Creative Story in the Year

Creative Story

In the year of our Lord 2012 CE, Mortheal, one of the last true paladins of light, ordered the King's armies; from the lowest of privates and including all ranks, even as high as the grizzled, old master-sergeant, to 'rank up'.

As he rode his armored warhorse, draped in the kings colors (with a mane of black and white) in front of his men, his shouted commands betrayed none of the concern he felt at the sight and sounds of the orc armies advancing quickly across the golden-green fields of grass fronting the gates of the fabled and revered stone castle.

He could have seen a sight far more disconcerting if he had been standing on top of the hewn stone structure from which he normally directed any military exercises, battles or watched the regularly held games that all the soldiers and knights participated in. He was not standing there today because he wished to be a more integral part of any action.

The orc army was ascending the hillside rapidly, but Mortheal's army had the advantage of sitting atop the area directly in front of the castle which led downward into a shallow valley, which in turn sat before the adjacent ancient woods from which the orcs were pouring forth. Mortheal quickly and calmly moved to the front of the gathering army of knights and king's soldiers. Though normally he would not be their leader in a battle or war, today he had to assume that role because he was the only Knight-Captain in attendance.

The King could not lead the army today, his wife had contracted a deadly disease that was slowly sapping her strength, and her will to live. It was her wish and the King's desire to be at her side during her final moments on earth.

Mortheal understood the King's desire to spend time in the presence of his Queen, he had known of the King's love for the Queen from the moment he had introduced the two of them, five years before. The 'love at first sight' adage was not a strong enough phrase to describe what the two of them felt, and Mortheal had felt it between them as well. During the ensuing five years he had watched them as their love for each other grew ever stronger. Some of the village folk said that such love was doomed from the start, and pointed to the Queen's illness as a portent of ill regard. Mortheal was baffled as well by the sickness, and had tried everything in his magical power to help the Queen recover. Nothing had worked. Mortheal did not feel that the illness was an evil omen but he did think it was rather strange that during the last five years, as happy as the pair was together, so many strange and very strange events had taken place in their lives. This battle with the Orcs was another example; why Mortheal wondered were the Orcs attacking now, after having been badly beaten by the King's armies just a month ago on these same fields?

With that thought, Mortheal shifted his attention to the coming battle and turned to check the positioning of his men. The archers of Mortheal's army were in the far rear of the formation, from that position they would be able to shoot black herds of arrows into the approaching mass of enemies.

After the archers were the foot soldiers, who were aligned in orderly fashion, and at the front of the formation were the spear bearers, they would lead the army into battle. Mortheal nodded his head in satisfaction at the preparations, knowing full well that the time for battle was merely moments, or seconds, away.

Mortheal looked for Adionis, his second in command, spotting him as he quietly gave orders to his elite corps of men who were separate from the rest of the King's army. From their vantage point they were able to look on as the horde of orcs approached. The Orcen form of cavalry, if one could call it that, straddled both sides of the masses of Orcen infantry.

An odd formation, Mortheal thought to himself as he studied the oncoming mass of Orcen soldiers. The Orcen cavalry was composed of any animal that would carry them. No self-respecting horse would carry the orcs, so they incorporated the giant wolves of the southern wastes, the massive scorpions of the Arha desert, and sometimes even the mastiffs born and raised in human kennels.

Mortheal shouted to the archers in the back, "Are you ready men?" They answered with a resounding shout, "yes!" Mortheal knew that the men he led were nervous, but he also had a confidence in their abilities and training. They conducted themselves with honor, their pride was apparent from the way the held their heads high.

Mortheal murmured to the flag bearer, who then lifted up a blue flag with a white crescent embroidered in the middle. If anyone in Mortheal's army looked to the back, they would see hundreds of long bows raised to an exact degree, with an arrow affixed to each. Instead, the men's attention were riveted fully on what lay in front of them, and all they heard was the creak of many yew bows being pulled taut. The archers had been trained to aim for the animals carrying the horrid orcs, this would cause them to fall, perhaps starting some kind of pile-up.

From where he was perched, Mortheal took another look at the enemy as it approached and frowned with a deep concern. He looked around to see if he was the only one who had seen what was following the orcs. A few of the other men in Mortheal's proximity also saw the huge beasts that Mortheal had observed but knew not what they were, or at least if they did know, kept the knowledge to themselves, for which Mortheal was very thankful. He did not wish to have his men filled with fear before the battle had even begun.

There would be plenty of time before the ugly Sacarian beasts would have any effect on the battle, and if necessary, Mortheal, who had battled the legendary beasts on a number of prior occasions had a few tricks up his sleeve. He compartmentalized the sacars in a separate portion of his brain with the thought that it would take a while before that battle would have to be fought.

With the presence of the sacars, Mortheal was able to discern the hand of Lord Doomhammer in the upcoming battle, and he wondered to himself why the Lord would be inserting himself into such a situation.

Could the whisperings he had been hearing lately be true? Could Lord Doomhammer have designs on the good King Oreck's lands and people? Mortheal hoped not, then shook his head to clear away the encroaching thoughts and turned his concentration to the oncoming horde of orcs and the menace they represented.

Soon the baying of the oncoming wolf carriers and the high pitched squeals emitting forth from the mouths of the giant scorpions could be heard in an onslaught of noise as they drew nearer.

As the Orcs galloped closer, a member of the near at hand flag-bearing group watched as Mortheal swiped his gauntlet-covered hand downwards. The flag bearer immediately mimicked the action with the flag he was holding. A hundred twangs filled the air, and the sun glinted off the arrowheads as they left their individual bows. They soared through the air in an elegant display of deadly power. The arrowheads were designed to pierce armor, and against the low quality Orcen armor, they were extraordinarily effective.

Mortheal noticed Adionis frowning at the destruction that just a few hundred arrows wrought on the horde of orcs before them. Mortheal and Adionis had discussed many times the waste of life caused by war, and though both knew it was a necessary evil, neither thought it was conducive to a spiritually fulfilling life. Adionis in particular, often compared the honor of hand-to-hand combat with, what he believed was the dishonorable killing from afar, with arrows. The arrows pierced the armor of the orcs and sliced through their ligaments and organs, causing the orcs who had been hit by the arrows to collapse. Their fellow orcs trampled over their corpses, making sure that those who had survived the initial onslaught had very little chance of surviving after falling to the ground, even if their wounds were not lethal.

Now Mortheal saw the reason the orcs had put their cavalry on the sides. The arrows always tended to be aimed towards the center of any formation, so the troops that were important to the orcs had been placed to either side. The troops in the middle were considered fodder in Lord Doomhammer's army. "I wonder if they know that their lives are worth so little?" he thought.

Mortheal now raised his mace. A second flag bearer imitated Mortheal's action. A metallic sound rang through the air as the infantry, who had been waiting anxiously to enter the battle, drew their swords and held their shields in a protective stance. The men of Mortheal started to march down the battlefield. The Territorial Army of King Oreck followed with stable weapons. The army's march soon turned into a slow jog, and then to a run. The spear-bearers led the way with spears held lightly in their hands as they prepared to hurl them into the approaching horde.

The armies were not far from each other now. Orcen armies had been attacking in groups for the last two fortnights, and had suffered many casualties but that did not seem to lessen their numbers any as they streamed forth across the field with no end in sight. Mortheal's army was now running forward as fast as possible while still maintaining their balance. The spear-bearers launched their weapons, desiccating the Orcen front line.

Mortheal himself was one of the first to enter the fray after the spear-bearers had accomplished their task. An axe came at his head speedily, dodging it, Mortheal ducked and twirled, sending his mace into the orc's face; the orc fell to the ground, not moving. Then all hell broke out Swords, axes, polearms and maces crashed into the Orcen crowd. Arrows, like missiles, whistled out of the sky with deadly accuracy. Many of the orcs were lifting their shields to protect them from the weapons of the sky, leaving their bodies open to ground level attacks, which Mortheal's men took immediate advantage of, slashing and stabbing with ferocity.

Mortheal, noticing one of his own injured on the ground, dropped back from the fight and concentrated on the injured man before him. He threw his hands to the heaven and, seeking the assistance of a holy power, healed the wounded on the ground before him. The man got up from his prone position, looked around in wonder, reached down and picked up his weapon and ran to join the battle, a whole man once again.

Mortheal looked around for his apprentice, Faede who should have been doing the healing during this battle instead of Mortheal. He spied him on the other side of the battlefield doing the same thing that Mortheal had just done.

Mortheal smiled grimly, satisfied that Faede was doing as much as possibly could be done.

It was obvious that Mortheal and his men were winning the battle, that the orcs were outmanned, and that they had not nearly the training or discipline of Mortheal's and the King's men, who were a well trained and disciplined army.

When the King's men entered the fray, the archers stopped shooting, in fear of hitting one of their own men. Since the archers were no longer able to participate in the battle using their long-distance weapons, they quickly donned their battle-gear, starting with leather jerkins with leggings to match. Over this under-covering they placed a light-weight mail and completed their ensemble with head-gear that allowed for maximum field of vision while still being quite protective. After quickly dressing, the archers sprinted into the fierce battle.

The grunts, groans, moans of pain and cries of anguish could be heard coming from all quarters. Men's cries of anger and exertion mixed with the strange and guttural language of the orcs as they attempted to overwhelm Mortheal's army. In the distance the first rumbling sounds of the sacars announced their proximity and Mortheal knew that he would soon need to lead, or send a phalanx of his men against the sacars in order to quell any dread felt by his men concerning their invincibility. He turned and caught the eye of his second-in-command, Adionis, who he signaled with a slight nod and a hand gesture.

Immediately Adionis signaled back that he understood Mortheal's order and that it would be complied with. Adionis stepped back from the battle and raised a small silver horn to his lips. He gave three low blasts ending with a high note on the horn, and then slowly lowered it with a grim look on his face. He had followed Mortheal through some mighty tough campaigns and knew that overcoming the sacars would not be an easy task, especially if Lord Doomhammer had vested them with any magical abilities. Adionis remembered the last fight against the dreaded beasts, when they had been unleashed with a special power to feel no pain. That had made them even more difficult to overcome, but the sacars had finally been conquered when Mortheal had hit the hairy animals with a spell of his own that reversed the effects of the 'no-pain' spell. Mortheal's spell had caused the sacars so much pain at the thought of entering battle, that they had immediately turned tail and run back to their dens in the Sacartan Plains.

Adionis felt, like Mortheal, that the animals should be left alone and not used as weapons against man, or any other species for that matter.

Adionis wondered why Lord Doomhammer felt it necessary to support the orcs in this battle and why it was that the sacars had been forced to battle once again. He did not have too much time to contemplate Lord Doomhammer's actions however, because he was too busy gathering his men to him so that they might answer Mortheal's call to arms.

Adionis was not only Mortheal's second in command, but he was also in charge of special operations, operations that needed a cool hand, an intelligent leader. The operations were considered above and beyond the call of duty and were also exceptionally dangerous to the men and their leader. Though the group of men was small in number, they were elite in both manner and war, and whenever one fell in battle there was any number of others that volunteered to take the fallen man's place. Only the few and the proud could be part of Adionis' elite corps. Adionis group had even taken on the feared Broudens of Brouda and had beaten them soundly. A recent rumor was that the wind carried the cries of the Broudian women out of the mountains where they lived, overcome by the knowledge that not only would many of their men not be returning to them, but that they had (for the first time ever) been defeated in war. The lamentations were called the Broudian wind, and those that had heard it, shuddered from its effects.

Adionis led his men towards Mortheal who had disengaged from the fighting and had found a small area near the castle gate in which there was enough space for a quick discussion.

"Men" he said as he looked around the small group, "I invoke your pledge to me that you each took when you became a member of this elite unit." Each man stared back at Mortheal with intent eyes, and a fierce demeanor. Their faces showed only determination and a duty to their leader. "I am asking you to once again to conduct battle against the sacars." Before they could reply or react, he continued. "Most of you will remember that the last time you battled these creatures, many good men met their match. The surprise we discovered at that time was that they felt no pain; they would keep fighting even when pain would have normally felled them in their tracks. Hopefully, Lord Doomhammer realizes that we know that trick."

The men smiled small grim smiles of remembrance as they watched Mortheal and listened to his words. The casualty rate in that remembered battle had been over 50% and many good men had been lost. Mortheal continued.

"I will give you each a talisman before you enter the battle that will protect you from any grievous injuries, but you cannot lose it. If you lose it, your protection will dissipate.

Wear it under your jerkins." He handed each man a small silver stone drilled through the center and hung on a silver small-linked chain. The men took the offering and placed it about their necks. After doing so, they turned their attention back to Mortheal.

"You don't have much time," he said, "the sacars are approaching. Adionis is an excellent leader, look to him for direction. I will do what I can to help you, but I have to make sure the other men take care of their responsibilities concerning the orcs. Good luck, although I doubt you will need it." Mortheal touched his chest with his fist and his men did so likewise in a show of solidarity.

"Alright men," said Adionis as he stepped forward to take charge, "let's head out and remember to look after your fellow men." He led them out at a jog as Mortheal watched them go.

Turning his attention back to the battle, Mortheal noticed that a segment of the King's army seemed to be bogged down against the orc's left flank. Many of the Orcen cavalry had swung to the right in an attempt to encircle a portion of the army and were near success in their efforts. Mortheal gestured to a flag-bearer to signal the soldiers in that area to divert their attention to what the orcs were attempting.

Soon after the flag-bearer signaled, Mortheal saw a quick shift in the action as a section of the men that were fighting in that area turned to their left in order to attack the Orcen cavalry. The orcs realized almost at once that they were being attacked on their flank and counterattacked at once. A fierce pitched battle ensued. The disadvantage under which the orcs were laboring was fighting on two fronts. The King's men they had been attempting to encircle were fighting them on one side, while they were also fighting off the men who had just joined the battle from the other side.

Slowly the orcs were forced to withdraw from the area, but they fought ferociously the entire way. Men and orcs were falling to the ground either dead or maimed. Faede, was kept very busy in his efforts to heal the wounded.

In the distance a rumbling sound could be heard, and some of the men from the King's army looked searchingly in the distance to find the source of the sound. What they observed caused many of the men to blanch in fear; it was the sound of the sacars' huge, lumbering gait that was the cause of the noise as well as a trembling of the ground beneath their feet. The orcs, sensing that there was a turning of the tide, began to put a renewed effort into their struggle against the King's soldiers. The King's men realized that the orcs were fighting with more heart, stepped up their efforts in response. Both sides were fighting with everything they had. Mortheal, feeling the army needed help, charged in with a furious attack, wielding his enchanted mace, which he swung in every direction, to and fro, left and right, leaving behind it a pathway of destruction.

On the other side of the field the King's men were having an easier time of it and were easily pushing back the orcs. Many of the orcs were fleeing the battlefield, and their comrades in arms began to turn against them, slashing at them in anger with their weapons, in an attempt to keep them from running away.

With the orcs fighting amongst themselves, the men found it even easier to overcome them and even more orcs ran from the battlefield in fear. The disorderly retreat at this section of the battle, turned more orderly as the retreating orcs reached the area where the sacars were advancing. There they halted their flight and began to gather together.

As more and more of their comrades joined them, the force around the Sacars became more formidable.

The King's men also began to consolidate their forces, and soon the battlefield, though now more heavily strewn with the dead and dying from both sides of the fight, looked like it had at the beginning of the battle, with an army on each side. The only difference, and it was a significant one, was that now the orcs were slowly advancing towards the King's army and Mortheal's men, but they were gathered close in to the sacars and were moving slowly. The men were also advancing, but they were following Adionis and his men, who had made their way to the front of the battle. Adionis' elite corps of men was advancing in a series of concentric wedges, designed to provide a quick strike-force able to take down the sacar, with Adionis leading the way. The rest of Mortheal's men and the remainder of the King's army spread out behind them in a massive show of force. Each of Adionis' men wielded a sword in one hand, and a small, mobile shield in the other. The shield each of them held was made of a special metal that, when cared for appropriately, shone as if burnished by the noon-day sun. Adionis' men honored their weapons more than most common warriors, and therefore, the blades reflected light as if they were mini balls of sunlight. The orcs, and many of the men, were entranced and fearful of these terrible weapons of war.

Not to be outdone by the shields they bore, were the swords that they carried. These were swords forged by the mighty dwarves of old, who had hand-crafted these weapons from the silver the dwarves lovingly mined from under Mount Herun.

The antique design, although more effective than any design before or since, could no longer be made with the same quality as they were years ago. The venerable dwarves were now gone, either extinct or suddenly reclusive, none knew. The swords were said to be unbreakable as well as able to maintain a sharp edge unknown to any other weapon created by man, elf, or orc. There were only twenty known swords in existence and Adionis' men owned 16 of them. The swords were passed on from man to man upon death, and had to be earned by more than one extreme act of valor, as well as having the unanimous vote of the remaining 15 owners (or however many were alive at the time of inheritance). The swords were a coveted treasure and a primary incentive for many of the men who clamored to join Adionis' unit.

Mortheal, from his vantage point upon his horse, watched as Adionis and his men approached the orcs and the sacars which they surrounded. The sacars laboriously lifted one of their four legs at a time, as if in a synchronized ballet. Each time they went through the process, each step resulted in a reverberating boom as the animals lowered their legs to the forest floor. It was as if the mother earth was shuddering with each step they took, she reluctantly bore their weight, but groaned, moaned and shook in protest. An orc taskmaster, sitting astride on of the beasts, beat on a large drum, keeping the brutes in synch.

Mortheal watched with interest as Adionis and the sacars drew closer together.

Adionis quickly took stock of the situation. The sacars, rare enough in the great Sacartan plains, were so hard to tame that the orcs could only employ five of the great beasts. Those five were enough, however, to kill hundreds of men.

Sacars were giant, rhino-like monsters that towered twenty to thirty feet tall. Their flat feet, designed to cross great distances in a rather laborious manner, could smash men by the score. Large horns adorned their heads, and were, conversely one of the few things able to pierce their grey hide.

Adionis' elite unit began to chant in a deep, sonorous chorus of voices. Er woitori resct nah. The chorus was loosely based on the ancient elven language and loosely translated meant 'He who dies first, will live on'. Each member of the elite group was immortalized after death in stone, among the great ones of the past.

The Orcen drum began to beat faster, spurring the sacars faster. The wedges were charging head on towards the lead Sacar. Adionis raised his spear, which was attached to his back with a single leather strap, and laughed insanely, he always laughed during battle. It was very disconcerting to most of his enemies. He flung the spear at the orc sitting atop one particular sacar. The spear imbedded itself into the orc's skull, and both the orc and drum he was beating fell to the ground. The sacar still pressed forward, the monsters' inertia was well-known among any who had fought them before. Adionis signaled to the sky, and his men followed his command. The closest sacar rumbled through the first wedge, but the men were faster than the beast. They, according to Adionis' orders, opened up at the point of the wedge to allow the first sacar in. The sacar was inertia kept it going forward, the animal was so big, once it began to move in one direction, it was difficult for it to change either the way it was moving or for it to stop.

Adionis' men ducked, turned and sliced their swords into the hamstrings of the sacar. There were four men to each leg, and each one continued to cut at the animal. The swords had difficulty in piercing the animal's skin, especially since the men were also fighting the orcs on the ground as the ugly creatures attacked them in an attempt to force them away from the sacars. The King's men so what was happening and joined the battle against the orcs. Finally, the sacar slowed to a halt and sank to one knee, belligerently it tried to rise but Adionis' men feverishly swiped at the sacar's other legs in order to fell the beast. The Sacar crumpled down relatively fast, and was soon dead with many stabs from the great unbreakable swords.

It was now time for the archers to resume their role, but this time they would do so from the battlefield. There were more than 100 archers, and they concentrated their efforts on one particular sacar at a time. The beast's rider was long gone, the victim of one of the many arrows aimed at his particular mount; which meant that the sacar was now moving randomly amongst the King's men, stepping and squashing men and orcs alike.

The Archers continued to aim their arrows at the sacar's head and body. Finally the second sacar went down, landing on the ground with a huge boom and taking many men and orcs to their death and their spiritual reward or punishment.

There was one more sacar not being attacked by any of the groups of men, Adionis elite group attacking their second sacar, and the archers concentrating on the fourth of the five beasts.

Mortheal decided to move in on the fifth animal before it could cause any more harm. He gave his mace to a nearby flagman and drew out two swords as long as his arm, he was now dual-wielding. He ran towards the last of the sacars, a fury inside him no other man could possibly understand. The sacar's large eyes glared at Mortheal, ready for the attack. Just at the last second between them, Mortheal dropped to the ground and rolled just below the chin of the sacar, he turned and stuck his swords up into the belly, as he knew the most vulnerable part of a sacar, he quickly pulled them out as he turned again and sliced the fat legs of the sacar as he dropped right where Mortheal had been just a millisecond hence.

Mortheal was now facing a group of Orcs that had watched the entire scene. He thought to himself, "I wonder what they will do?" Two of the braver orcs ran forward, squealing so loud that their cries could have been heard from the King's chamber, and engaged Mortheal in battle. The orc on the left was about two yards ahead of the orc on the right; Mortheal quickly ducked the axe swung by the orc on the left, as he was ducking he spun and swung both of his swords into the orc coming at him from the right, the blades met the stomach and collar-bone of the orc. The orc fell to the ground un-moving. Mortheal turned again, and the other orc was looking at him with awe, Mortheal smiled and cut the putrid head from his ugly neck; it also fell, blood still spurting from the severed artery.

Mortheal turned again and saw three more orcs coming his way, the first two running and the third walking lazily with a grin on his face so sickening, it could have made a child puke. The first one bore a one-handed mace and a one-handed sword.

He attacked with the sword, and Mortheal parried the assault with his right sword and swung his left sword into the hideous head. "One orc down" thought Mortheal. The second orc came at him bearing a huge sword, still glistening with fresh blood. The orc brought his huge sword from the left in an attempt to decapitate Mortheal, but Mortheal had much too quick reactions, he ducked just enough for the blade to miss him, and as he came back up the orc was halfway through the swing, an opportune moment for Mortheal who cut off the orc's right arm and in the same motion Mortheal sliced through the orc's stomach with the sword wielded in his other hand.

The third orc was striding towards him with ease, his smirk more putrid then ever. He had a flail which he swung with amazing speed and grazed Mortheal's chest, scratching the golden mail fiercely. The orc was now attacking in a beserk manner, swinging his flail rapidly from all directions. Mortheal stood back on the defensive watching the orc's movements for an opening; there seemed to be no way to make an attack. The orc continued to attack and Mortheal was tiring quickly. Despairing the idea of a continuous defense, he took the sword in his right hand, pivoted around in a 180 degree circle and released the sword. It left Mortheal's hand and traveled viciously towards the orc, covering the short distance in a quick second and piercing the orc's chest with a resounding thunk. The orc stood as if petrified, dropping his flail upon the ground and slowly tottering backward, he fell to the ground looking up to the heavens with glazed eyes that emulated death.

Mortheal jumped forward and stabbed the creature with the sword in his left hand. The orcs who had witnessed the fight now scattered in fear after seeing what had happened to the others. Mortheal sheathed his swords and run towards Adionis and his men. As he approached, the men stood up straight.

"The battle is over, commander" said Adionis. "We have defeated them again." The archers were now shooting the orcs that were fleeing the battlefield, the soldiers and knights could hear the creaking of the castle gates as they slowly opened to allow the workers from the city access to the battlefield. Their job was to pick up the wounded, the dead and the dying and traverse them back to the city for burial or medical care. Other workers would stack the dead orcs into piles for burning. They would also collect weapons and any valuables the orcs may have been carrying.

"To the victor, goes the spoils," thought Mortheal as he and Adionis made their way back towards the castle gate. He called to his horse who trotted over to him in response to the call. Mortheal said nothing to Adionis (who understood Mortheal's mood completely) but mounted the horse. Pulling on his mount's reins he guided him slowly along a stone path that led away from the castle, the castle's gates and the battlefield on which he had just conducted himself with honor. The path led around the area where normally was held a market; with the end of the battle the merchants were quickly making ready for the return of the soldiers, but Mortheal did not divert his attention away from his objective. He urged his horse into a gallop along the stone path which ran all the way to a keep. There the horse was trained to stop and he did so without any guidance from Mortheal.

Mortheal dismounted and allowed the horse's reins to fall to the ground. Tiredly he approached a dark opening in the small grass cottage from which emitted a crooning sound as if an old lady was singing softly to herself.

"The battle is done," Mortheal said quietly as he entered the hut. The crooning sound stopped abruptly and a small, shriveled woman turned at his entrance.

"All went well then?" she inquired.

"Yes," he replied. "but it is all so useless. Why does Lord Doomhammer continue to send his dominions against us? We will only continue to kill them."

"Who can see what is in the minds of men?" she answered soothingly as she placed a bowl of simmering soup in front of him on the table at which he had sat. He picked up a spoon and slurped the liquid into his mouth. This scene had been played out many times before and it was his way of coping with the after-affects of battle. He would not tarry a long time with the woman, in her cottage, but needed her affirmation, her comfort in order to lay at rest the demons of war.

After finishing the soup and with a few more words between the two of them, Mortheal gathered the old woman into his arms and gave her a hug. "Thank you," he said. "It was exactly what I needed." She smiled up at him and stepped back from his embrace. "I will always be there for you" she answered and then followed him to the cottage door where she watched him as he mounted his horse. With a small wave he turned his mount and headed back towards the castle. She watched him as he disappeared over the hill.

Mortheal returned to the castle gate and entered, there he handed the reins to a stable-boy along with a golden guilder to ensure the horse's care. He then quickly walked up the steps to the large castle and entered. He was met with 2 guards that dropped to their knees as he entered. He walked quickly down the long hall with the eyes of past kings watching him balefully from the portraits hanging along the walkway. At the end of the hall was a large brown door with many locks. Mortheal walked to it and rapped on the oak frame three times. A few seconds later he heard faded footsteps and the clicking of many locks being unlocked. The big door opened, and an ashen face whose main features were a huge walrus type dark mustache offset by dark patches under the coal dark eyes appeared.

"Welcome Captain Mortheal" said the King in an old man's croaky voice, "I could see the battle from here, good victory, I'm glad" but his voice betrayed his true feelings. "I do wonder why Doomhammer would send so many troops to such a stronghold. He should know he would never win."

"Quite. But I doubt he is sending them to actually defeat us," replied Mortheal thoughtfully as he followed the King into the darkened room.

"Oh?" responded the King, "and why do you think that?"

"What if he just sent them here to distract us?" he gestured to the walls, "What if he is doing this just to make us focus our attention here, while he is doing more evil elsewhere?"

"That's a possibility," answered King Oreck, who was interrupted by a ragged, liquid cough coming from the room behind him.

"Is she doing any better?" asked Mortheal, motioning towards the adjoining room where the Queen was resting.

"Not a bit," replied Oreck. "If anything, she is doing worse. I hate to see her in so much pain. It saddens my heart and leaves me feeling utterly helpless. Isn't there anything you can do?" The king looked hopefully at Mortheal who shook his head in a negative response.

"I have tried all the magic that I know; she is being affected by something so strong that not even I can overcome it." He continued speaking in a consoling manner as he placed his arm around the shoulders of the king in an attempt to comfort him. "I have never seen anything like it. I thought, perhaps, that the love you two share would be a strong healing power, but it seems as if there is something even stronger than love affecting her body, and I don't know what it is.

The King listened despondently and replied, "I am sorry too, I wish there were something that could be done here. If you think of anything we can try, please inform me at once, okay?" He took Mortheal's hand in his own two hands and grasped it in a gesture of gratitude. "I'm glad you are my friend and counselor. Would you like to see her before you go?"

Mortheal allowed the King to guide him into the inner bedroom. There were not many individuals allowed access to the King's bedroom, and Mortheal knew the trust he was being shown. He blinked his eyes, trying to adjust to the semi-darkness. The Queen was laying on the bed, eyes half closed, her hair spread out on a pillow under her head. Even as ill as she was, there was still an aura of beauty surrounding her.

Mortheal knelt beside the bed and reached out to hold the Queen's hand. "My Lady" he whispered. She slowly turned her eyes towards him and smiled a wan smile.

"How are you, Mortheal? I assume the battle went as expected?"

Mortheal smiled to himself and wondered at the strength of such a woman, laying in pain and suffering, but still able to question after someone else's well-being.

"Yes it went well, though we lost too many men in a senseless battle," he told her as he softly rubbed her hand. She turned her eyes to the other side where the King was standing. The King immediately understood her gesture, her needs, and signaled to Mortheal to be finished.

"I will leave you now, my Queen but I will leave my prayers and hopes with you." She turned her attention back to Mortheal and smiled again.

"Thank you," she whispered softly as she closed her eyes tiredly.

"We are done here for now" the King told Mortheal as the two of them reentered the anteroom. The King shook Mortheal's hand once again and then retreated to the bedroom and tend, and be with his wife. Mortheal was left alone to his thoughts.

As Mortheal left the King's presence he pondered the situation and its effects. Deep in thought he left the room and walked down the hallway towards the knights chamber where Adionis and his men were gathered to dine and relax, an excellent way to unwind from the difficult battle.

So deep in thought was Mortheal that he did not notice a doorway in the stone wall slide silently shut at his approach. It was not a very noticeable doorway, with much care having been taken to make it difficult to discern unless one knew it was there. He continued on his way with the sounds of his footsteps on the stone walkway fading slowly into the distance.

Shortly after leaving the area, the door silently reopened. A short, wiry man in flowing black robes and a hood obscuring most of his face peered carefully out of the doorway in each direction, ensuring that the pathway was clear. He quietly turned and pulled the door shut behind him. Quickly and quietly he padded down the hallway searching for the correct door.

Reaching the entrance to the King's personal chamber and the room from which Mortheal had just exited, he placed his ear upon the wooden door and listened intently. He heard no sounds emitting forth from the room, and slowly he reached down to grasp the door's handle. He pushed the door handle downward, trying to open the door. But the handle would only go so far before it stopped. The door was locked. The man glanced in both directions down the hall to ascertain if he was still alone. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a gold key in the shape of a small, bony skeleton. As he started to insert the key into the keyhole he heard the low hum of approaching voices in conversation coming from the end of the hallway. Quickly he dropped the key back into his pocket as he sprinted towards the room from which he had emerged. The door opened at a wave of his hand and he darted through it just as two chambermaids turned into the hallway. The door slid silently shut behind him.

The maids continued conversing as they approached his hiding place with no pause in their voices to indicate that they had noticed anything amiss, although the brighter looking one of the pair scrutinized the area closely as they walked by. She noticed the small, telltale outline of the doorway as they passed by but said nothing to her companion about it. They walked by the King's chambers, continuing down the hallway and turning right until the end. After turning the corner, Alicia the one who noticed the doorway, grabbed her companion by the arm and hissed into her ear.

"There is someone in this castle that means to do someone else harm!"

Fredricka, the other maid, looked at her in amazement. "What do you mean?" she exclaimed.

Alicia tightened her grasp on the girl and replied, "Keep quiet! I want you to go find Mortheal or Adionis and bring them back here as quickly as possible. I will keep watch. Tell them that there is someone trying to break into the King's chambers."

Fredricka wrenched her arm away from Alicia. "There is no one doing any such thing!" she said excitedly. "Do you think I'm nuts? We just walked down the hallway and I did not see or hear a thing. Do you think Mortheal or Adionis is going to listen to a girl like me? They will both think I'm crazy. I could even lose my job for telling such stories."

"Listen to me and do as I say." She stared intently into the girls eyes with a blazing sincerity.

"If, as I suspect, someone is trying to sneak into the King's room and we know about it, and don't report it, we could both lose our jobs, and worse yet we could be the cause of the death of the Queen, or even the King!"

Fredricka gasped and then stuttered; "but I, I, I don't know where Mortheal or Adionis are."

Alicia sighed in exasperation of the ignorance of the girl before her. "They are probably in the battle room, you ninny. Where did you think they would be after this morning's battle?"

"Oh yeah," she replied. "I forgot."

"You forgot," Alicia said shaking her head. "Well now, just go, get either one of them, or even both, and hurry!" Fredricka scuttled away down the hallway as quickly as she could. Alicia made certain she was traveling in the right direction, then slowly, and as silently as possible walked back towards the intersecting hallway where she had noticed the hidden doorway. Reaching the intersection, she hesitated, then carefully peeked around the corner. There was no one there. She pulled her head back and considered the situation for a couple of seconds, then she peeked around the corner once more. There was still no one there, but just as she was withdrawing her head once again, she noticed a movement from the vicinity of the secret door. She jerked her head back as quickly as possible, and made a split second decision. Taking 10 steps backward down the hallway, she began to hum a tune to herself, although louder than what she would normally do. She then began to walk forward towards the intersecting hallway.

"Dum, de dum, dum de dum," she lyrically sang to herself as she sauntered into the next hallway.

She looked up as she entered, spying a dark figure heading towards the secret door.

"Hey," she yelled. "What are you doing?" The man turned towards her and waved his hand. Suddenly she felt as if there was a long, heavy rope around her neck that was dragging her forward. She reached up to untie the rope, but found nothing there. Her body continued to be dragged forward, her feet trying to stop but being unable to. Closer and closer she came to the dark individual. When she came within touching distance, he reached out and pulled her to him. She recoiled from his touch, to which he just tightened his grip.

"Who are you and what do you want?"

"Who I am, and what I want is my business, but you are interfering and for that you will suffer." She looked into his eyes and saw only dark pools of encompassing evil. She shuddered in fear, but still had enough presence of mind to try to escape.

"Let me go" she said, trying to wrench her arm out of his grasp.

"I will," he answered as he pushed her towards the still open doorway, "as soon as you are in here!" And with those words he gave her a final push and she stumbled through the doorway and into the dark room. The door slid shut behind her, leaving her in a small room with only a candle's flames as light. She pounded on the stone wall and yelled for help, but was thwarted by the thick stone walls and door. No one could hear her cries. She sank slowly to the floor and covered her face in anguish, feeling that she had failed her King and Queen.

Not many individuals knew Mortheal's last name, for it was not one he shared freely. He kept his name in secrecy in fear that some might connect him with other family members who lived not quite as wholesome a life as he had. Of his close associates only the King and Adionis new his name was Mortheal Lahear Mymphaden, and only the King knew that he was related to some pretty nefarious characters, including the infamous Lord Doomhammer.

Therefore, when Mortheal heard the young chambermaid who had burst into the men's battle room just a few seconds before blabbering about 'my maiden' at first he thought she was saying she was looking for Mymphaden.

Abruptly, he rose and walked towards the maid.

"What is it you need young girl?" he questioned.

She took a deep breath to gather her thoughts and then tremulously and haltingly stammered out her news, "Alicia thinks someone is trying to harm the King!"

"What?" Mortheal asked. "Who is Alicia and why does she believe the King is in danger?"

"I don't know sir," replied Fredricka fearfully. "I mean I know who Alicia is," she said quickly, "she is a chambermaid just like me."

"Okay," interrupted Adionis. "Why does she think the King is in danger?"

"That's what I don't know. We were just walking down the hall by the King's chamber, talking about the work we still had to do, and when we got to the end of the hallway she grabbed me and said the King was in danger, and to come get you."

She finished her narrative breathlessly and expectantly looked at the men gathered around her.

Mortheal looked at Adionis questioningly, "I guess we better go see if anything is amiss." Adionis nodded in agreement.

Mortheal turned to the rest of the men and said, "men, spread out through the castle and check to see if anything looks out of place. If you do not find anything take up defensive positions until you are relieved."

The men took final swallows from their cups, grabbed their weapons and headed out in different directions. Mortheal and Adionis each reached for their weapons and headed towards the King's personal chamber on the run.

Mortheal told Adionis, "you take the back route to make sure there is no danger from that area." Adionis peeled off from Mortheal's side and took a hallway at right angles to the one in which they had been traveling. Mortheal continued to run down the castle hallway, fearing what might await him. Down the hall with Kings' Past hallway he ran entering another hallway led towards the King's chamber. He entered that hallway and slowed down. He saw nothing out of the ordinary, but unsheathed his sword just the same. Stopping in front of the King's door he listened intently, hearing nothing. Suddenly a shout came from inside the room.

It sounded like the King.

"You will not touch her!" came the King's voice even louder than before, and in an even much stronger voice he heard. "By the hand of the holy light, you won't come any closer!"

"She is mine now, foolish king!" said a man with a much deeper voice, which Mortheal soon recognized as Lord Doomhammer. "She was mine the day I set this terrible curse on her! And when you have died, no one will stop us from ruling all!"

Fool!" yelled the king, "She will never rule with you!"

"I figured as much" replied Doomhammer, with a laugh, "That's why I'm going to use a mind-control curse on her."

At these words, Mortheal sprang through the door, surprising Doomhammer as he was attacking the King. The King was defending himself with a sword, but looked weak. Mortheal noticed a large blood stain on the front and side of the King's robe. Doomhammer turned back to the attack as Mortheal leaped to the King's aid. But the aid came a second too late. As Mortheal got close to the fight, Doomhammer sliced through the King's feeble defense and shoved the sword's blade through the King's breast and quickly pulled it back out. The king fell back against the curtains covering the window. Both of his hands covered the newly opened and bleeding wound and he stumbled against the window sill. His left hand came up as he tried to grasp the window frame, but it was too little, too late. The King tumbled backward out the window in slow motion.

Mortheal and Doomhammer looked at each other in surprise at the suddenness of it all.

Lord Doomhammer was tall, and robed in black. He sheathed his sword and retrieved his staff that was as dark as his attire.

At the end of the staff was an orb which was glowing a dark green. Doomhammer smirked at the sight of Mortheal.

"Ah, Mortheal" said Lord Doomhammer, "Your reputation proceeds you."

"I have been facing this day regrettably, Doomhammer" said Mortheal. He didn't at all fear Doomhammer's appearance.

"I would too, if I knew I was going to die in battle against the most fearsome lord of the century, " replied Lord Doomhammer. "it is, of course, regrettable that you are going to have to perish. I wish it did not have to be this way."

"Ah, but that is not why I am regretting this" replied Mortheal, "I am regretting having to kill you."

"Why? Why would you regret killing me, even if you could?" asked Lord Doomhammer, suspiciously.

"Has anyone ever told you your name? Can you even remember it?" replied Mortheal.

"No, I have no need for it anymore, I have been Lord Doomhammer for so long, I don't remember or even care what my name may have been in the past" said Doomhammer, "Why does it matter to you?"

"What if I told you I knew it?" asked Mortheal, "What if I told you, you had siblings? A mother, a father even?"

"I have no Mother and Father, and no brothers or sisters either!" said Doomhammer with anger, "I was not born by mortal ways!"

"But you do have family and you were born just like almost every other human" said Mortheal calmly, "You even have a brother. But I'm sure you don't care for them anymore."