At the same time, back in the Upper Glen, Lord Borlan flexed his bulging biceps. The squad leader unslung his giant two-handed sword from the sheath strapped to his back. The steel of the long blade shone brightly in the noon sun.

The magical two-handed sword had a black skull with red ruby eyes laid into the hilt, positioned just before where the blade began. The skull bore a wicked grin, almost laughing at the line of eighteen goblin archers from the Flesh Eater Tribe that were just over a field ahead of them.

The men glared at the goblins, having a particular dislike for this tribe. Men of the Glen knew that the Flesh Eater Tribe had earned its name for their eagerness to eat all types of flesh, including that of man.

They were easily recognizable because they were the only goblin tribe with red pupils in their eyes. The line of green creatures stood between them and Nushia Village.

The goblins returned the glare back at the thirteen yule riders, while they strung their bows. The two groups faced each other on the far edge of the Western Rim. This area consisted of large grassy plains that covered the entire west end of the Upper Glen.

Lord Borlan eyed the bulky men around him. He had no archers, because he believed that combat should be fought with the sword, up close and personal.

“I am proud of you men! Not only because you have killed more hordes than any other yule patrol, but because only the toughest men request to be in my squad!” he shouted at his fellow riders.

When Lord Borlan finished, Captain Trom rode up beside him and asked, “Should I sound the charge?”

The captain knew that they would not retreat. Lord Borlan had never, and would never, retreat from a goblin. Lord Borlan looked at Trom, grinning, and then let out a blood curdling yell as his yule surged forward. His men quickly followed suit and began to rush towards the goblin archers.

When Lord Borlan’s men had closed the distance to under half a field, the goblin yorg, a rather large Flesh Eater, howled out an order and pointed at the lead man. The goblin archers released their deadly barbed arrows, with about half finding their mark. 

The front yule was hit twice in the head and once in the chest. The warrior astride the creature, a man named Wilkes, took three arrows in his shield. One pierced thru the shield and tore into his wrist, causing blood to spray from the wound and onto his armor.

A fourth arrow pierced the chainmail armor on his upper thigh, but he never felt the pain, because a final arrow hit him in the left eye. Both man and yule tumbled to the ground in a heap of death. This brought a loud cheer from the goblin archers.

Lord Borlan and his remaining men charged on, urging their yules forward at a thundering pace, the sounds of their claws pounding the earth. With the men closing in, the line of goblins hesitated for a moment, and then began to flee.

This displeased their leader yorg greatly, who let out a screech, and chopped down the goblin closest to him with an axe. Several nearby goblins looked at their superior and stopped their retreat.

The underlings closest to the goblin leader turned back to face the men while the goblins further away from the yorg continued to flee. The mounted men roared into the goblin line, rapidly cutting down the group around the yorg, and then pursued the ones that were fleeing.

Lord Borlan went straight for the goblin leader, throwing himself from the saddle of his yule. The big man struck the beast full on, sending both of them to the ground.

Lord Borlan rolled to his feet, rather quickly for such a large man, and swung his magical two-handed sword. It sliced the yorg in half, just as the slower creature had risen to its own feet. Lord Borlan let out a victory shout that was returned by his men.

                      *   *   * 

About two days ride south from Lord Borlan’s battle, a yorg stood before Gorin the Gorilla King. He wore a large red mohawk that lay slightly to the right side of his head.

This particular goblin leader had been picked because he spoke the language of men, although quite roughly. The big goblin and his four underlings fidgeted nervously, feeling quite small under the stares of the much larger apes in the hut.

The yorg struggled to get out the correct human words, “Join wes against the kingdoms where are men.”

King Gorin scratched his large stomach, glaring at the yorg. The goblins had arrived the day after Lord Fidium had left, with just over five hundred warriors from the Bloody Thrasher Tribe.

The green men had quickly surrounded Tuggle City. The tribe that wore the red mohawks had come just a couple of hours after Gorin’s own four Raider Patrols had left.

“And if ape do not?” the Gorilla King asked.

“Then we burns this monkey city to ground!”, the yorg hissed, getting his nerve up, while he glared back at the giant gorilla.

King Gorin felt the rage rush through his veins, not from the goblin leader’s offensive words, but from the yorg staring into his eyes. This great offense was an instinctual challenge that the silverback could not ignore.

King Gorin charged the yorg, pounding his chest and roaring as he raced forward. The goblin leader rose up to meet him, quickly realizing that this was a bad idea, when the five-hundred-pound gorilla king smashed his huge fists down on the creature’s head, killing it instantly.

The other gorillas in the room made quick work of the four remaining goblin underlings. All the gorillas began pounding their chests and howling. The battle for Tuggle City had begun.

                        *     *     *

While that fight was just starting, the battle for Nilot had already ended. Lord Grey and his riders entered the village at a trot. They had seen huge smoke columns from several miles away and knew that the settlement was burning.

The squad had hoped that they could locate some survivors, but their wishful thinking was dashed when they reached the burnt-out shacks and buildings. No one, living that is, was in sight.

The garrison building had been the scene of an intense fight, with twelve goblins with black circles around their eyes sprawled about dead. Nearby lay the village guards, all six in various death poses. There was no sign of the six hundred or so villagers.

Lord Grey looked about in dismay. He was a middle-aged man, well groomed, with a trimmed beard and moustache. He was one of the more experienced Yule Rider squad leaders, and was quite capable with the sword, spear, and bow. Still, he felt uneasy. War had come and it was going to be ugly.

                            *     *     *

At dawn on the following day, High King Tronin rode out of Port Turin. He was surrounded by twelve warriors from his elite White Sash Brigade. The White Sash Brigade had protected all the high kings, since the days of King Hogarth, who had created them.

The White Sash Brigade also served as Tronin’s personal messengers. They were expert fighters and horsemen, easily recognizable by the white sashes that they wore around their waists.

The brigade carried the only white shields in the kingdom, that also bore the red dragon emblem in the center. Lord Caspiat, their commander, rode beside the high king.

Lord Caspiat was a slender black man, with short curly hair, who was highly skilled with the short saber that always hung at his side. He was an intelligent man, and meticulously detailed when it came to protecting his high king.

Lord Caspiat personally selected the men in the White Sash Brigade, and trained them himself. High King Tronin liked Lord Caspiat and had complete confidence in his abilities. There was no man in the kingdom that he trusted more.

The mighty stone walls of Port Turin, standing twenty feet high and twenty feet thick, receded quickly behind the horsemen. They passed through the green fields north of the capital kingdom, and entered the forest that surrounded most of Port Turin, minus the South Seas side.

Gilead Road began at the edge of the forest. It was paved with large flat stones, that echoed loudly with the sounds of the horse’s hooves striking them. This road ran north, more or less, to the Two Towers of Dwain, where the Great Meeting Hall was located.

The Two Towers of Dwain had been named after the tenth High King of the Glen. High King Dwain had been an ambitious man, constructing two large stone towers, each approximately one hundred and twenty feet high.

High King Dwain had moved the capital kingdom from the Frontier Fortress at Kaylor, which had served all nine of the high kings before him, to the Two Towers. 

The East Tower, which housed the Great Meeting Hall, was said to be two feet taller than the West Tower because it was settling slower into the earth. The East and West Towers were attached to each other by a large stone archway, located at the very top.

Both towers and archway were highly defensible because they were lined with archer positions that had many arrow slits. This allowed the defenders of the Two Towers of Dwain to rain arrows down on any approaching foe.

Many years after High King Dwain’s death, High King Archibald had moved the capital kingdom to Port Turin, soon after the pirate raids had started. He had died shortly thereafter, in a horse fall, and was seceded by his brother High King Cobb.

Cobb had become high king at an elderly age, and had done little to stop the pirate raiding. The Glen maintained a defensive posture to the pirate attacks, until Tronin became high king. Being younger, and more aggressive, Tronin had initiated the offensive attacks that eventually led to victory.

The Two Towers of Dwain were approximately two horses from Port Turin. The men of the Glen measured longer distances by the amount of land an average horse could cover at a steady pace in one day. Smaller distances were often measured in average field lengths.

The Two Towers of Dwain were located in the center of the Lower Glen, and all of the kingdoms in the Lower Glen were no more than three horses away, which was the main reason that the kings still met there.

King Tronin was happy to be out of Port Turin. He loved his capital kingdom, but to be quite honest, he was growing bored of the mundane duties of a peacetime king.

He loved to ride, and was enjoying the breeze that was blowing through the trees ahead of him. He felt good and was looking forward to meeting with his elven and dwarven allies.

                      *     *     *

Meanwhile, back in the Upper Glen, things were going badly for one of King Darian’s yule patrols. The enemy had ambushed them, and they had suffered heavy losses.

The patrol’s last man of rank, Captain Beardog, hesitated. His pock-marked face was tense, while he watched goblins with black circles around their eyes rushing over the berm in front of him.

Lord Davis, the patrol leader, as well as Lord Detos and Captain Temor, were all lying dead at his feet, along with several goblins. The tough fifty-year-old captain was now in command.

For the past two days, the squad had been tracking a small horde across the Central Rim, and had ridden straight into the ambush. Over a hundred Black Eyes, who had been hiding behind a low berm, jumped the front of the column. They had taken the patrol completely by surprise.

Now he had a decision to make. Captain Beardog sliced down the nearest goblin and swung his yule around, shouting, “Fall back! Fall back!”

A goblin, charging at his yule, fell to the ground after being hit by arrows from his two surviving archers. His last eight remaining men began to retreat, following Beardog south.

The tough captain did not like running from the goblins, but there were too many of them for him and his men to defeat. Best to fight another day when the odds were better.

The squad continued to fall back, while the two archers picked off several of the enemy that were chasing them. Eventually, the muscular legs of their yules outdistanced the growing group of goblins that were pursuing them. This was no horde; it was the entire Black Eye army!

“Make haste for the plains of Kaylor. We need the protection of Frontier Fortress!” Captain Beardog ordered, as the mighty beasts carried the men away.

While they rode, the tough middle-aged captain looked down at his left hand, where a goblin dagger still protruded from his palm. The blood flow had stopped because the it was starting to crust around the blade. He looked at the hind quarter of his yule, where two goblin arrows were sticking out.

The man nearest him had his face covered in blood. He had been struck by a black and red boomerang. It had done so much damage that Beardog wasn’t even sure who the man was. He knew that the wounded warrior was still alive because he kept letting out little moans.

Most of them, as well as their mounts, were bleeding Three of the yules were carrying two riders. They would have to tend to the wounds of both men and beasts, once they were safe.

The goblin army did not pursue the riders far, because they had a different goal. They too had continued their march south to Hogarth Hills, but soon angled off towards the sturdy walls of Gilead, the mighty dwarven fortress.