Caralianiananian; City of the Frozen North

[Koran]

[A rare solo by me. Let's see if I can keep it going this time. Unless of course, you'd like to join. It'd make running the city much more fun if there was someone else there to spice things up. Just PM with any ideas or reasons as why you would like to join and then we'll discuss.]

Three months. Three long and painful months and he was finally settled into things. Well, not exactly settled into things, more like settling into, but he had a feeling that he had made himself known enough to not have soured fruits and vegetables thrown at him every where he went. It had come as a shock really, back in Knife's Edge, when the King presented to him the deed to this probably forgotten land and city, as well as letters of rights for his house sigil and two hundred hand picked retainers. That had been an even greater shock but it soon wore off when he learned that he was the one that had to do the choosing, and not from the standing army but from the local mercenaries and hire houses.

It was a long and difficult process, but after about two weeks he had finally decided on his 200. It had been a fairly grand sight, seeing all of them, lined up in a quadruple column formation, dressed in his chosen house colors of blue and gold, a golden hawk clutching laurel leaves and a fish in its talons embroidered across their left breasts. Each man was dressed in plate and mail armor, each piece buffed and polished until they nearly emitted a light of their own, and each wore a pale blue cloak boarded with golden embroidery, the golden hawk large in its center. It was a rather grand sight, even if there were only two hundred of them.

Still, it was two hundred veterans of numerous fight and most, if not all, knew how to take orders and each would defend his life. The king - and himself, after a private talk with each man; that had been one of the difficulties - had ensured that. Of course, marching on foot all the way to his estate would have been suicide, so horses had to be commandeered, which were graciously supplied by the king and it was still another three days before he could finally leave Knife's Edge.

It took them three weeks - for a total of 6 weeks total so far - to reach his estate, him walking the whole way because of his weight. His captains had questioned him about this, and being their lord and them his liege men, he told them, which turned out to be a minor mistake as it got mens heads thinking about the strange things they saw in his private 'meetings.' The problem was quickly quelled though, although Koran couldn't remember exactly how, but that very evening he had everyone behind him again, probably more so than before, if that was at all possible. There was also the small skirmish during the middle of the second week. Koran really couldn't call it a skirmish, seeing as he only had three men injured and fifteen of the enemy dead. There had only been twenty of them, in the night, trying to sneak in to steal what they could; he kept a strong guard, especially in country he didn't know. His men didn't blame him, after all, it had been he who had killed half that number before the rest of them had even realized what was happening.

Other than those two things the journey went as well as could be expected, a few men came down sick but they were quickly through it. You couldn't live in Salvar having a weak immune system and expect to live long, it was just impossible. Two minor problems, along with of course the other smaller logistics problems, and on the second day of the third week the came with in sight of it: Caralianiananian, the fabled City of the Frozen North.

And it's all mine.

Well, at least, he thought so, at first.

[Koran]

They topped the rise at about midday, the city at last coming into full view of Koran and his two hundred man retainer squads. A smile bloomed on his face when he saw this, thoughts of how lucky he was and how much he would gain from this, but as he looked at the city the smile began to fade, until it had instead, turned into a frown. "What the fuck is this?" He roared, face red in anger and he rounded on his captain. "Did you know of this?"

The man flinched, unused to this kind of outrage, and pulled a spyglass quickly from his pouch, leveling it at the city and gazing through. His face dropped into a frown as well and when he pulled the looking glass from his eye to pass it to a subordinate officer he was near anger himself.

"That's the flag of the Church," he said with a grunt. "An those men on the walls look the sort to be the Churches Paladins."

Koran roared and slammed his fist into his palm. The metal on his gauntlets dampened the effect slightly, but it still got the message across to his men. They all began to shift uneasily in their saddles, some even fingered sword hilts, and even a few began to look for a way out. He didn't care, they'd all stay. He felt as if his head was going to explode; he took a deep breath and looked up at his captain.

"How many do you suppose the church has?"

The man thought for a moment, quietly conferred with his second then shrugged down to Koran. "Who knows. Each church is different and the levies depend on the money the church is will to hand out. With a city this size a church might be able to call up at least five hundred men, with a few hundred in reserve. Who knows. The paladins though, their number remains at a constant fifty, each man very well trained and moderately equipped. The levies can be bribed, if the price is right; the paladins, you'd best make your graces with god before you try on them."

Koran could only growl under his breath and calculate numbers. Even if his men mangaged to breach the walls -very unlikely if the commander was smart - the church would still have hundreds left to fight, all of them fresh, while his would be nearing exhaustion. Anyway he looked at it was that he was severely outnumbered and out matched.

"Dammit it all to hell!" His fist made a hollow sound in his palm a second time and he glared at the city and its flags and its soldiers and the damnable church clergy.

"Sir?" It was the subordinate.

"Yes lieutenant?"

"A rider sir, approaching from the east."

Koran quirked an eyebrow but none the less swung his gaze to the east. Indeed, there was a single rider galloping across the plain towards him and his men. The man didn't slow when he he approached the two hundred soldiers, even after a few drew swords and formed for a charge; didn't stop until he was within earshot. Then he pulled up short and held a hand to his mouth.

"My Lord Baron Koran Vincent Seether?" A few men jumped, startled that this man knew who their lord was; news spread very fast apparently. The king must have sent pigeons flying north as soon as the deed was signed. The man raised his hand to call again, but Koran shouted back before he could.

"Who is asking?"

"Captain Alamar of the Caralianiananian Civil Watch. Or rather," he added after a moments pause. "What's left of them."

"Left of them? By what do you mean?"

"There's been a battle, battles My Lord. When the Church took over the City."

"Come closer man, I'm tired of yelling at the top of my lungs as though we were stray cats!"

The men around him chuckled, some sheathed swords and formed up but a few remained out, none could be to relaxed here. The man laughed, barely heard from that distance, and closed the distance until he was not ten feet from Koran. He then dismounted and bowed formally. The man looked like he had slept on the ground for many weeks - which, he might have - and had a weeks worth growth of beard on his face, but his eyes were sharp and he moved with a steady grace of a man used to command.

"You are a sight for sore eyes My Lord. We've been hold up for four weeks in the mountains, trying to take back the city. Lost many a good man trying to get it back, held the walls for a few days but they pushed us back and we've not gained an inch since then. That priest leading them is as mad as a hatter he is."

"Steady man," Koran said after the man paused to take a breath. He had tried earlier to interject but the man had just rolled over him like a storm. He took the pause to ask a few very important questions of his own. "How many of you are left? Where exactly are you camped? Are you the one in charge?"

"About eight hundred last I checked sir, but those were the fit to fight ones. We've got ourselves about six hundred wounded besides, that last bit took a mighty chunk out of us, lost a good two hundred. We're camped about four miles east of here, in that mountain range there." He pointed behind him without looking and continued. "Yes I'm in charge now, our commander Old Ban died in the last fight but he'd been pushing eighty so we expected him to conk at any minute. Took out ten of them paladins before he went too, powerful fighter he was." There were a few whistles of awe from the men who could hear; apparently those paladins were something to reckon with. The captain spoke then.

"Ten you said?" The man nodded. "That leaves about forty."

"Oh no," the man said quickly. "There can't be more than fifteen left, if that. My men made sure to target them My Lord. They be a sort of battle leader in the church. What better way to win then cut the head off the snake and let the body whither and die?"

"Good thinking," the captain muttered. Koran took the moment to speak.

"All that said, do you have a battle plan? Aside from bashing the walls until they break?"
"Well, we thought of using the harbor but they've locked that up tighter than my sister when she was eight and believe me, we've tried." He flushed and added hurriedly, "Not my sister mind. The harbor."

Koran laughed and slapped the man on the back. "No harm done man. I'll meet with your men, if they'll follow me." The man nodded vigorously.

"Oh yes My Lord, they will. They was the loyal ones, the rest followed the priest when he heard you was coming. Said he didn't much like to give up the power he wielded in the city."

Koran laughed again. "Well then, what do you say we go and take it back from him and give it to its rightful owner?"

"Yes My Lord, of course." The man was beaming now.

"Right," Koran said as he walked the man to his horse. "We'll get on as soon as possible, but first, I need pen and paper. There is a letter I must write, to an old friend who owes me a few favors aside from a fair fight." He laughed and his men soon followed suit.
Some time later, after a pen and paper had been found, Koran found himself seated on the ground, a flat rock balanced between his knees, himself bent over the paper as he tried to write in the failing light.

My Dearest Friend,

I write this to you with both great and happy news, sad and painful news. First I must say that it has been a hard last few months, the cold of Salvar has proved more than a match for my mechanical gears, I swear that one day I will have to oil these sorry gyros. The summers here feel like the last bite of winter before spring in Corone and the winters like the Great Gods themselves have unleashed their fury as a whole upon the earth. But enough of that, I must tell you the news that has caused me to write this letter.

First is the great and happy for as of three weeks ago, the pennyless friend you met in the field of battle in the citadel has lifted himself to the title of Lord Baron and now owns a great city in the farthest northern reaches of the great cold country of Salvar. I have at my back two hundred devote and loyal soldiers and I have never felt happier in my life. I never thought I'd reach this point, and to tell the truth had never planned on it. But, as one like yourself, from slave to free man, I have become so through chance and strange meetings.

The second is the sad and pained, as it seems that my city, granted me by the King himself, is under the tyrantal control of a corrupt clergyman of the Church of Eternal Sway. The local religion here if you weren't familiar. He has already killed a number of my new found citizens and means to bar my entrance from the city by way of blood and blade. It seems that the only way to take it back is by force and this is where I say why I have written to you.

I ask you to join me. As a friend and fellow warrior on the field I ask that you help take command of my forces here and help to take back that which was granted me by a power more so than that of the church. The rider who carries this letter will lead you to me and I hope this finds you in good graces, it has been a while since we last spoke and I can't help but remember how it was the last time we parted. Me in a pool of my own blood, you with hardly a scratch.

I await your arrival and wish you the safest journey. You may bring Rehnahlia if you so wish. Her wit and strength would only boost our moral and battle prowess.

Until we meet,

Koran

He finished just as the sun was setting. Folding the letter carefully into three halves he shoved it into a leather scrip and handed it to the rider.

"Stop for nothing." He then handed the man a purse full of gold. "This should cover your supplies and new horses should it come to it. He was last seen in Corone. You shouldn't have a problem finding him, what with the description I gave you."

"As you command My Lord."

"God speed man."

With that the soldier spun his horse with a rear, the horse nehing loudly, and was then speeding off into the night head south as fast as the animal could carry him. Koran turned back to the captain of the civil watch.

"Now man, let me go see my army."

[Koran]

It took them a good four hours to reach the place where the army was camped, or dug in. It turned out that the Civil Watch had themselves been attacked a few times in the last weeks, apparently to try and drive them completely from the lands of the City, and the men of the Watch had dug themselves in to prevent such a move. Earthen trenches and blocking walls stretched for two miles to the north and south, ending each in the base of a solid granite hill, each turning into a steeply sloping mountain. This, Koran saw, prevented them from being flanked but also provided no escape should they become over run. He had heard once that it was best to leave a man an escape route, lest you wanted to see how hard he could really fight.

Captain Alamar apparently wanted the renegade Clergyman to think the same, saying to Koran that he hadn't had more than two or three hundred assault his makeshift fort at any given time. From the signs on the field it looked as though the renegade had just finished an assault, receiving a nasty gash in his forces numbers.

"They came a dawn," Alamar said in pained tones. "We lost thirty men before we knew what was going on, even then we had to fight in the trenches. We were lucky they didn't break through." He grunted then, sourly. "After that it was like a turkey shoot. We got our archers formed up and they laid waste to those left alive beyond the stakes and barriers." He shook his head silently; Koran didn't blame him, he was probably killing some former friends in those hectic skirmishes. He reached over to pat the man on his back.

"Do not worry Captain, we will win back the city and see an end to this tyrany. Besides, I have called upon a good friend of mine, who will be here within the month. He will greatly help us when the time comes."

They drew close to the forts entrance and fifty roughly dressed men, each armed with a long bow and a long sword balanced by a full quiver on their hips, formed up at the flanks of the gates, bows half drawn and pointed towards the column of men approaching. A lone figure stepped forward and called to them.

"Who goes there?"

Alamar signaled the column to stop, which it did, the men apparently considered this man their new captain, Koran their general. Then he rode forward by himself.

"Captain of the Frozen City, Har Alamar. I have returned from my foray to retrieve our visitor, our lord, Koran Vincent Seether."

It all seemed very formal to Koran, like an honor guard to welcome him, but something told him that it was something completely different entirely.

"Captain Alamar, Lord Baron Koran, let us of the Civil Watch bid you welcome to our holding at Fort Caraliania. You are granted entrance!"

There was a massive screech, some of the men behind him ducked and reached for swords, but the screech faded and the gates of the fort swung open, granting entrance. Captain Alamar fell back to ride beside Koran as they made their way into the fort.

"It is necessary that we identify those who approach our gates. It requires fifty witnesses, to recognize the name, as well as the voice. If not all recognize it, then no one is admitted. This is why I rode out myself, everyone knows me and if I hadn't, they would have never let you in with your men."

Koran only nodded toward the man; they were now into the fort and he could only stare in muted awe at the sight before him. Apparently that thing with the gate had been more than just admittance to the fort, it must have been planned that way - Koran hardly doubted it took fifty men, and with that many flowery words - because the entire surviving Civil Watch was formed up before him, their armor shined as best it could and their banners clean and crisp, hanging limp in the cool night air. It took him moment to realize that it was night and another to realize that the light he saw came from hundreds of torches, strung along the numerous walk ways and paths, the earthen works and barriers, the huts and tents, even a few of the lined up Watch held some. The whole of the fort seemed glow, giving off constantly shifting shadows but he could see every face clearly.

Captain Alamar signaled for the mounted men to form up at the head of the formation, facing inward and nodded towards an elevated mound of earth for Koran. Koran took the cue and went to stand of the mound. He gazed out at the assembled men, there were very nearly eight hundred, as Alamar had said, and each man looked up expectantly at him. But, for what? A speech? He wasn't very good at such things and he wasn't at all prepared. All the same, the men expected it. He opened his mouth and let the words come forth.

"What I see, gathered here before me, is possibly the greatest gift a lord of any land could ever receive. In the face of betrayal, certain death and eternal suffering, you men chose to stand with your lord." Eight hundred smiles appeared in front of him, as well as a few cheers, but they were soon quieted. Koran continued. "I am new to the title of lordship, but I am not new to the concept of leading my loyal subjects to the justice that is so rightly deserved upon those that have righted them." He had done that, once, a very long time ago. The memory faded before he could grasp it; he continued speaking. "I come here today, standing on this hollowed ground, to ask you one favor, bid you one task, order you to one goal." He paused, lifted his hand to point towards the City. "Take back the city and the land that is rightfully yours by blood, sword and plow! Will you follow me, to take back that which is owed to you by the blood of your families, your friends and your comrades in arms? Will you follow until the blood of a tyrant has been spilt, the sword of his arm dulled to nothing, the plow of his word broken? Will you follow? What say you?"

Those last words came out as a shout, it was needed, he didn't not think he could have said anything normally over the din the Watch was making. Swords rattle free of scabbards, spears banged loudly against shields, mens throats grew hoarse from shouting at the top of their lungs. "Alamar!" Koran shouted as he rounded on the Captain.
"Sir!" The man snapped fully to attention.

"Gather a full half of the men to you and leave the rest to me."

"Yes, Sir!" There was a moments pause, the men of the Watch still shouting. A few had taken up the cry of "Koran and the Golden Hawk!" or "The Golden Hawk and the City of The North!" and other such calls. Soon everyone had taken up one or the other, even his two hundred. Alamar approached Koran and leaned in close, talking loudly despite the distance. "May I ask why My Lord?"

Koran laughed. "Why my good man, did you think I would just sit back and let that tyrant rule my city? I mean to begin attacking immediately, although not at the city itself. We will start with the. . ."

The sounds of the men shouting died away slowly as they were ordered to their positions and given their tasks. Koran had a long wait ahead of him, and a long battle, if he was to break through the walls of the City and free it from the grip of that renegade Priest. The plains and villages around the city began to burn even as Koran gave his orders to his captains.

[Sorahn]

The messenger rode as fast as he could, stopping only to rest his horse, eat, and sleep. After two days journey he had reached Raiaera and found a village in which to buy more supplies. Another week passed as he rode swiftly through Raiaera, traversing mountain passages and enduring harsh rain and wind. Even through these challenges, his loyalty to his lord never wavered. Weary, he finally reached a port where he could obtain passage on a ferry. It was a long trip on the boat, but finally he reached his destination: the island of Corone.

He had no idea where to begin his search for the odd creature his lord had described to him, but he was determined to find him. He knew someone would have remembered seeing him, if he had heard the description correct. He reached the city of Radasanth, and asked nearly everyone in the town. As he had thought, most everyone remembered seeing the creature, but none knew where he lived. A few mentioned spotting him on a road heading into the mountains. With renewed purpose, he saddled up and set out on the mountain road, hoping he would stumble upon a cabin or other civilization to further guide him.

He grew frustrated as he trekked into the mountains, seeing nothing but trees and squirrels. Night had fallen and he still hadn’t found anything. Perhaps the townspeople had led him astray. He was about to turn around and head back to Radasanth when a voice sounded from behind him.

“It is I you seek. What business have you with me?”

The messenger jumped and his horse reared in surprise. Calming the horse, he turned to see who had spoken. Standing bathed in the moonlight, was Sorahn un’ Rohnahmeh.

He was covered in white fur with long, swept-back ears and clothed in a long red robe. He wielded a spear and appeared ready to use it. The messenger hesitated, startled at the creature’s odd appearance, which matched his description perfectly. Sorahn’s tail swished back and forth impatiently.

“Speak, I pray you. You try my patience.” The creature said, his grip tightening on his spear. The messenger jumped again and franticly reached for the letter he had tucked in his pocket, and then leapt from his horse. “I have a letter for you, kind sir, from my Lord Baron Koran Vincent Seether.” He said and presented the letter with a courteous bow.

Sorahn raised a brow. “Koran Vincent Seether, you said?” He took the letter with curiosity. Lord Baron, eh? He thought as he opened the leather-bound letter. The messenger waited patiently as the creature read the letter intently. “Interesting…” Sorahn said before returning his gaze to the messenger. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a few gold coins, which he tossed to the man. “Take these and rent a room at the inn in Radasanth for the night. I will come for you at dawn and we will depart immediately.”

The messenger bowed courteously as Sorahn turned to leave. Nyris, we must prepare to depart for Salvar tomorrow.

Yes, master.

He stopped and turned back to look at the messenger. He grinned broadly and said, “Sell your horse.”

[Koran]

The dawn of the thirteenth day since arriving at the beseeched city proved to be as dark and dreary as the last twelve days had been and Koran was silently beginning to wonder if it would never end. Since that first day and night he had engaged his motley force of soldiers in numerous skirmishes, various pillages and even a few pitched battles. Those had proven more difficult then he had first thought, but after his second defeat at the hands of the church's paladins, Koran had a good understanding of how to conduct war.

Those first two major defeats had been in the opening days of his war against the church, both sides losing moderate amounts of men, those they had committed to the field, but in each it was Koran who had to withdraw, regroup and rest. The morale of his men had never been lower and was the verge of breaking, had he not stumbled upon that camp of two hundred of the church's horse and four hundred of her infantry. They were being lead by two paladins, veterans of Koran's two defeats, but even their magics did not save them from crushing defeat at the hands of Koran's bowmen. He was beginning to see their importance, especially in ambushes and ever after that victory, properly named The Massacre at Relti's Ford, Koran had positioned them so as to cover all major road ways and paths; the church was slowly falling back, loosening its grip on the countryside.

Ever since those first days Koran knew that if he was going to win this war, and win it so that it never happened again, he couldn't just attack the city and hope to kill the beast by striking its heart. He had learned, through careful questioning and prodding of the people in the surrounding countryside, that the church had begun its 'Heretical Purge' - as it was called - a full two weeks before Koran appeared. This meant that either they had an inside hand in Knife's Edge and didn't agree with the King and his proclamation, or that the priests here had simply fallen from the Eternal Sway and sought power for themselves, and themselves only. Koran contemplated notifying the King in those first days, but decided against it; he didn't need royal troops interfering with him here, it would only put the King's eyes in places he didn't want them put, yet. No, he had decided that he was going to win this war, and win it on his own, with his own troops and his own knowledge.

Which was part of the reason why he was standing on the crest of a large hill, just four miles outside the outermost reaches of the church’s remaining footholds in the hilly landscape that stretched for miles beyond their gates. He was holding a brass bound looking glass to his eye, looted from a church garrison in a village some twenty miles to his east and south, and was casually studying the troop movements along the many roads and paths that crisscrossed the landscape beyond the city's walls. Behind him stretched a good half of his remaining men, as well as a few hundred assorted men recruited from the liberated portions of his land. All told they numbered close to twelve hundred men, eight hundred infantry, two hundred archers and cross bowmen and two hundred calvary. Fifty of his remaining one hundred and twenty five retainers stood idle but alert at the base of the hill, ready to charge anywhere at a moments notice, but glad for the break in the fighting. He had found lances for all of them when he first left the camp those many nights ago, and they had fit well into the calvary mold, they had taken to calling themselves 'The Companions', as Koran threw them into where the fighting was the hottest, knowing they would win through and break the enemy.

In shifted his gaze to the three hundred or so church soldiers moving just two miles due north of his position, sighed and snapped the looking glass shut with a click. He turned and lifted a small mirror in the air, catching the light so that it reflected it down to a scout at the base of the hill. He repeated the motions a few more times, making sure the boy got the message, and watched as he took off at a run towards the camp, carrying orders to pack up and get ready to move. With luck the churches men wouldn't know he was there until it was too late. He hoped.

Waving the commanding officer of his Companion's escort to him Koran silently went back to studying the landscape around him, his army, and the enemy. The jingle of harness and armor, as well as the clop-clop of the horses hooves in the soft earth and grass, told him that his officer had arrived and he waited until the man had dismounted and bowed before speaking.

"I want you to take the Companions and seventy five of the remaining horse and head north by north-east until you reach the crest of that hill there, three miles ahead. You will then wait there until I give the word."

The man bowed, replying 'Yes, my Lord.' He then mounted, turned his horse around and descended the hill at a gallop, calling for the Companions to follow him, as well as the Second and Third companies of his remaining horse. A few more minutes passed, the horsemen rising and falling over two hills in the distance, before his infantry and archer captains approached. Where his retainers armor had been clean and gleaming with a morning's polish, these men wore their armor the same way they had since leaving the city in flight from the church and its men. That is to say, it was unpolished and sported dozens of dings, marks and dents. Each man had engaged in combat at least once in these thirteen days, so no man was untested. Even the newest recruits, the levies from the villages. Each man bowed in unison, each uttering 'You called, my Lord?' Koran turned to each, his stance casual but his eyes hard and his mouth drawn down in a frown.

"The Church is moving its men again, I have a feeling they mean to take back some of which they have lost in these last few days. We mustn't let this come to pass. Even as I speak there is a force of at least three hundred moving near our position, I estimate they are all foot, but who is to know? Haran." The infantry commander in chief snapped to attention, his face looking haggard and worn but his eyes sharp and alert. The man was a skilled commander and an exceptional fighter, it had been through sheer happenstance that Koran found him, holed up in a small village, surrounded by church calvary on all sides. That had been a small skirmish, but no church man left there alive. "You are to take a full half of your infantry toward their position, just north of here. Don't try to hide, I want them to know you are there." The man nodded, understanding lighting up his face; they all saw the calvary ride north. Koran dismissed the man and he immediately rounded up his commanders and began to usher them down the hill. Only three remained.

Nor, the cross bowmen commander; Ujni, the archer commander; Yersen, the commander of the remaining infantry. Koran looked each man in the eye and then smiled. "You three have a very important mission. You are going to flank the enemy and hit them where it hurts them the most, their base came this side of the hills." Each man immediately began to beam as Koran laid down his plans and after a few minutes of hashing out the details he dismissed each man to his assigned task. Nor remained behind for a few moments, enough to ask where he would be placing himself.

"I will be with Haran Nor, I trust you three to work well without me there to look over your shoulders."

"Yes, My Lord. We will not fail."

"See that you don't, I'm counting on you to eliminate that camp."

Nor bowed and ran down the hill, clamping his helmet onto his head, shouting for his men to get a move on before he decided they were all better off dead than under his command. A good man, all three of them. They would get the job done. Giving the landscape one last overview Koran himself sprinted down the hill, running as fast as his legs could carry him to fall in beside Haran as he set off with his four hundred infantry.

Now I can only hope Alamar his having as much luck in the north as I am in the south.

**~~~~~~~~~~~~**

Commander Daren Alamar stood atop a hill much akin to the one Koran had been standing on, only he was close to twelve miles north of him, and instead of gazing across flowing hills and grasslands, he was gazing out into the fridge cold blue of the northern ocean, anticipation and worry raw on his face, his hands sawing anxiously at his reins. It had been close to three days since he sent out two boat loads of men to scout the many small islands and bays for possible flanking attacks by the church, and so far he had heard nothing. Each boat had with them four pigeons, to use for messaging back and forth between base and themselves, but so far he had only received one from each. Only one. It very nearly spelled disaster but he had promised each boat three whole days, and three whole days he was going to give. But still, he couldn't help but feel. . .

"Commander!" The shout from his right jerked him back into the real, and deadly, world and he reined his horse around to see who it was who had spoken. It was a scout, covered in dirt and grime, looking as though he had fallen into a large puddle of mud. Which was probably where he had been, scouts were experts at hiding, and who would look twice in a massive puddle of mud that could swallow a horse in seconds?

"Yes, private?" The scout, a boy of no more than fifteen, wide eyed and seemingly startled about the world around him, sniffed and gave a hasty bow.

"Boats sir, like the ones you sent out three days gone. Approaching from the west."-
Alamar released a breath he hadn't known he had been holding. "This is good private, but there is something more?" The look on the boys face said there was and he paused a moment, eyes shifting to the ground, his feet shuffling before he answered.

"It's just, sir, I swear there are more men in them this time."

Alamar quirked an eyebrow. More? Well, maybe they found a fishing village on one of the islands, or maybe. . .

"Thank you private. One more thing before you go. Rouse the men and form them on the south side of these hills. Keep out flanking guards and send some scouts to keep watch on the boats. I will join them shortly."

The boy bowed and took off at a sprint toward the camp of men that were under his command. Unlike Koran in the south he had mostly calvary, numbering a full half of his force and only a few archers. Less than one hundred still survived but each was an excellent shot and he used them as sharpshooters more than rank by rank volleys. It was proving a deadly tactic; he had already claimed the heads of three paladins, and he was in the process of chasing down another but the man was proving to be a slippery target. Appearing one hour to bite his flanks, only to disappear for hours on end before suddenly reappearing some two miles away from where he thought he was. A slippery target but he was running out of places to run.

Giving the coast line one last lingering gaze, Alamar booted his horse down from the hill and set about seeing why it was the two boats he sent out hadn't sent more than one pigeon each and had returned with more men then they had set out with. He could only hope it was the same men, a small hope, but one that he'd have to get used to dealing with.

In war, small hopes can take you a long way and hoping for something bigger, will only get you killed.

[Koran]

Alamar stood in his stirrups, trying to get a glance at the men pulling on the oars of the two boats he had sent out just three days earlier. The scout was right, there had to be at least six or seven additional men in each boat. He didn't have a looking glass; he had left it in the barracks during the mad dash out of the city, and he was beginning to regret that mistake. Mistakes were a part of a soldiers life though and he had either two choices, live through it and learn, or don't and die because of them. Alamar chose to live through his, if he could, some were just too bad or went to wrong to stay alive, and right now, he wasn't going to make the assumption that those men in those boats were his. He thought, and knew, that it was better to be safe now than sorry later and in this case, sorry later could mean his and a good many more of his mens deaths.

Well, not that many of his men and perhaps even not himself, the occupants in both boats couldn't number more than twenty five or thirty, but twenty five or thirty good men could do a lot of damage in a short period of time, giving the right openings and the proper 'mistakes.' Alamar inhaled deeply and let the breath out in a long and drawn out sigh, puffing up his cheeks and blinking. He then stood in his stirrups one last time, he could only see the tops of their heads now, their helms glittering in the early morning light. They would be pulling up to the shore now, one or two from each boat jumping into the water to pull it up onto the shore.

A few seconds passed and Alamar tensed. Soon. Now would probably be when they were beginning to unload themselves from the boats and begin pulling supplies out, weapons, shields, bits of armor to encumbersome to wear. Just a few more seconds. They would probably be just now beginning to ascend the hill, possibly to scout the way or to mark out enemy - Or friendly, god help me. - positions. Alamar lifted his arm, felt a slight stirring all around him as the seventy five or so foot and archers made ready to move, and with one final silent pray to his god and his new lord, brought the arm down in a signal to advance, at a run and as loud as possible.

The men immediately broke into a mad dash to reach the top of the hill just twenty paces in front of them, each yelling as loudly and as roughly as he could. As they ran they unsheathed swords, knocked arrows and unlimbered the great tower shields some wore on their backs. Those would form in front of the archers and provide them cover to pick and shoot their targets, should hostilities break out. Alamar himself followed too, on the back of his horse, sending it to a quick trot but he did not yell. He was too worried, to concerned that those men he had sent out were dead; uniforms could be stolen easily from the dead. He topped the rise just instants behind his men, who were already forming for a charge down the hill, archers in position behind their shield men, bows aimed down, arrows ready to fly into any mans heart. Below them, was a confused mass of milling armored men. Some were drawing swords, others hefting spears.

"State your allegiance," Alamar called at them from his vantage point on the hill. "Lest I slaughter you where you stand." A man below raised his sword in answer and the air around Alamar seemed to turn to gel, freezing him and his men and those men below him like statues.

**~~~~~~~~~~**

Captain Haran pushed himself up onto his elbows and lifted a brass bound looking glass to his eye and swept it across the landscape unfolding in front of him, searching for the three hundred or so enemy soldiers that were there, somewhere. His already thin lips turned into a pale white line as he clenched them together in a tight frown; they were there just a minute ago, he had seen them, just topping a rise not three hundred yards in front of them. The hadn't had any out riders or scouts, so they couldn't possibly know that he was there. Unless, unless they had a paladin. Paladins it seemed had a knack for detecting hidden forces, laying low behind the fold of a hill or hidden beneath the tall grasses of the plains. That had how he had found himself surrounded back at the village of Casen, those cavalrymen had a paladin with them and he would have been dead at that moment had the Lord Baron Koran not appeared at that very instant, descending upon the surprised calvary like an avalanche in late winter. No man that was a church man left that place alive, he still shuttered at the thought of it. All those men screaming as they were slaughtered where they lay, not that he blamed the Lord Baron, any man he left alive would one day fight again. But it still gave him a queasy stomach and a faint heart to think they had killed wounded men, helpless to their blades.

He shuddered and turned his looking glass slightly to the east and abruptly hissed through a gap in his teeth. There were those three hundred soldiers, a good half mile from where they should have been, and heading straight for where the horsemen were. He would be hard pressed to catch them now. No matter, the men would do it and not just because the Lord Baron was with them; each man had a piece on the stake for him in this war, for all of them had been branded Heretics. A foul word Heretic and one Haran didn't much like having tacked onto his own head. But he hadn't had much choice in the matter, that renegade priest, locked safely in his city turned fortress, had branded it on every man who didn't follow his lead and resisted his taxes and ridiculous laws. Haran, who had been fortunate enough not to have been in the city on that day, had taken up arms as soon as he had heard the news; news that the priest had seized the city, and news that he had murdered his two children and wife. This war was personal for Haran, just as much as it was personal for the Lord Baron, he couldn't imagine what it must be like to be granted something only to find out that it had been stolen from you before you even had a chance to appreciate it.

He snapped the look glass shut with a grunt, waited a moment on the crest of the hill, using his own eyes to study the moving blob of enemy troops in the distance, then stood and waved his arm side to side then forward. Behind him there was a great shifting and clanking as four hundred foot began to move forward at a trot. Haran stood to watch them all pass, six abreast and stepping in time to a steady chant from every fourth man in rank or file. Once their armor, plate and mail or half-plate or even just a leather jerkin sewn over with metal disks, had been polished until it gleamed even on an overcast day. Now it was all drab and scuffed from days of dirt and grime, as well as hard fighting. But each of them knew how to use the sword at their hip or that spear in their hand and each would put of a valiant fight before finally falling. None would run; it just wasn't there way. The shame of running while your comrades died was too great for a man, especially a fighting man such as these. The last of the men fell away down the side of the hill and Haran fell in beside the Lord Baron, easily keeping pace with the men, even in his dull full plate armor.

"You found them," was all he said, in a rough voice that sounded oddly unhuman. Haran only nodded once, a grim look on his face. "They are moving quickly it seems, we must hurry." Again only Haran nodded but reached up to cup his mouth with his two hands.-
"Move you sonsabitchs! They escape even as we step! Move!" And move they did. With a loud 'Hurrah!' from every mouth the men suddenly broke into a ground eating run. They would reach the enemy in a few minutes and then they would descend upon them like the devil himself was on their tails. Which, in a way, he was, only so far as the churchmen were concerned, it had taken the form of a man dubbed and named, Lord Baron Koran Vincent Seether.

**~~~**

They topped the next rise and there they were, all three hundred, strung out in a long column of three men abreast, completely unawares as to what was going on. The men of the Lord Barons army took up a loud cry, unsheathed swords, hefted spears and halberds, unlimbered shields and wasted not a single second before spreading ranks and charging the enemy. The enemy, taken completely by surprise, turned to see what the noise was and had only instants to comprehend what was going on, draw swords, shout orders, form ranks, and prepare to counter. The forces of the Lord Barons crashed into them before many had even drawn their blades.

From the north there came, at the same instant the Lord Barons men crashed into the church men, a great roar and blinding white light. None of the Lord Baron's men noticed however, as they were too far into the thrill of the battle to hear or even sense it.-
Suddenly the air seemed to turn to gel, freezing the men of the church, the men of the Lord Baron, and the one hundred and twenty five calvary, just topping the rise directly behind men of the church, as though they were statues.

**~~~~~~~~~~**

Nor, Ujni and Yersen topped the rise together, crawling forward on elbows and thighs, until they all could equally see the churchmen camp spread out below them. Nor pulled a small brass bound looking glass from his and pointed it toward the camp, pressing the seeing end lightly against his eye. The camp leapt into view and he took a quick count to troop numbers, placement and possible maneuvering. He then passed the glass to Ujni, who took his turn, made his own calculations and then passed it to Yersen, who did much the same. Then they passed it back to Nor who pocketed it, looked at each man and then nodded his head backwards, signaling to descend the hill and confer. They did so, just as silently as they had ascending it and once they reached the bottom broke into quiet discussion while putting their armor back on. Even armor that was dull and unpolished could give off a gleam, they didn't want to give the enemy such a warning.

"I'd say at least four hundred foot," Nor said as he buckled on his breast and back plates.

"I agree, and it also looks like they have a few dozen archers," said Ujni as he tightened the straps on his own breast and back plates.

"And two hundred horse," snarled Yersen as he draped his mail shirt over his head and set about buckling on his shoulder and arm guards. Nor gave the man a grimace and spat on the ground beside him.

"Looks like we've got our work cut out for us, but it looks to me that if we attack tonight we might have a better chance winning than we do if we attack now."

"Yes," Yersen said after he had retrieved his helm and held it beneath the crook of his arm. "We'll have to cut their picket lines too, if we mean to disable those horse."

"And that can be most effectively done at night, when the animals are asleep as well as the men." Ujni had his own armor finished and was just picking up his helm.

Nor nodded to himself as he retrieved his own helm and after a moments silence, and after they had walked half the distance back to where their men awaited them, spoke again. "What if we cut their picket lines tonight and at dawn, attack? I think it might go great with their breakfast of coffee and tack, don't you?" Ujni and Yersen both chuckled at his joke but each nodded.

"That will give us time to properly position our men and dawn would provide the best light for our signal mirrors." Yersen then glanced worriedly at the overcast sky. "Granted this cloud cover clears up a bit come next morrow." Ujni and Nor both nodded silently, each praying silently that it did. Signal mirror were fairly useless in cloud cover.

They reached the valley where their men were camped and were just about to confer separately with their individual captains when an massive roar and flash of white light so powerful that it knocked many men off their feet, shook the ground beneath them and left them dazed for a few seconds. When the men could regain their feet they all looked north, where the fading residue of the light was hovering just above the horizon, each with a grim look on his face for each man knew the look of Paladin work. Nor was the first to break the eerie silence that hovered over the camp like the clouds over the landscape.

"God help any man who was caught in that blast." He had only seen one other like it, in the first major victory of the Lord Baron Koran's forces, at Relti's Ford. It was a suicide blast, aimed at doing as much damage and inflicting as many casualties as possible before a Paladin finally died. There were a few gasps from those around who had heard and more than a few began to finger sword hilts expectantly. "Stay your ground," Nor said when he saw this. "You can't save them, it might be too late as it is. We will stay as we were ordered and finish what we came here to do. See to your weapons and armor, there will be fighting for us yet."

As he turned to address his officers again he thought he heard, in the distance and too far off to hear clearly, the ring of steel against steel as men joined combat with each other. That would be the Lord Baron and his men, Nor could only hope that that force didn't have a Paladin as well.

**~~~~~~~~~~**

Time resumed and Alamar stared in horror as the man lifted his sword and shouted at the top of his lungs. "Death to the Heretic!" From the throats of all the men on the beach came the same cry and as one they charged Alamar's position.

"Shit," Alamar cursed even as the first words came from the mans mouth. "Lieutenant, send these men to their graves!" Alamar thought he heard the man say 'With pleasure.' but all he really heard said was, "Archers, loose!" Then all hell broke loose.

The men who had been in the boats couldn't have numbered more than thirty but for a split second, just before the archers fired their first shots, the men below him seemed to double in numbers. Their images flickering for an instant and then they were gone and in each place where a flicker had been an arrow stuck up from the ground.

"Paladin!" Alamar hadn't even realized he had shouted before he had yanked his sword from its sheath. He then raised the sword above his head and shouted at the top of his lungs, "For the Frozen City and the Golden Hawk!" He slammed his boots into the flanks of his horse and charged down the hill, followed by some fifty of his chosen foot, who were there to accompany him to receive the men from the boats. One last volley of arrows streaked over his head, this time taking a few men down with them even with the flickers, and then he and his men were upon the attackers.

His horse leapt over a charging bull of a man, kicking wildly with its front hooves, shaving the mans face clean in half and he landed with a thud against the pommel of his saddle, all the air in his lungs leaving him in a great rush. He didn't have time to inhale immediately though as he was beset upon all sides by in rushing enemy and he began to slash wildly at anything that moved beneath him. His horse reared and kicked just as wildly, almost knocking him from his seat a few times and he soon found himself wading deep into the cluster of enemy men. He turned aside a wild thrust from one of the churchmen with a grunt, letting the man stumble into his kicking leg; the men fell away clutching at his face, screaming but Alamar had little time to congratulate himself on the victory. Another replaced the fallen man and he neatly ducked under Alamar’s swinging blade to hamstring his horse.

The horse reared and this time Alamar did lose his saddle, falling to the sand in a heap of armor and horse flesh. A great weigh on his chest pushed what little air he had managed to get back into his body in another whoosh and he inhaled, gagged, exhaled and gagged again before he could regain some semblance of breathing order. Even then it was ragged. In the moments when he was regaining his breath and futilely trying to push the flailing but immobilized horse from off his chest, he saw the final moments of the battle as his men pushed through the remaining churchmen, killing all who remained. Then he saw three of his men descended upon a great hulk of a man, wielding a massive warhammer like a stick.

The Paladin slammed one man into a bloody pulp with one great swing from his hammer before he had taken even two steps towards the man. The other two were more fortunate to get closer, but they shared the same fate as the first. Finished with the three 'pests' the Paladin turned his sights on those remaining of Alamar’s force, a scant twenty-two. They charged the Paladin, intent on killing him with their sheer numbers alone. Alamar tried to yell for his men to stop but it came out as a hoarse whisper and even as he tried he saw that it was too late.

As strong as a Paladin was they were no match for more than twenty-two foot and twenty-five archers. Even as a whole six men drove their blades into the Paladins body, not after taking eight loses of their own, did twenty-five arrows make a pincushion out of the mans back. The Paladin hardly even flinched as this happened, instead, instead he laughed and if Alamar had the breath, he would have screamed. The Paladin clenched his right fist and as he fell, still being stabbed by all those close enough to do so, raised it towards the sky and opened it as his knees hit the ground. From the outstretched hand bloomed a ball of white, liquid fire and the men on the beach, the archers on the hill and Alamar, still trapped under his horse, had only a half seconds moment to comprehend it before it exploded with a massive roar and a blinding white light.

Alamar was instantly blinded and he blacked out even as the searing heat from the blast washed over him and bathed his body in a pain he had never thought possible.

**~~~~~~~~~~**

Seventy-five men of the church’s rank died in the first three seconds after the Lord Barons soldiers slammed into them. A full fifty died in the next four seconds, compared to a scant twenty of the Lord Barons troops. The fighting was hot and quick and very soon it became apparent that the church men had to either retreat or be slaughtered where they stood. Those near the rear of the church ranks turned and fled, dropping their weapons and their shields in an attempt to lessen the burden so they might run faster. Those first had only enough time to drop their weapons and turn their bodies though before the one hundred and seventy five men of the Lord Barons calvary slammed hard into their rear.

The battle was over before it had really even began and in the end all three hundred and forty two of the church’s men lay dead on the field, with only forty seven of the Lord Barons men dead or wounded. A smashing victory, and one that was sure to leave the church wondering exactly what happened to its men that day for many days to come.-

[Sorahn]

The clouds parted as Nyvahriseth, a great black dragon, dove from the sky. His massive wings flexed as they caught the air, pulling out of the dive and sending him rocketing forward. Mounted on his back was Sorahn, riding confidently and carrying his trusted spear. Behind him was Rehnahlia, another Ranoan and Sorahn’s girlfriend of over two years. Just behind her rode the messenger, hanging on for dear life, a look of horror on his face.

Sorahn guided the dragon via their strong mental connection, yet Sorahn himself had to approximate their direction using the sun, as the disconcerted messenger was having trouble giving him directions at the moment. As he scanned the horizon, he noticed how beautiful Salvar was in the summer. His memories of Salvar consisted primarily of harsh cold and relentless snow.

Nyris and Sorahn spotted a town off in the distance to the east at the same moment. Their connection was so strong that Sorahn wondered if he had actually seen the town, or simply knew it was there because Nyris’s dragon eyes could see it. He shrugged it off as Nyris’s great wings flexed again. The messenger let out a squeal as they banked hard to the right.

As the town drew closer to them they saw masses of people on the hills. He could see a few scattered yet distinct groups. Upon mental direction from Sorahn, the dragon descended to a lower altitude, and the groups came into better focus. Sorahn could tell they were soldiers, some of which appeared to be in the heat of battle.

He turned and shouted back to the messenger. “Are these your Lord’s men?” The messenger, still looking like a frightened kitten, simply nodded in response. Returning his gaze forward, Sorahn narrowed his eyes and began searching the horde for the familiar full-plate armor as Nyris lowered still further. They banked in wide circles over the men, who were now noticing the massive black creature flying over them. Some of the archers cautiously knocked arrows and took aim at the dragon, yet were too frightened to shoot.

Sorahn couldn’t care less if his beast terrified the men. He himself was probably equally as frightening, although not nearly as big. He ignored them and continued scanning. Finally he saw him: a broad shouldered, blonde haired man wearing full plate armor. He could almost see his face even from this distance.

A wide grin grew on Sorahn’s face as he identified the man to Nyris. With one huge force of his wings, Nyris had changed course to head straight toward the armored man. He fell into a slight dive, and began gaining speed every second. Sorahn’s grin only grew wider and he could’ve sworn Nyris was grinning too as the wind began rushing past them. Rehnahlia held him tighter around his waist and voiced her protest in Ranoan, while the messenger looked as though he would pass out at any moment.

As they gained more and more speed and continued to descend, they appeared to be headed straight for the man Sorahn had identified as Koran Vincent Seether. Sensing the threat to their Lord Baron, the archers gained a new courage, and loosed arrows toward the diving dragon. Sorahn and the dragon weren’t phased in the slightest by the arrows flying past them.

Soon they were so close to the ground that the grassy hills swirled from the wind in their wake. Just when it seemed they were going to plow directly into Koran, Nyris flexed his muscles and pulled up at the last second, sending them screaming over Koran’s head with a few feet of killing him. Nyris flexed his great wings and broke their speed, then banked back toward Koran. One last beat of his wings sent a gust of wind toward Koran and his men and brought him to a stop, and he landed gracefully in the grass.

He folded his wings and obediently bent low to the ground to allow his passengers to hop off his back. Sorahn leapt down, then reached up to help his love down. The messenger simply fell off, landing with a thud, then proceeded to run from the dragon as fast as he could. Sorahn watched with a raised brow as the man disappeared into the ranks of soldiers.

He was suddenly aware of the mass of soldiers that had somehow surrounded them; all had swords and spears pointed threateningly at them. Nyris snorted and growled at a few who had gotten too close, and they quickly backed away. Sorahn mentally calmed him. The last thing he wanted was to make enemies with all these soldiers. He tried to maintain a friendly air, but he subconsciously tightened his grip on his spear.

He turned toward Koran, and a genuine smile returned to his face. “Koran Vincent Seether. I see you’ve done well for yourself. A Lord Baron now, so I have heard.” He said with a sly grin.

Rehnahlia eyed the soldiers and drew closer to Sorahn, putting her arm around his. “Oh!” Sorahn said, remembering his manners. “I don’t believe you’ve met Rehnahlia.” He said gesturing to her. She smiled to Koran politely. “Hel-lo!” She said in broken English.

“She is my shehnas.” Realizing he had just spoken Ranoan, which Koran didn’t understand, he struggled to remember the English word. “My… uh… lady. I think that is the word.” The snickers from the soldiers closest to him told him that probably wasn’t the right word, but he acted as if he didn’t notice.