The Blood Hordes of Xer'Gol

~Shynaeva~

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley, but a lot has changed over the past millennia. Now where has Owin gotten off to? I wondered, riding along the snowy trail towards a spot favoured by our prey of the day; snowfoxes. Hearing, yet not listening to the gossiping of my courtiers, I yearned to be away from the incessant natter of these trophy wives, to be with my Azaldrian. Pushing our mounts and ourselves to the limits, racing across the Northern frozen tundra, coming home and curling up against his soft, golden hairy chest, wrapping my tiny olive coloured body up in the long arms his 6’7” frame provided. Laying around our blazing hearth sharing a volume of ‘The Endeavours of a Futile Few’ we could even try our best to produce our own little heir. Afterwards, while I brushed and braided his copper infused golden hair, he would usually say something like, “spending time with the nobility is a part of our duty to the Empire,” and then would proceed to tickle my tiny feet.

I let out a shudder at the thought of spending eternity surrounded by these rambling courtiers, but it was worth it.

Azaldrian IS worth it.

Raising my hand, the idle chatter and our hunting party came to a halt unanimously. I smiled at Chief Guard Hans; he knew my feelings on courtiers, even without ever having vocalized them. I loved him for his ability to read a situation like an open book and even more for his solemn silence. His granite chiseled face never revealed a hint of what was happening behind his dark brown eyes. He is the picturesque Hyvaskian solider, but I know he prefers the silence as much as I do. Hans knew where we were and nodded. I started down the snowy embankment towards Owin and his pony, just along the forests edge near the snowfox den that Owin had taken to calling WhiteHole. He might not be the most creative, but he is loyal and shows intelligence beyond his short 10 years since he was birthed into the realm of Ehtenyyses.

“Shynaeva, over here!” Owin shouted excitedly, almost falling from the saddle of his pony. He leaned to one side, pointing to a circle of fox tracks surrounding a pile of steaming dung melting into the snow.

As I approached Owin and his pony, my mare, Jisa, rolled her eyes at the smell of dung. I stroked her mane, calming the long legged white mare. It was unusual of her to react so to the scent of snowfox feces. Coming to a halt, I raised a finger to my lips,

“Shhh… if you were a fox and heard a little boy yelling from atop a little pony, what would you do?” I asked him with a small smile pursing my lips.

Owin looked down and fingered the pommel of his saddle with an abashed look on his face,

“Sorry, Shy, my mother always said I get carried away sometimes …but my pony is the biggest one in the stables!” he proclaimed boldly.

“Oh no fret my boy, excitement can be a good thing, just remember that patience is a virtue and to harness that excitement for when it is necessary… like when we find the fox and not his stinky dung!” I told him in my least lecturing tone, while still somehow managing to lecture.

Owin is the youngest squire serving my love and husband, Azaldrian, to whom my good fortune and also my sorrow happens to be the first born heir to the Kingdom of Hyvaska. Part of each successor to the throne’s duty is to tour each province of the Empire, traditionally starting with the Northern provinces. Azaldrian, being the dutiful and traditional type that he is, naturally insisted we start in the North and so here we are…

Due to Owin also being my youngest cousin and my closest living kin in Northern Hyvaska, I felt it fitting that he spend a bit of time with me before he is old enough for his armband and I lose that chance forever. At that time, he will move onto living with the men and exclusively training in tactics and given his birth status, he will learn rhetoric, public speaking, and the education fitting a Noble Hyvaskian. Owin’s mother, my Aunt Kiesah, gave me specific instructions to look out for her youngest child. I enjoy these outings because they provide us a bit of time to bond, as he has always been like a little brother to me.

Over the couple months we have spent touring Northern Hyvaska, Owin and I have become even closer. I feel like his pseudo mother at times, catching myself giving the same lectures my own mother gave to me at his age. I have even taken over where his mother left off, combing and braiding his wavy jet black hair. It has always been an honour of Hyvaskian mothers and once of age, the duty of a wife, to braid their man’s hair.

“Alright, Owin, let’s get the traps out,” I said, clicking my reins and moving Jisa back towards our hunting party up on the ridge.

Owin was a large 10 year old, towering over other boys of similar age. His long black hair framed his cheeks, still plump with baby fat. He had the ice blue eyes and olive complexion Southern Hyvaskian’s were renowned for.

As we turned to leave, I noticed the guards in our hunting party were waving their arms at us frantically, Chief Guard Hans and his heavily plate armored men already mounted and charging towards us. Looking over my shoulder to the forest behind us, I saw a horde of misshapen red armored figures emerging. Most of the emerging force were on foot; three armed creatures carrying cruel shaped swords, large ogre-like beasts with brutal spiked hammers, tiny four foot nothing long-eared bandit looking creatures with dual serrated knives, and tall pale faced humanoids in red leather with long poleaxes designed to drag a man out of his saddle, to name a few of the horrors creeping out from behind the shadows.

The crimson armored wall parted and a mounted figure slowly emerged from their ranks. He stopped at the head of the mass of horrors. The leader of the horde, I imagine. His black armor was accented with the same red as his horde, but it appeared to look wet, like blood. Other than the large spikes sticking out of his spaulders and his horned helmet, he appeared like a man in size and stature. That was before I noticed the blue flames engulfing his plated warhorse, beady red eyes peering out of the heavy metal plates. I knew of these creatures only from children’s fables and from times before, but there was no way The Blood Hordes of Xer’Gol could be before me now. And yet, there they were.

Before I could react, Owin had drawn his sword and was yelling nonsense about leaving him to defend my honour. Shaking my head, I slapped the rear of his pony and charged Jisa forward toward our approaching mounted guardsmen. Owin was screaming obscenities he surely did not learn from me. I half turned to remind him to mind his tongue, but before I knew it, Hans was charging down the snowy gnoll towards us barking commands. His stone face revealing emotion for the first time; trepidation. Looking upwards towards the ridge I saw our hunting party had already formed ranks to let the Eastern longbowmen notch their long armor piercing bodkin arrows. The rest of our hunting party had already been safely shuffled behind the ranks of the small group of my heavily armed housecarls. The elite guards’ long, gold-trimmed blue cloaks flaring in the wind was a stark contrast to their stone like stature.

The dozen or so mounted guard surrounded us just as the archers from our party further up on the ridge rained down their first volley on the approaching blood red armored creatures. This slowed the enemies approach, but not by much. Our mounts struggled up the snowy embankment under the duress of the incoming marauders.

Chief Guard Hans, noticing our futile escape effort, reared his warhorse around and yelled,

“To me! Rally! Rally to me, lads!”

Turning his helmeted head to me, he raised a plated glove to his heart and said, “It is my honour to die under your service, Shynaeve, but you must flee!”

With those solemn words, he pulled out his gilded sword, spun his mount around and charged forward toward the red horde, followed closely by his loyal elite cavalry.

At this moment the mounted leader lifted a crimson-accented ebony gauntlet to his head, removed his helmet and revealed his face. Where a head should have been was darkness, utter darkness, as if consuming the light around it. Blue flames danced around the darkness, but emitted no light. I knew from the soothsayers proclamations and my wetnurses fables that this was no man. Xer’Gol was before me in all of his overwhelming dark exaltation. I could not see any eyes, but I could feel his gaze directly penetrating into my soul. I opened my mouth to speak, but my throat felt thick and my tongue like lead. He raised his other hand and smiled, if a featureless face could smile. From his outstretched hand, a dark sphere started forming, growing as it sucked in all the energy around it. Some of his own soldiers who were too close to him dropped dead as he sucked their life essence into his dark magic. Raising his hand and the sphere into the air, Xer’Gol flung the light eating ball towards the ridge where my hunting party were still raining down arrows. With a bright flash and a loud crack, the ball of dark energy engulfed the entire hunting party, distorting their features, as if under water. The ball began to shrink, shrinking until it absorbed every soldier, mount, and life source on the ridge, until it shrunk so small it disappeared with a distinct pop sound and the same flash it had begun with. I had no idea how to comprehend what I had just seen.

Charging forward, the flashing of steel off dawn’s early sunlight, Hans and his soldiers carved a path into the marauding horde, unaware of their comrades fate on the ridge. Hans turned to shout back at me, “You must flee, Synae! FLEE NO-,” Hans unfinished plea hung dead in the air. I stared at him with bewilderment, as his face contorted with pain. The smell… the rancid odour of burning hair and flesh caught in my throat. The lacquered paint on Hans’ armor smoked from an unseen heat source. With a pop, those knowing brown eyes burst and his stone face melted away, revealing a steaming skull beneath.

If this was not enough repulsion, Xer’Gol looked towards Owin.

“I smell that the little one is of noble blood. A pleasant surprise.” Xer’Gol cooed.

Owin looked at me confused, he had not been taught the secret of our bloodlines and why Xer’Gol had been railing against our Empire for almost 4000 years. The inhabitants of our realm possessed extremely potent life essence, the type of essence he had drained his own realms of eons ago. The noble blood lines tracing back to our first ancestors were most potent, which is why he preferred the souls of nobility. Draining us of our essence ensured Xer’Gols immortality – you could call him a thief of souls.

Xer’Gol rode towards us and outstretched a gauntlet towards Owin.

“No. No. No!” I screamed at the demon sorcerer.

Owin looked at me through glazed hypnotized eyes and said, “Do not fear, Shy.”

Xer’Gol chuckled and with that, placed a hand on Owin’s head, Owin shook, shuddered, and collapsed off his pony. I reached out towards him, my vision blurred, but I knew it was already too late.

Xer’Gol turned the blackness that was his face towards me, “now you will be coming with me, princess” he cajoled with mock respect.

Swaying in my saddle and struggling to breathe, I heaved the entire contents of my wheat and quails egg breakfast into the snow.

~Azaldrian~

Once word reached me and I was able to quell the feelings of disbelief combined with grief and pangs of guilt over Shynaeve’s capture and the resurgence of Xer’Gol, I sent word to every province spanning the realm of Ehtenyyses in the Kingdom of Hyvaska: from its icy peaks and frozen tundras of the North, to the rivers, lakes, and fjords of the West, all along to the plains in the East with the infamous backdrop of Xer’Gol’s broken gateway from his home realm of Trmma Arhneus. The Eastern coast is an endless sea of black sandy dunes known as the Sea of Endless Shade, a cruel joke to those bold and wild enough to brave the ebony inferno. Finally in the South, where Shy and her family hail from is surrounded by swaying palm trees and famed red sandy beaches that wealthy merchants and nobility flock to in scores. The Hyvaskian Empire was an expansive mass of unified diversity.

It has been 28 and a half days since Xer’Gol’s hordes reappeared after 1500 years of expulsion. That vile eternal arsehole stole my love and is threatening not only our Empire of Hyvaska, but the entire realm of Ehtenyyses. I would be lying if I said my sole mission was to save the realm, as the mission of my heart is to save my beloved Shynaeva. Fulfilling my duty to the Empire will be but a by-product of that via vanquishing Xer’Gol once and for all. He has been attempting to disrupt the 3743 years of perfect lineage since the founding of the Hyvaskian Empire, until he was banished back to his dark realm of Trmma Arhneus and his gateway disabled by the hammers of my ancestors over 1500 years ago.

I have been compounding my sorrow into rage… I feel like the shell of the man I once was, I can’t let the fear of losing her forever take over… she needs me to remain strong, as do my men to safely see them through this trial of tribulation and so I keep the hearth of my rage stoked and burning; a raging inferno of focused hatred.

I did my best to stifle chattering teeth; I had not been able to stomach more than a few scraps of food. Without much food, I was feeling the icy cold of the Northern nights eating through my nornram hide cloak and the thick wool of my tunic underneath. I had to stay strong for not only my men, but my Shy.

Our scouts had reported sightings of red-plated creatures in the area and tracks heading into the surrounding foothills. Hopefully this morning brings us closer to the Blood Hordes of Xer’Gol and my love caught in his grasp.

The fast approaching dawn was a welcome sign, as we first came into sight of the hamlet, Yurnstaad.

The morning sun breaking through the surrounding trees cast an eerie light across the tiny cluster of typical Northern Hyvaskian styled long wood homes, perfect kindling for Xer’Gol’s scorched earth policy.

The faint smell of burnt timber and cattle had tickled our nostrils from miles out, but upon 100 or so metres from the small hamlet, the potency of the rancid smoke became too much for our less seasoned warriors. I could hear curses and the emptying of stomachs from the ranks of my men. My own first generals son, Matts, his dark face pale and sick, looked like he was about to fall from his warhorse’s saddle.

I heard a rustling to our left, raising my hand to signal a slowing, the bush to our left burst open to a wild eyed panting scout, “my liege! We have found them. They are massing in a basin a quarter days ride into the hills.”

Our coalition of provincial forces reached the summit the wild-eyed scout had reported seeing a red mass forming below. Upon staring down into an array of creatures spawned from the depths of Xer’Gols dark mind, I spotted a gateway on the far side behind a group of red and black mounted soldiers. Xer’Gol had built a new portal, but how? I wondered incredulously.

Reining my warhorse around, I stared across the expansive force that had assembled upon hearing of Xer’Gol and the princess heir’s peril. We had an entire throng of famed long bowmen of the Eastern plains, Northern bare chested berserkers, their shoulders draped with wolf pelts, their bright eyes high with the gods’ fury. Surprising even I, a large cluster of elite guard from the South had marched without rest in an attempt to redeem their honour, as my beloved hails from the Southern provinces, they felt it their defeat that she was captured, as well as their duty to assist with her liberation. A large battalion of heavy cavalry from the Western ranges had been the last to arrive, just yesterday in fact, the 28th day without Shy...

Struggling to contain my feelings, I wrestled with the inner demons I have been facing. I am eternally grateful to my soldiers, as I do not blame anyone but myself and Xer’Gol for Shy’s distress, but I have to contain my emotions to prevent lashing out irrationally.

I could hear my father’s voice reminding me, “your duty as a leader is to maintain a clear head and focus on the objective, even in times of unprecedented duress, Az.”

Staring across the snowy basin accented in crimson below us to the far ridge, I noticed a red and black mounted figure, even from this distance I knew that was Xer’Gol. I don’t know if it was his cruel spiked armor, or that piercing gaze, as if ravaging my soul, but I knew it was him. Behind him I thought I could make out a bound feminine figure on a tall white mare… yes, it is Shy… there she is… my chest ached as my heart skipped a beat. I wanted more than anything to charge and hack my way through those red armored misshapen creatures, reach the other side, grab my Shy, twirl her around and share a deep long embrace.

Tearing me out of my dark thoughts, a voice boomed from across the basin. Xer’Gol had removed his helm to reveal his fabled light eating form, seemingly extinguishing and assimilating the light around him. He addressed me through his sorcery – a trick of the winds to give weight to his voice.

“Azaldrian… you have brought more sacrifices to me, I must thank you for this gift of blood,” Xer’Gol’s millennia old raspy voice taunted.

There were curses and muttering from the ranks of our coalition, but not in fear. They lusted for the blood of the horde of crimson cruelty below. For the glory of battle, dying or living, it usually mattered not to most, but today it mattered more than ever to see the next moon, as every solider here today knew that our actions would determine the fate of our Empire and the realm as a whole.

Faced with the sight of my beloved, I lost all sense of reason and blinded by my own vanity and sense of helplessness, I did what I had been born to do. I charged. Digging my spurred mail boots into my warhorse’s sides, I charged down that ridge, unsheathing my blade, I hoisted it into the air and screamed a guttural roar, “Euuueeeeeaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”

I did not turn to look behind me, but I could feel the thunder of ten thousand soldiers at my back, the hooves of a thousand heavy cavalry and 500 of my own elite guard summoned from the capitol. All at once, I heard the unsheathing of 10000 swords, the lowering of 1500 lances and in a deafening unison in every dialect spanning the Empire came a roar, “For the Empire! Hyvaska! Hyvaska! Rally to the prince!”

I lowered my lance coming upon the ranks of crimson horrors, charging forward. I took aim at the chest of a large behemoth of an ogre, the tip entering and breaking off, toppling the colossus to the ground. As soon as I felt the landed blow, my well trained reflexes and fast twitch memory released my broken lance and in an instant, my gilded longsword, an heirloom passed down since the founding of our empire, was in my hand, splitting faces and piercing armor.

Moving deeper into the void I was creating, my peripherals noticed a hooked poleaxe reaching towards me, I turned in my saddle and hacked the haft of the cruel polearm before I felt another one hooked onto my shoulder and yet another from behind me, pulling me. With a sudden jolt and crash of pain I was on my back in the middle of the blood red fray.

Above me, a huge creature hoisted a massive hammer above his head with a cruel smile and thirsty look on his twisted bloated face, drool dripping from the sharp teeth emerging from his massive under bite. He moved to crash the hammer down, but instead the curved point of a sword burst through his red armor with a spray of blackened blood across my face. His cruel smirk turned into the empty gaze of death.

The tip of the curved sword disappeared as fast as it appeared and the hulking cretin came crashing towards me. I rolled to the right as he collapsed into a heap beside me.

An olive skinned Southern Elite guard I had never seen before, glowing as if from some inner light, outstretched his hand helping me to my feet, bowed his head towards me and without a word continued his dance with the crimson horrors. Moving like water, he glided, and was gone, leaving a trail of black bloody corpses behind.

Shaking my head at what I just witnessed and upon this resurgence, I felt a gush of power I have never felt before. A man possessed, I danced the dance of death. I became a whirlwind of steel, flowing like the Elite Guard before me. I was a skilled swordsman, but I had never felt this sort of power before.

Above me on the ridge I could feel the gaze of Xer’Gol. I looked up and with his hands raised he was forming some sort of a light absorbing sphere between his hands. Before I could process what he was doing, he had hurled the sphere across the basin at our Eastern Longbowmen, swallowing the entire throng of archers up and then folding into itself fading away with a bang and a flash.

Xer’Gol turned his deathly gaze down towards us. I knew our rapid advancement through his Blood Horde would not go unnoticed for long. I was with the vanguard mowing through their ranks, with the heavy cavalry watching our backs, crashing into and mopping up any stragglers we left behind.

Raising his hands, Xer’Gol held them for a second and then from seemingly out of nowhere, fire rained down onto our ranks, engulfing his own creatures along with my own Imperial soldiers. The screams of dying men and creatures alike mixed with the odour of burning creatures and human flesh filled the basin rapidly, like a putrid fog.

I do not know what came over me or why, but I put both hands on my hilt and lifted my sword into the air and screamed out to the gods. I yelled at them, I rallied them, I pleaded with then. As if answering my prayers, I felt a surge come through me and bolt of green light came out of the heavens, reaching the tip of my sword and flowing down into my veins. A group of Northern berserkers encircled me, daring anyone to approach their prince, knowing what was happening more than I did, as they were closer to the gods than anyone. I felt stuck in place while the surging power overwhelmed my being a translucent green dome emerged around me, growing and growing until it reached the edges of the basin. Xer’Gol’s futilely threw fire and spheres of energy at the dome, eventually realizing it was impenetrable.

I looked up at Xer’Gol and he was looking down into the basin. He paused, as if rethinking his plan and with that, his party disappeared from the ridge towards the gateway behind them.

I saw the tail end of the green light coming towards my sword and as it ended, I felt the power flow through me, enhancing my being. I sprinted towards where I had seen my beloved and a green aura reflected off the snow around me.

Racing up the sloped embankment, I noticed some of my elite guard had already taken care of any remaining creatures Xer’Gol had left behind to guard his fleeing through the gateway. I panicked for a second, but then relief washed over me when I saw Shy’s white mare, Jisa. The relief was short lived when I noticed Jisa was riderless, meandering around a stone slab that was in no way a natural part of the landscape.

“No… no… noo… noo.. noooo… noooo!” I screamed rushing forward slipping in the snow. Racing ahead in my haste, I tripped before the slab. Rising up, my eyes took in what was before me and reality crashed down. My delicate thorn, Shynaeva, even in death her beauty surpasses all others. I yelled in agony, screamed out until I felt my lungs might burst.

My beautiful Shynaeva, I am so sorry! Curse the Gods, this cannot be my destiny! Curse the soothsayers, those bastard dog seers lied, they foretold our future sons and… daughters, beautiful little daughters… I cannot fathom how I am to go on, my soul hurts, my body aches.

I felt the tears welling in my eyes, the silence was literally deafening – my ears were ringing as if from a lightning blast to the core of my soul. It was fitting that a lightning bolt struck overhead accompanied by thunder moments later and then came the downpour. It was as if the torrential downpour washed away what little bit of humanity left in me, masking my tears as a double effect.

Reaching down to my waist for my wolf hilted dagger, a large blue sapphire stuck in its mouth forever satisfying his hunger. I stared through blurry eyes at my beloved, Shy. Unsheathing the blade, I lifted it up to my head, the wolf in the hilt almost pitying me. For a moment, my thoughts drifted, but then I grabbed my braid with my left hand and with one fell swoop I severed my copper infused golden mane.

I wanted no part of this braid without those delicate fingers being the ones to brush and oil it. Reaching down I placed the braid into Shy’s lifeless hands and closed my large calloused bloodstained hands around her delicate beautiful tiny fingers. Admiring her olive coloured features for the last time, I broke. I wept and I wept. I had no time to think of duty now, with Shynaeva I was cold forged steel, unbreakable, impenetrable even with the finest marksman with the sharpest arrowhead. Now? I have cracked, like cheap iron, found in the attics of farmers and on the bodies of militia from the poorest provinces. Forever flawed beyond any master smiths repair.