The coming storm

Lord Delanynder Tyrraen receives news of a coming battle destined to end in his town's obliteration. What can his town do against an entire empire? Lord Tyrraen must come up with a plan to survive.

            Drums pounded faintly in the distance.  Beliak gazed over the rolling hills on the horizon from perch on the tower.  War was coming to his land.  He just couldn’t see it yet.  If it weren’t for the sound of the approaching army, no one would have known of the town’s impending doom.

            Beliak pulled a small spyglass from a pouch at his waist.  Starting where he thought the drums were coming from, he scanned the horizon with the spyglass.  Still no sight of the opposing army.  It was about a day’s march away yet.

            “Go tell Lord Tyrraen to expect company before dusk tomorrow,” he told the messenger boy behind him.  “An army approaches from the North.”

            The young boy scurried away down the steps of the stone tower and into the town toward the castle at the center.

Beliak sighed as he turned around to look at the town.  Braxxon was a beautiful and peaceful town, and Beliak had a hard time understanding why anyone would want to attack its people.  But then he remembered the direction from which he heard the enemy drums.  The religious lands to the North were on a crusade.  Their intent was to conquer the “Godless” lands to the South by either conversion or destruction.  For that was the will of Oru.  And their conquest would be easy, for while the Southern lands had Kings, the lands of these Kings were not united like those to the North.  The South was comprised of individual cities and towns; each governed, protected, and provided for by a single Lord, who in turn received support from their respective King.  It was a loose system, and fighting among the Lords was common.

The army that was coming would be large.  Over twice as large as the town it was about to siege.  The men of the North had pride in their religion and were willing to fight under one banner, the Oruite Empire.  This allowed their Emperor to amass large amounts of soldiers for his crusade.

Braxxon had maybe ten thousand residents, and perhaps only eight hundred of them fought actively under Lord Tyrraen’s banner.  There would be no fighting the Northerners.  There probably wouldn’t even be a siege.  The Oruite General would parlay with Lord Tyrraen, and then either destroy the town or leave a part of his army to occupy and convert the town depending on whether Lord Tyrraen is submissive or not.

But Lord Tyrraen was a hardheaded man, and Beliak knew he would not submit to the General.  The town was going to be massacred.  Reinforcements would not help.  The closest town was three days away.  If word was sent to Lord Iphren of Ghind, Braxxon would be nothing but a memory by the time Iphren assembled his troops.  Even if Braxxon held out long enough for Iphren’s men to arrive it would not be enough to defeat the Northern army, for Ghind was no bigger than Braxxon.

Beliak took one last look at the town, and Castle Tyrraen at its center, and then turned back to the horizon to the North.  War was coming, and if the Kings of the South could not unite their lands, then the entire world would soon worship Oru.

 

*  *  *

 

            “My Lord, the scouts of the town walls say the armies of the North are coming,” Jellian announced.  “They estimate their arrival by the end of tomorrow.”

            Lord Delanynder Tyrraen inhaled loudly through his nose and rubbed his temples.  He knew this was coming.  He had known for some time.  Emperor Daktherin began his crusade to enslave the world to his imaginary deity several months prior.  Every town along the Oruite Empire’s border was either in ruins or subjugated into the Empire.  And Delan knew those were the only two options for his people.  However, his people had no idea.  To keep order in Braxxon, he kept news of the coming crusade squelched to the public.  Only his small army knew an enemy was about to arrive at their doorstep, and that’s all they knew.

            Lord Tyrraen thought for a long while.  His advisor, Jellian, shifted nervously waiting for an answer.  He considered asking his Lord if he should return later, but thought better of it.

            “End of tomorrow,” Delan muttered under his breath. He didn’t want to subject his people to Oruite rule, but there was no fighting the Oruite armies.  So he did the only thing he could think of.

            “Evacuate the city,” the Lord said calmly, rising from his throne.  He strode over to the door opposite the throne.  “We make for Ghind at sundown.  Use the cover of darkness to mask our escape.  I want everyone out by the break of dawn.  I will stay behind with the troops until all our citizens have left.  Send a rider to Ghind immediately to let Lord Iphren know we are coming.  Pray he offers us refuge.”

            “Yes, my Lord,” Jellian bowed his head as Lord Tyrraen left the throne room to speak with his Captains.

 

*  *  *

 

            “There is nothing we can do, Delan,” Lord Phinios Iphren said casually, leaning back in his chair.  “Even if we had the support of five more towns, the Oruites are too strong.  It is impossible to resist them.  If you value your life and those of your people, you will pledge your allegiance to the Emperor as I am willing to do.”

            Across the table, Lord Tyrraen fumed, desperately trying to contain his anger.  “I would die before I bow down to Daktherin, Phinios.  Have you no courage to fight for your people’s freedom?  We must send word to King Vorlin.  Tell him the only chance to save his kingdom is to unite the cities against the North.”

            “Delan, my good friend,” Lord Iphren’s cynical tone was infuriated.  “You know as well as I do that the people of Vorlinian Kingdom have not united as a single force since the first years of the dynasty’s rule.”

            “Then we must contact King Mohlov and King Tyderius as well,” Lord Tyrraen’s knuckles were white from gripping the armrests of his chair so tightly.  “Send out riders.  Contact as many people as we can.”

            “Let it go, Delan.  There is no hope for resistance.
            Delan finally stood up.  His chair flew backward and clattered to the floor.  His face was blood red.  “You have no idea what Daktherin has done to the towns he has subjugated, do you? Well, you will soon have your wish, as I am certain the Oruite army will follow me here once they find my town has been emptied.  But tell me this, Lord Iphren,” the name stressed disdainfully. “Would you rather die for your people’s freedom to believe what they will, or live as a slave, forced to worship a false god you don’t even believe in?”

            Delan didn’t wait for an answer.  He quickly turned and stormed out of the room.  He began to cool off as he left his meeting with Lord Iphren.  Phinios was right, however.  The Vorlinian Kingdom lost a hold over the unity of its people more than four hundred years ago, and the Tyderian Kingdom had been shattered even longer.  The likelihood of a combined army of the South could not rely on King Vorlin or Tyderius.  Only the Mohlovian Kingdom had some semblance of unity, but it’s people were quickly slipping away from King Mohlov’s control.  Perhaps it was hopeless, but Delan wasn’t ready to give up.

            His personal Honor Guard accompanied him as Lord Tyrraen meandered the hallways of Castle Iphren.  Upon entering the foyer he called Jellian over to him.

            “We are not welcome here,” Delan whispered, leaning in close to Jellian’s ear.  “Lord Iphren is ready to greet the Northerners with open doors.  Tureia is only two days to the Southwest.  I know Lord Acteon well.  He will help us.  Send an envoy to him with the message that the Oruites have come to conquer the Southern kingdoms.  Tell him to send riders to other nearby towns asking their Lords to meet with us at Tureia.  Gather as many trustworthy Lords as possible.  I will assemble the townsfolk and leave as soon as possible.”

 

*  *  *

 

            “Excuse me, my Lord.  The people of Braxxon are arriving.”

            “Excellent,” Lord Zorus Acteon said as he pulled off his steel helmet.  Most provincial Lords fought with their troops.  They were exceptional warriors, often masters of multiple different weapons.  However, Lord Acteon was a very large man, bred to fight, and thus one of the few Lords that actually enjoyed training with his troops.  It gave him a sense of pride knowing that his militia was good enough to go toe to toe with him while sparring.

            Returning his sword to its sheath, Zorus waved off his advisor and made his way to the main gate of Tureia.  When he reached the open plaza in front of the gate, he shouted up to the guards on top of the wall to open it.  Within bowshot, Zorus could see a column of people marching toward his town.  There were mounted soldiers leading the group, a pennant lifted high in the center with the colors of Lord Tyrraen, white and gold with a blue double headed eagle with wings spread wide.

            As the soldiers rode into the plaza, Zorus could see that each one wore a tabard and carried a shield bearing the same coat of arms as the pennant.  After a hundred or so soldiers entered the courtyard, the man Zorus knew as Lord Tyrraen rode in.  He sauntered up to Delan as he dismounted.

            “Delanynder, old friend!” Lord Acteon exclaimed, clasping a meaty hand on the young Lord’s shoulder.  “Your envoy tells me you’ve evacuated your entire town to escape the Oruite threat.”

            “Indeed,” Lord Tyrraen said solemnly.

            “Well, your people are most welcome here,” Zorus adopted a more serious tone.  “It will be tight, but I believe we can accommodate all those under your banner.  I have sent riders as you suggested, but trustworthy Lords are hard to come by these days.”

            “I know.  I intend to contact the three Kings as soon as possible.  Perhaps they can unite the Southern lands and push the Oruites back into the North.”

            “That is a tall order,” Zorus wiped his brow.  “Come, walk with me.”

            Delan handed the reins of his horse to a stable hand and followed the bulky Lord.  They walked along the wide stone road that ran directly to Castle Acteon at the center.  Tureia was a large town, perhaps half again the size of Braxxon in terms of square miles, but due to a recent conflict with their neighbors to the West their populations were similar.  This left housing for maybe half of the Braxxon refugees, so many families would have to share homes or live in the streets.

            “I’m sure you know, Delan, there hasn’t been a completely united kingdom in the South for hundreds of years,” Zorus said plainly.  “And I don’t think the entire Southern region has ever been united like the Oruite Empire of the North.  No Southern dynasty in the last thousand years has held more than half of the land.”

            “Yes, but now there is a common enemy,” Delan explained.  “Emperor Daktherin wants to control the entire world.  Not many people know what has happened to the people of the towns he has conquered.  They are slaves, Zorus.  Not in any ordinary sense though.  Daktherin places his religious leaders in control of each town that submits to control the lives of the citizens.  Each citizen’s day is structured the way ‘Oru’ wills it to be.  They must worship Oru a certain number of times each day at a specific time.  They are only allowed to eat, sleep, work, and run errands at specific times.  Any deviations incur harsh punishments from the soldiers the Emperor employs.

            “That is why we must resist.  The truth must be known to the Kings and every Lord.  I will not subject my people to slavery.”

            “And you won’t have to, old friend,” Zorus reassured.  “Tureia stands with you.  Repeat this to the other Lords and you will find yourself an army to take on the Oruites.”

 

*  *  *

 

            General Hieraxusz walked the halls of Castle Tyrraen.  He was alone.  Perhaps too alone.  This was the first heathen town that abandoned its walls.  It opened the General’s eyes just a bit, letting him know the heathens were a little smarter than he thought.  They would probably have holed up with another town by now, but it didn’t bother Heiraxusz.  No heathen town could stand against the Hand of Oru, even if they stood together.

            If a single soldier believed that Oru would give him the strength to survive in battle, he could take on five heathens alone.  Yet the expeditionary force General Hieraxusz brought with him outnumbered even the forces of Mohlovkah two to one, the largest city in the Southern kingdoms and capitol of the Mohlovian Kingdom.  At twenty-five thousand strong, his force was barely a third of the entire might of the army of the Hand of Oru, and was growing with each town he subjugated, conscripting those who willingly converted and enslaving those who didn’t.

            As Hieraxusz entered the throne room, he reveled in the thought that the Southern Lords were beginning to panic, abandoning their towns.  His pride swelled knowing that even if the heathen towns banded together, they would never muster a force to rival his army.  It was only a matter of time before he conquered the rest of the world in the name of Oru.

            The General sighed in relief as he took a seat on the throne of Lord Tyrraen.  Clasping his hands behind his head and crossing his legs at the ankles he stretched out in the comfortable throne.  His hammer stroke would be hard and fast, striking directly on Vorlinkah at the center of heathen territory.  The Vorlinian Kingdom would fall first, essentially bisecting the South directly down the middle.  With the Tyderians and Mohlovians separated, neither could reinforce the other allowing for a quick victory over the heathens.  Hieraxusz would be sitting in his own throne as Viceroy of the Southern provinces under the Almighty Emperor Daktherin within the next two years.

 

*  *  *

 

            “Kurtoux stands with you, Lord Tyrraen,” said a plump, bearded man seated to the left of Delan.  “I offer you my force of five hundred men.”

            Delan had just spoke to the gathered Lords on what he knew about the Oruite Empire.  He outlined his plan to counter the coming invasion as well.  He suggested that as many towns as possible retreat to Vorlinkah and fortify the capitol city.  The towns between the capitol and the Oruite front were expendable, but if Vorlinkah fell the rest of the South would never be able to recover.  It was the best strategic option for the Oruites, so Delan knew the Southerners had to fortify it.

            Lord Tyrraen urged the Lords in attendance to contact their neighbors, to ask them to send troops to aid Vorlinkah.  The capitol could not be lost under any circumstance.  Attentive eyes surrounded Delan, looking eager to oppose Oruite oppression.  However, some still looked skeptical, convinced it was a hopeless cause, willing to surrender their cities to the Oruites in order to survive even if it meant slavery.

            “The people of the Helliot Plains will lend you our cavalry, my Lord,” the next men offered.  “We are two hundred strong.”

            The Lords continued around the circle, pledging their troops’ service to Lord Tyrraen.  He gained the support of three thousand infantry, five hundred cavalry, eight  hundred archers, and fifty artillery units.  Thirteen Lords were willing to leave their towns vulnerable to fortify the capitol.  Together with the King’s army, they would have almost twelve thousand men defending Vorlinkah.  However, it wasn’t enough.  The Oruites would still slaughter them.  If the other Kings could not muster their armies and support the Vorlinians all would be lost.

            “Quelledan will remain neutral, Lord Tyrraen,” a Lord by the name of Pendrus finally protested.  “You cannot resist the Oruite Empire.  Their army is too strong.  They are highly disciplined and extraordinarily skilled, as if they were directly controlled by their god.  It is rumored that they fight with inhuman strength.  Arrows will not stop them.  They continue to advance even when pierced half a dozen times.  Sever their sword arms and they will continue to swing with the other.  Some of the strongest are said to have continued fighting after being beheaded.  The only way to defeat them is to greatly outnumber them, which is possible if you unite the Vorlinian Kingdom.  But the likelihood that all Vorlinians will join your cause is slim.  A great deal of Lords have become cowards, preferring a life of servitude over death.  And even if you were to unite all three Kingdoms, the army we face is but a fraction of the full might of our enemy.  They will come back in larger numbers if we survive at Vorlinkah.

            “The Red Mountains will hide us from the Oruites.  Go ahead and sacrifice yourselves in your hopeless war.  My people will survive where we are, masked from Daktherin’s gaze.  I bid you farewell, my Lords.”

            Lord Pendrus rose and quietly left.  The room was silent for a few moments.  Delan stood in shock as three more Lords stood to follow Lord Pendrus, including one who had already pledged his troops.

            “Anyone else care to abandon their lives and those of their people?” Lord Acteon spoke, his voice raised in frustration.  “My Lords, we can not so lightly shrug off the threat of Emperor Daktherin and the Oruites.  No town can hide forever.  They will find you and enslave you, or destroy you if you resist.”

            “I agree, Zolus.  I’ve known you since we were boys, and if you place your trust in Lord Tyrraen, then I trust your judgment,” Lord Polonaen was the last Lord left who had not spoken.  “I give you all of Fenria’s troops.  Two hundred pikemen and two hundred archers along with five artillery units.  We may not be many, but we will fight to the death.”

            “Then to war we go,” Delan exclaimed.  “Recruit your neighbors.  Let them know their sovereignty is at stake.  The Oruites will move quickly.  Braxxon is overrun, and it would take three weeks for an army of that size to march on Vorlinkah from my town.  I want to see a hundred banners of the South on the walls of Vorlinkah before the Oruite army arrives.”