Death was everywhere . . . . . the fields of Gilead, Frontier Fortress, Trader Town . . . . . all running red and green with the blood of men and goblins . . . dragons attacking . . . . . elf trees burning . . . . . a giant cocoon . . . . . more death . . . . . then . . . . . something different . . . . . a path . . . . . a path up Timber Lake Mountains . . . . . but which path . . . . . the helm was taking him on a journey . . . . . racing up the mountains . . . . . past the goblin villages . . . . . over one peak . . . . . and then another . . . . . and another . . . . . until seven mountains had been crossed over . . . . . the helm slowed the pace now . . . . .exiting the mountains onto amber colored plains . . . . .fields of harvested grain . . . . . then . . . . . a winding dirt road that quickly became a road of bricks . . . . . unbearable pain in his head . . . . . the journey was excruciating . . . . . the journey to the white spiral towers . . . . . they arose in the distance . . . . . white banners flowing from every high point . . . . . the towers soon grew into a huge castle with the helm taking him ever closer . . . . . across a stone bridge . . . . . up a stone walkway . . . . . across a sturdy wooden bridge that covered a wide moat . . . . . through the metal bars of a portcullis . . . . . the helm slowed even more while it burned the images into his head . . . . . he would surely lose consciousness from the pain . . . . . then came a stairway . . . . . up to two huge ornate pillars . . . . . guarding a large set of bronze doors . . . . . a giant symbol . . . . . a letter . . . . . half engraved on each door . . . . . he could not pull the helm off; the painful images pierced his skull into his very brain. He tugged hard, but to no avail. Finally, he gave one last pull with all of his remaining strength, causing the helmet to pop off with a loud sucking sound.

High King Tronin did not hear it. He had fallen to the ground, unconscious, with a trickle of blood running from his ears.

The young Queen Skara found him like this, his white hair spilled about his head. She called Beth Ann and Aura to assist her, and Tronin’s three wives managed to get him up onto the bed.

The women tended to him until he came to. His head ached so intensely that he needed the cool healing waters of Timber Lake to ease the pain. They argued with him not to leave the bed chambers, but he had so much to do!

High King Tronin spent the next several hours in the castle library, pouring over old ancient scrolls and tomes with the Port Turin scribes. Once they located what he was looking for, he knew what must be done. He sent for a messenger who arrived shortly thereafter.

The symbol that he had seen on the bronze doors burned in his mind, reinforcing the plan that he had just formulated, only minutes before. There was still hope for the Glen! He turned to his White Sash rider, handing him a scroll, which was secured with his own royal seal.

“Take this to King Darian. Make haste like never before. Do not stop, not to eat, not to sleep, not to fight. The fate of the Glen may very well depend upon the rapid completion of your mission. Ride now!” the high king commanded.

“Your order is my oath!” the messenger replied.

The man ran from the palace, stopping for nothing. He arrived at the stables to find two horses waiting, already packed with light supplies. He would ride the first until it tired, then switch to the second. The man rode out of Port Turin at breakneck speed, not looking back. He would not fail his king.

“Caspiat! Caspiat!” High King Tronin shouted for his most trusted messenger. He had a second situation that needed handling. The Leader of his White Sash Brigade showed up moments later.

“You called for me, my king?” the slender black man was eager to serve. He and Tronin spoke for a few minutes, ending with Tronin handing him another sealed parchment.

“Your order is my oath!” Lord Caspiat said and exited the room, leaving the High King alone to turn his focus on the upcoming siege that his city was sure to face.

Things are moving forward fast, but still I’ll be prepared for the armies that are marching towards my city. If it’s a fight they’re looking for, then I shan’t  disappoint them.

                                      *     *     *

On the Upper Glen, Lord Borlan rode at the front of his column, an angry silence was visible in the scowl on his face. The large muscular man hadn’t spoken all morning and he was falling into a deeper gloom as the day wore on.

Lord Borlan was not happy about the way his patrol was going on the Western Rim. It was not the area, the Western Rim was his favorite part of the Upper Glen, and he knew it well. It was the ambushes.

The goblins were striking them with groups of five to ten archers and then attempting to flee. Of course, his men were running these groups down with their yules and killing them, but the initial volley of enemy arrows were proving effective.

Lord Borlan was a strong man, probably the physically strongest man in the whole Glen. Cowards! I want to fight the enemy head on, warrior against warrior. The green filth is picking us off one by one in a game of cat and mouse. I’ve lost three men in as many days.

Yesterday, Corley, his flag bearer had fallen. The big black man had also been his best friend. It was no way for him to die. Not by a random goblin arrow, without having struck a blow. It was no way for the big warrior to have fallen. It was almost insulting.

That is why Lord Borlan had his patrol heading for the main path that dropped from Timber Lake Mountains onto the Western Rim. His plan was to place his men at the bottom of the trail and attack anything that came down the mountain path.

Lord Borlan picked up his pace when he saw the formidable mountains looming ahead. Captain Trom, and the remaining seven warriors in his patrol, matched his pace as well as his silence.

The yule patrol continued at a quick rate, when suddenly the silence was disturbed by the sound of “boo gah, boo gah, boo gah” in the distance. A mighty shout rose from the foot of the mountain.

Lord Borlan smiled, knowing that he had found his fight. They rode for another field’s length, then Lord Borlan brought his patrol to a halt. The enemy stood before them.

The men stared for several moments, hardly believing their eyes. Forming at the bottom of the pass were several thousand goblins. They were forming into ranks and columns under a large Flesh Eater Tribal banner.

Several boo gah drums were beating out a steady rhythm while various hordes of goblins were chanting and joining the ranks. Numerous yorgs were walking about, hollering orders and guiding the goblins that were still coming down the mountain pass into the formation.

“Boo gah, boo gah, boo gah” sounded off in the nearby grass, startling the riders. It was probably forward goblin scouts. A couple of the men turned their yules towards the sound.

“Hold!” Lord Borlan ordered, the single word halting his men.

Lord Borlan sat very still in his saddle, watching the goblin ranks. The newly alerted yorgs began pointing at the yule patrol and started forming the goblin ranks into battle lines.

All of the goblin boo gah drums started beating in unison and the entire battle formation lurched forward, marching towards the men. The large Flesh Eater banner waved gently in the breeze, positioned in the center of the enemy formation.

“Your orders sir?” Captain Trom asked.

Lord Borlan leaned back on his yule, stretching his muscular back. Then he stretched out his powerful arms, which expanded his bulging biceps. He turned to face his eight remaining men.

Borlan looked each one in the eye, knowing that they were the best of the Yule Riders. It wasn’t their strength, although they were all very muscular, but their loyalty. They were hard men with hard spirits, who would never disobey his orders.

Lord Borlan thought for a moment longer, then responded, “Orders? I’ve no orders for you, but I’ll explain my intentions.”

Lord Borlan began to walk his yule up and down the line of men while he continued, “I do not fear death, if it’s a good one, but I do fear a bad death. We could retreat and continue riding the Western Rim, getting picked off one by one until we are no more. That, to me, would be a bad death. Or even worse, a couple of us could go crawling back to our king in defeat. So, for me, there can be no retreat.”

Lord Borlan turned and pointed at the goblin army that was drawing ever closer, and continued, “There’s not a goblin in this land, or any, that can say that Lord Borlan ever ran from him. Nor shall there ever be. I’ll not surrender the field of battle to goblin scum on this day, nor on any day. I intend to ride into them and die with my honor intact.”

Lord Borlan turned and faced his men again, “I do promise you this. Many goblins will be dying with me. The more that we kill here and now, the less that our inexperienced and untrained countrymen will have to deal with in the Lower Glen. These creatures will also see that the resolve and courage of men is unwavering. They’ll know after today that they face a foe that’ll never surrender to them. They’ll feel fear before this day ends!”

Lord Borlan stopped speaking when several boo gah drums sounded. The riders could now hear the sounds of the goblins marching towards them with the steady pounding of many feet, “thump, thump, thump.”

“That is why I have no orders for you,” Lord Borlan continued. “I’ll not order you to join me. Every man must make his own decision. No dishonor. No dishonor! I swear to you under the sun of my ancestors that there’s no dishonor to any who wish to leave.”

Lord Borlan scratched the neck of his trusty yule and continued, “You may ride for the Lower Glen. If you so choose, head for Frontier Road and rejoin King Darian’s patrols to help defend the Lower Glen. You’ll depart with your honor intact, that I promise.”

Lord Borlan took one last ride along the line of his men, smacking his brown shield against each of theirs. It was an old Glen tradition that was rarely used anymore. It meant that each man was discharged from his command.

“Each man must decide for himself. As for me, my destiny will be fulfilled today. If you’re joining me, then meet me under that giant Flesh Eater banner. I intend to trample it in the dust and leave my boot prints all over it!”

With that said, Lord Borlan tossed his brown shield onto the ground. He unslung the large two-handed sword from his back, causing his muscular arms to ripple in the sun, the black skull with ruby red eyes grinning up at him.

Borlan reared his yule onto its hind legs and let out a blood curdling scream. The animal came down hard and lurched forward, charging at the goblin ranks, which were now only a field away.

Lord Borlan and his mount raced forward at top yule speed. He did not look back to see if his men were following. He knew that they were. Afterall, they were the most loyal men in the Glen and would follow him even to their deaths.

                                      *     *     *

Several hours later, at Trader Town, King Haven stood on the roof of his palace, as the lanky man often did. He was watching the bank across from the South Bridge for any sign of movement. It was early morning and the sun had just begun to rise over the eastern horizon. It would soon break over the wood line and burn off the morning fog.

“Sire?” it was the Auction Advisor speaking hesitantly. “Now that you’re king, we can offer terms.”

“What?” King Haven looked at the short squat fat man, incredulously. “You mean surrender?”

“Well, several of the upper-class citizens and even some of the troops have been talking and . . . ”, he hesitated, then scratched his balding head with one hand and tugged at his purple silk robe with the other, looking for the right words. “Well, surely you can see that there’s no way to win this.”

“I’ve been aware of that since the first day of bombardment. We’re buying time for High King Tronin. Every day that we hold off the enemy is one more day for them to prepare. There will be no surrender,” King Haven said firmly.

“But sir,” the Auction Advisor pushed. “We believe that we don’t all need to die. Sure, it’ll be a terrible existence to be slaves, but surely they’ll allow those of us who’re in charge to keep some power over the others.”

“Did you see those giants? They were wearing the heads of the Blue Lancers hanging from their belts and were using their bones for toothpicks. Those were our friends. No, they’ll certainly grant us no favor if we surrender. There will be no surrender,” King Haven said in a dismissive voice, watching the sun come up.

The fat man stood for a moment, again hesitating as if he had more to say, then turned and left. King Haven did not like the man. A moment later, the king saw what he had been watching for. The crew at the South Bridge had begun to extend the bridge.

King Haven could barely make out Lord Tagtor and three of his men, crouching on the far side of the moat in the morning mist. The four of them had axes, as long as they were tall, strapped across their backs. Haven thought that he could see green blood on the heads of the axes.

The new king continued to search the bank, and then realized with a sickening feeling that there were no more men. Lord Tagtor had lost sixteen of his patrol! The night mission had been costly. King Haven hoped that it had proven fruitful.

When the bridge reached the far end, Lord Tagtor and his men began to cross it, dragging a large heavy sack. The sack was covered in red and green blood, and whatever was inside it appeared to be heavy.

The moat crew was retracting the bridge, even as the squad crossed it, with Lord Tagtor and his men reaching the city side just before the South Bridge slid into its closed track.

It was good timing, because the morning mist had all but dissipated. Several warriors ran over and took control of the bloody sack, dragging it towards the catapult tower.

Lord Tagtor looked up at the tall king on the palace roof and gave him a weary thumbs up.      King Haven returned the thumbs up and watched the muscular lord enter one of the troop barracks. He wondered how the man would possibly sleep during the upcoming bombardment. He needed Tagtor sharp for tonight’s mission.

The giants did not keep the men in Trader Town waiting for long. They appeared on the horizon, soon after the sun rose, pulling their carts. Within minutes, they started the stretching routine in preparation for their attack.

The giants began cheering each other on while they took turns hurdling boulders at the city. It looked like they were targeting the bridge towers again, and they managed to knock down the remaining tower by the South Bridge that had been damaged the day before.

It fell with an intense crash, launching the giants into a frenzied shout, although due to its heavy damage it had been evacuated yesterday and no one was killed. King Haven waited for the first volley to stop, and then jumped up and signaled the catapult to fire.

The catapult arm rocketed forward, sending a round object flying through the air towards Chieftain Gorg. It was the object that had been in the sack that Tagtor and his men had brought in from the night raid.

While the object flew through the air, it became apparent that it was a large head, no, a giant head. The face was battered and bruised, with the long stringy black hair was matted with blood.

The gray-haired head hit the ground about twenty feet from Chieftain Gorg, and after bouncing twice, it rolled towards him. The head came to a rest perfectly between his feet, with the face of Nash the giant staring up at his leader in a perpetual death grimace.

King Haven had sent Lord Tagtor out to try and lure away a giant and kill it without alerting the others. Lord Tagtor had great luck in finding the night sentry sleeping some distance from the coven, probably trying not to get caught taking a nap while on guard duty.

They quickly killed the sleeping giant, and with great effort, had drug his fifteen-foot body to the spike pit that they had dug the night before. They cut off the giant’s head and dumped his body into the pit and threw dirt over the two dead giant’s bodies now entombed within.

While the squad was retreating back to the South Bridge, they were jumped by thirty Bone Breakers. The skirmish was quick and costly. That was where Lord Tagtor had unfortunately lost most of his squad.

Now the men in Trader Town were the one’s cheering. Chieftain Gorg was genuinely surprised because he had thought that Nash had deserted them in the middle of the night. The coven leader let out an incredible howl that reverberated through the palace walls in Trader Town.

Gorg’s fellow giants, sharing in their leader’s anger, let out similar howls and rushed towards the rock carts. The giants had no great love for Nash, but he had been their cook and he had been a very good one.

The pounding was incredible. The giants were no longer taking turns as they unleashed their fury on the city of men. They threw their rocks in rapid succession, until there was none left to throw. The entire onslaught took only thirty minutes, but the damage was terrible.

The last tower at the East Bridge had been reduced to rubble, all hands lost. The catapult tower, having taken several direct hits, was barely standing. The ballista tower was also severely damaged, along with several other buildings that had been struck, including the palace.

Initial casualty reports put civilian deaths at about four hundred. There were nearly two hundred troops killed, with half of those being lost in the demolished tower by the East Bridge. King Haven grimaced at the heavy losses, but at least he had gotten the enemy’s attention.

We’ve killed two giants in as many days, and tonight, I’m hoping to make it three. I’ll make them pay dearly for Trader Town. I’ll reinforce Lord Tagtor’s squad and send them out again tonight, with a little surprise for the enemy. The king didn’t know it, but he was the one in for a little surprise.