The Keeper of the Stones

Chapter 19



Early hours of 15th August – Northern Army Camp - Rhuaddan



Vantrax and Sawdon rode purposefully into the Northern Army camp on fresh horses, tall, sturdy, muscular beasts from the plains of Nadjan which snarled and snorted viciously at everyone around them and had an evil-smelling, white saliva frothing from their mouths at all times. They were followed by the entire contingent of the Personal Guard, the supposed elite of Vantrax’ fighting forces, comprised of soldiers selected from amongst all of the races and species within the Northern and Southern armies. Each and every warrior was recruited personally by Sawdon himself, for their deeds on the battlefield in previous campaigns, and the personal bravery they’d demonstrated. They were all immensely proud to have been selected for ‘The Guard’. It was considered to be a tremendous honour and they all possessed an air of arrogance, borne of the knowledge and belief that they were ‘elite’. They took great personal pride in their appearance and their reputation in Rhuaddan was second to none. They were feared throughout the country and beyond for their fighting prowess and their unswerving loyalty to King Vantrax which, over recent years, had seen them perform many of the evil deeds he had instigated. They were dressed uniformly in lightweight Jintan chainmail undersuits, beneath black tunics and leggings. They wore black canvass boots with a tough leathery soul, bound at the top by a black cloth which was wound tightly around their calves. The chests of their tunics were all embroidered with a gold castle emblem which contrasted magnificently with its black surround. It was also painted onto the shields that they hung from their horse’s saddle whenever they were not in use. The black cloak that was draped around their shoulders and hung low down their backs completed the impressive ensemble. They carried longswords and wore daggers in their belts. All were excellent swordsmen and spent the majority of their time training or guarding Heron Getracht Fortress, and King Vantrax, from any would-be attackers.

The camp was in complete mayhem. The runner from Heron Getracht had reached Strymos with Vantrax’ orders to prepare for a rapid night march to Erriard forest. Commanders were now running around trying desperately to round up their men, most of whom were not where they should have been having been caught completely off guard by the rapid and unexpected orders to move. Many had taken the opportunity to sneak off into local villages to say goodbye to loved ones and friends, or to have a farewell drink in the local ale houses. Strymos was in his command post issuing orders to a Thargw captain when Vantrax and Sawdon entered his tent without warning. He hadn’t heard the commotion caused by their arrival and he blushed with surprise and embarrassment.

“King Vantrax. So soon?” he exclaimed, alarmed that his master should find his camp in such a frenzy and realising how it would look to them both. “Sra… Th-thank you captain, that will be all for now, you may go.” he stated, to the Thargw beside him. The warrior nodded and grunted an acknowledgment of sorts before leaving. “My King, may I offer you…”

Strymos’ attempts at pleasantries were interrupted immediately by his King. “No, you may not! Give me your report!” ordered Vantrax impatiently. “How many soldiers do we have ready to march? And you may now include one hundred of my Personal Guard in your numbers to fight.” he added.

“Well, I… I cannot say with all certainty, sire. Your orders, they caught us by surprise, we were not expecting to have to move so quickly. Some of the soldiers are not in camp. Some of them were… Were fetching supplies.” Strymos answered nervously.

“Raarghhh! You pathetic excuse for a Gerada!” snarled Sawdon, between clenched teeth. “What kind of a leader has no idea of the numbers of soldiers he commands? You…”

“Sawdon! Enough!” interrupted Vantrax angrily, agreeing with the Thargws sentiment but anxious to press on. “We have little time to argue amongst ourselves. It matters not at this time. Although, we will review the events here at a later date.” he said ominously, looking directly at the embarrassed Gerada. “You are hereby relieved of your command, Strymos. I am taking charge of the army. You will inform me right now, what forces do I command? And when can we begin to march?”

Strymos looked at Sawdon in vain for support, upset and angry at losing his command in such a fashion. In his eyes at least, he’d done nothing wrong, and yet he was being replaced. He seethed with anger as he considered briefly the injustice. He was further upset at being criticised by Sawdon, whom he regarded as a fellow soldier and believed should have understood the impossible circumstances in which he’d found himself. But he knew that arguing with Vantrax was futile and could possibly lead to further demotion, so he decided to accept the decision grudgingly, and he responded dutifully to the King’s orders.

“Very well my King, if that is your wish. At daybreak this morning I commanded close to thirty thousand soldiers. I estimate that between twenty-three and twenty-four thousand now remain in camp. This force, I promise you, will be readwas march within the hour. They have all been instructed to leave most of their things behind and bring only essential items and weapons with them. Some of them though, will probably be a little drunk, as we were not expecting to have to move tonight. But they will soon sober up on the forced march, with the pace I presume you will be setting. I am fortunate to have around six thousand Thargws. I have found them to be fine soldiers who are usually first into battle and…”

Sawdon grunted loudly with pride, interrupting Strymos and affecting his concentration. He was excited and he couldn’t help but show his pleasure at his countrymen being lauded in such a fashion. The interruption angered Strymos even further but he tried to conceal his feelings and continued his report.

“I... Also have around five thousand Taskan warriors, between two and three thousand Falorian Spearmen, and two thousand Dzorag. The remainder of the army is comprised of all different species from across Estia and Mynae. Srrr, Perosyan footsoldiers, some Nadjan archers and horsesoldiers, some Rhuaddan volunteers and others. I even have some recruits from Siatol and Ursium. There you have it sire. They are a complicated group, but they fight well.” he stated proudly.

The Taskan warriors were fearsome-looking soldiers from the country of Eesk, on the continent of Mynae, large, dark brown, reptilian creatures whose facial features resembled remotely those of a kind of shortened Iguana. They had long faces that looked completely out of sorts with their small, orange-coloured eyes. Two small holes on top of their heads served as their ears and two small nostrils were perched in the centre of their face above a large, vicious-looking mouth, filled with small, razor-sharp teeth. Their tongues were long and thin and an awesome weapon, extending out two feet in length when flicked viciously at their prey. They were rough and razor sharp, the tip administered a deadly venom which paralysed its victim within five minutes if the skin was broken, resulting in death within twelve hours if the poison was not entirely removed. They walked upright and had thick, muscular bodies, but a short tail protruded from the base of their spine and they were obviously descended from creatures that, in the past, had walked on all four limbs. Taskans were fast, powerful and carried one bladed weapon – a doubled edged curved sword that was held in the middle by a leather strapped handle, enabling the warrior to twirl it around with good effect and use it rapidly on either side in close-quarter combat. They wore no armour, except for a Jintan half face helmet that had a giant spike on top. The helmet could be lowered in battle, enabling the Taskan to skewer their enemy upon the spike. Their tough reptile skin protected them, acting like biological armour, which meant that they were able to sustain multiple wounds but continue fighting.

The Taskans were dressed in a dark green cloth, their feet were bare, exposing their four sharply clawed toes, which were often used to claw their victims to death. They were effective warriors and their enemies were often daunted by their appearance and array of weaponry, but they had three major weaknesses on the battlefield. Their hearing was poor, their eyesight even more so, and their skin was softest around their stomach (what would have been their underbelly in ancient times). This was now a widely known fact on Estia and gave their enemies hope and a method of defeating them. They were vicious and undisciplined creatures, they ate anything and everything in a furious feeding frenzy that disgusted any onlookers, and they were universally hated and despised.

The Falorian Spearmen were the natural enemy of the Taskan Warriors, hailing from the neighbouring country of e Falorian They were excessively greedy, sly, conniving creatures who were obsessed with money and power. Their greed and avarice knew no bounds and they had often been known to murder their own families in order to profit from it. They trusted no one, least of all another Falorian! They were short and squat creatures when compared to the Thargws or Taskans, but they were heftily built and possessed immense strength. Their arms were huge and their legs were so large that they often rubbed together, causing them discomfort on long marches and providing the excuse that rendered them a largely lazy, inactive race, if the circumstances allowed. They had huge, ugly faces. Each of them possessed an unusual excess of skin that hung in a droop around their chin and a horrid complexion of spots, warts and boils, which they were constantly picking, squeezing or bursting. Their ears were large and pointed and the hair on top of their heads was usually just a small tuft of red or ginger. They walked with a haunch, slightly stooped, and they were slow and cumbersome. But they wielded a six feet long, Jintan tipped spear with awesome power and skill. Their immense strength meant that they were able to tear most creatures in two with their bare hands. They were unnaturally hard to kill, even harder than the tough-skinned Taskans, being able to sustain multiple wounds which their bodies would repair remarkably quickly due to the fact that they healed from outside in, the skin and exterior surface reforming only minutes after the initial wound, with the internal organs healing at a slower pace, but protected by the newly repaired exterior. Often it took ten or eleven well aimed arrows, or a hefty strike with sword or axe, to kill them.

The Dzorag were a horsebound hunter tribe from the baron plains of Eratur on Mynae. They were the countrymen of Sawdon and the Thargws with whom they shared a troubled and turbulent history. They were human in appearance, much like the population of Estia, vaguely resembling the Viking warrior nations of old Scandinavia. All Dzorag men possessed long, uncut, ungroomed, matted beards and hair, which was usually jet black or a rusty-brown colour. Dzorag hunters wore a variety of different animal skins and fur, usually unwashed and covered in dirt and dried blood. They smelt awful. They were an ill-mannered, undisciplined rabble who all drank heavily and raped and pillaged wherever they went. They were constantly at war with the Sebantan women, although the Sebantan women were often more than a match for them in battle and on foot. On horse though, it was a different matter altogether; all Dzorag males were excellent riders. They were raised around horses and often slept alongside their mounts when away from home, believing that Dzorag and horse were, ‘as one.’ They shared an unusually close bond with their mounts, which were usually Eratian stallions, big, powerful and surprisingly agile creatures bred to be strong and unfazed by the noise of battle. These excellent horses possessed immense stamina, although they were usually slower and less nimble than their Rhuaddan counterparts.

Dzorag hunters usually squandered any money that came their way on wine, ale or any other intoxicating liquid they could lay their hands on. They were usually tall and athletically built, with most retaining a sizeable paunch caused by excessive drinking and numerous scars about their bodies, the results of previous battles or drunken brawls. Most of them wore a Jintan steel helmet in battle which covered their head and nose only. Their preferred weapon was an Eratian axe, a large, incredibly sharp weapon with a small hooked blade in the handle, which could be wielded conventionally, or thrown powerfully at their adversary. They would often take weapons off their enemies and carry an assortment of swords, daggers, clubs and chains also. The Dzorag were the eyes and ears of the Northern Army and as such they were valued by their counterparts, but they could be difficult and volatile soldiers to command.

Strymos looked at Vantrax when he’d finished speaking. The evil King displayed no emotion at all. “And? What of numbers of horsemen? How many archers do we have?” he asked sternly.

“Srrr… Yes, yes, I was getting to that.” Strymos replied. “We have around fifteen hundred archers in the entire force, although how many are in camp at present I do not know. I would estimate that in total we have just short of four thousand horsemen. The rest of the army are on foot. The Sebantan women all chose to follow Melissa to Mynae, a great shame that, it greatly upset the others.” said Strymos, nervously attempting to inject a little humour into the conversation. It fell on deaf ears.

“Rarr… Not a good state of affairs!” snarled an unimpressed Sawdon.

“It is enough!” Vantrax barked. “Remember Sawdon, we fight a far smaller army than our own. An army of old men and women. A tired and defeated army that has grown used to running away. The warriors we have are sufficient for the task. We are now on the verge of an historic victory, Sawdon. Two small boys and a slave cannot change that.”

Strymos cast a quick glance at Sawdon. Their eyes met for the briefest of moments before they quickly looked back at the King. It was clear that the two veteran soldiers were thinking the same thing; that overconfidence was dangerous in their profession. They had both learned through bitter experience never to underestimate an enemy. Sawdon thought about their situation briefly. Vantrax, despite his obvious contempt for the Rebel Army’s abilities and his own relative command inexperience, had in fact raised some valid points. Artrex' small band of volunteers were depleted in numbers, they were ageing and demoralised, and had known nothing but defeat for some time. They were no match for the huge, professional army of the North. In any event, the decision to attack had already been made. The army was making ready for the long march to Erriard forest and Sawdon would soon be going to war once again with his beloved Thargws.

The time for talking was over. There was no point now debating the issue or dwelling on facts. Tomorrow, if all went well, they would fight a battle that had long been anticipated as the inevitable climax to the Rhuaddan Wars. The seemingly never ending conflict would finally be concluded once and for all!