back into his body. The warrior was unconscious, and he himself was on his knees, sweating, and breathing hardly. He saw a pair of boots stop in front of him, when he looked up, he saw a blonde man with his helmet under the left arm, and a sword in his belt. This one even had a chainmail on.

“Flot kamp.” He said with an acknowledging smile. Tarold tried to stand up, but the blonde and armored man knocked him out with a formidable punch.