Chapter Seven
Torius – The Enemy Force
TORIUS - MUNDAINANT
Dauntless to any opposition,
Torius is a tough warrior
true to his honor
and fears not
in the face of Death,
a face he has met many times.
Although classified a Mundainant,
his true powers still may be beyond
only brutal strength in his sword.
CENTERED ON THE NORTHERN of the three Windpass Isles, Skye, a small castle was the medium of a large road, upon a tall hill. Forest footed the great hill; this castle was built many years ago, it's true purpose lost in the ages. Still strong over unaccounted centuries, it was manned by the military power of Lord DeKade.
It was castle Glaewalt, an outpost for the King's castle. One knight was manned there, a one of four brothers. He was the eldest and strongest brother of his family, taken to knighthood. And his name was Torius.
He was inside his barracks, positioned on the side of his assigned bed. His body ached from the daily combat training routine; his two-handed sword had new nicks in it from the spar he contested in, and he was repairing its blade with a sharpening stone. He had to bring the sword halfway up his leg, so that he could reach the entire length of the great sword in sharpening it.
sshhin, sshhin, he brought the stone sharply upon the sword. Torius noticed another soldier approaching him, but he didn't look up from his work.
"Why do you favor such a large weapon?" the now adjacent knight asked. Torius recognized him as his opponent in a training spar that he had won over, knocking him out of the circle, an automatic defeat. He went on with his repairing of his weapon he won victory with. sshhin, sshhin.
The soldier gibed further, "Why, Torius? Surely a man could deliver ten strikes upon you before you fell one blow with that large of a weapon?"
sshhinnn. The last swipe upon the blade with the stone sounded longer as he brought it off of the keening edge. Torius turned contemplatively slowly upon the knight, and replied, "A man who lives from ten strikes is more alive than a man who dies from one blow."
The knight did not respond, and seeming lost for words, snorted, and walked away, out of the barracks' quarters. Torius went back to his sharpening job upon his sword.
It was late into the night, and time for Torius and his group of knights on day shift to secure for sleep. Torius set his sword by his bed, leaning against a thick oak closet that housed his armors. He lied down in his bed; he was the latest up, and heard the snores and breaths of his sleeping companions within his barracks. He still felt pain in his forearms, from the strain of holding his heavy weapon, swinging it, still from the spar. But it was a minor ache, and he easily fell asleep.
Screams!
Torius practically leapt out of his bed as he heard familiar sounds of battle outside his barracks.
"We're under attack!" roared a voice of one of his fellow knights, from outside. Torius grabbed his great sword, and ran outside his barracks into the open of the inside castle grounds.
Soldiers in black indistinct armors were charging through the grounds, engaging the outpost soldiers; several of whom were heading toward the barracks, Torius in their path. The battle bleeded into his veins, quickly erasing all sleep from him, and he charged upon the oncoming enemies.
The first great swing of his sword hit the first enemy soldier in the chest, wheeling him, and he crunched to the ground at Torius' side. He brought the weapon again upon the next enemy, and it clanged against his parrying battle-axe. Torius pulled back, and released a brutal downward strike.
The soldier swung at the weapon to again parry, but Torius' great sword hacked through its handle and crashed upon his helmeted head. The soldier fell, and Torius looked up to see another black knight coming. He was too near, and Torius could see he couldn't bring his weapon up in time.
A battle yell to his side, and he saw the enemy knight change his target from Torius to the other person, but too late - a heavy poleax thrust forward, knocking the black knight's spear away and impaling him through his armor. Torius looked up at his defender and recognized his outpost companion, Goodman, who was fully armored, unlike Torius.
Goodman ripped his weapon from his enemy's stomach, and swung its axe head down in a great arc, finishing the enemy knight off.
Torius roared and jumped forward, facing two more of the black-armored soldiers. He swung angrily upon them, and they stopped in their tracks.
"Retreat!” cried a voice, and he saw the remaining black-armored enemies rushing toward the castle entrance, crowding out.
"Don't let them escape!" a knight yelled. He looked up and saw archers upon the wall, firing down upon the fleeing enemies. As a large group of knights and Torius himself swarmed out the castle entrance to give chase, he heard several distant cries as the archers' shots struck true. But by the time Torius was outside, the enemies were too far to see, having coverage of the thick forest surrounding the castle.
The battle was over.
The outpost in-charge, Sir Zeddith, ranked a Knight of The Castle, roared abroad, "Muster up inside the castle grounds - now!” still clutching his halberd from battle’s use.
The knights, after seeing that the battle was truly over, headed back toward the castle swiftly. They lined in drill formation, and there they stood, among the fresh death of enemies, before their leader, Sir Zeddith.
"First, aide the injured!", he commanded, and the formation broke loose and the soldiers disbanded in various directions. The wounded were helped into the barracks, upon the nearest beds, and wounds were treated. Sir Zeddith, the only soldier in the outpost with trained skills in magic, went around, casting a minor Heal spell upon them, starting with the most critical. A soldier, impaled by a spear, and hit with an axe, lain in a bed and near death, had two Heal spells cast upon him by Sir Zeddith, and his critical wounds magically stopped bleeding.
"Bind his wounds to heal fully," he commanded a nearby knight. The knight nodded seriously and tore the edge of the bed's sheet off, using it as a bandage upon the injured soldier.
All of the enemies that were struck down and thus didn't escape were found dead. After Sir Zeddith inspected several of the bodies, grimly he directed them to be unarmored, and unweaponed, and bodies discarded into the woods. "This way. The creatures of the forests will do the rest of the cleaning up for us," was Sir Zeddith's theory.
After this gruesome task was done, Sir Zeddith called a conference. Occupants of the whole outpost were present. They filled the small hall of the likewise small outpost castle, they quickly set with tables and chairs. After all were mustered, Sir Zeddith walked out front of the gathering. Torius saw he had a very serious expression.
"Which of our men were lost?" he asked, the grim note in his voice still present. After the whole room broke out in murmurs, several voices spoke up.
"Jacken, Knight's night shift."
"Kay, Archer's night shift, struck from behind!” came a vengeful voice.
"Sabyl, Knight's night shift. Died fighting off three enemies!" Another angry tone. The murmurs grew louder into a din of voices, as more deaths were called off.
"Williamwise, Knight's day shift. Those cowards killed him while he was unarmed! And it took two of them!" The voices rose into uproar of anger. "I'll take them down, who were they?”
"Let's go find them!"
More yells.
Sir Zeddith slammed a large table so hard with his fist its thick lumber creaked heavily. "Silence!!” he yelled harshly, and the din of the angered soldiers ceased.
With eyes ablaze with anger equal with the soldiers,' Sir Zeddith spoke. "We do not know who our attackers were, not even what nation they come from. They bear no flag, no ensign, nothing."
"We should get the information out of the survivors!” a yell came.
Sir Zeddith responded, "I searched all of the
bodies. Not one was alive. And we could not catch any fleeing survivor." He turned around, and walked to a table set behind him. He picked two objects up, and turned back to face his mustered knights.
He raised his hands high, clutching what could now be seen as a shield, and helmet. "Colored black. Bears no emblem. This is our attacker. We cannot see who our attackers were." He lowered them back upon the table. "But we see that we are under attack, and that we have not vanquished all of them. They have fled." He walked around his table, and lent upon it heavily, and let out an exasperated sigh.
"Thus, they may come again. Your orders are to remain vigilant until further information is found.
"Three men will be dispatched tonight to ride to the King's castle, and alert the higher advisories within of the encounter." He looked deeply into the crowd of soldiers, "It will be dangerous. You are subject to the attack of these enemies, and you will not have this castle to protect you.
"Are there three volunteers?"
After a moment of silence, Torius rose. "I shall go."
Sir Zeddith eyed at him, and pushed off of the table, marching out in front of it. "Sir Torius, Knight of The Watch, day shift,” he announced.
Another voice, "I, Aranwold, shall go with Torius."
Sir Zeddith eyed him, too, like he did Torius. "Well done, Sir Aranwold, Knight of The Watch, night shift."
Another knight stepped up. It was Goodman, whom Torius fought together with the other night. "I shall be the third."
"Sir Goodman, Knight of The Watch, night shift.” Sir Zeddith stated to the gathering of soldiers. "Stand before me,” he commanded.
Torius, Goodman and Aranwold lined up in front of the officer Knight. Sir Zeddith looked upon them, contemplating.
"Three of the strongest of our knights," he pondered aloud. Then the ponderous attitude disappeared and he became sharply serious once more. "Gather what you need," he began. "Ride hard. Show the guards this document."
He handed Goodman a scroll, which he took. "It will get you access into the Castle. Ask for Lord Gonaguel, and inform him of this night, moment for moment, altering no information, no matter how confusing it may seem."
The knights nodded, with 'yes sir’s, turned, and walked through the silent hall, amongst the observing soldiers, and out into the night toward their barracks.
Torius went into his barracks with Goodman, Aranwold separating hastily toward his barracks at the other side of the castle. He heard oak closet doors slamming open as Goodman was collecting his inventory, he himself tearing open his own closet. He hastily put his chain mail armor on, and half-plate over it, and leather boots and leggings; collecting his enchanted fire dagger, and a canteen of water.
"Only what you need," he repeated Sir Zeddith's instructions aloud to himself. At last he slung his two-handed sword upon his back, and ran toward the door, seeing that Goodman had already left. He had already been dressed in armor, from being on nightshift; Torius had been awoken from sleep and was unarmored, and had that extra collection to make.
Outside he met with Goodman, and Aranwold, already upon horseback. A third saddled horse was vacant, and Torius climbed on.
"Aranwold!” came Sir Zeddith’s voice. Torius and his party looked. Sir Zeddith approached with heavy footsteps, and halted, looking at Aranwold. "You are held in charge of this mission."
Aranwold nodded in acknowledgement.
Sir Zeddith looked first at Torius, then at Goodman. "And good luck." Sir Zeddith walked away, Torius and Goodman looking at Aranwold. Aranwold stirred his horse onward toward the open front gates, Torius and Goodman following lead. And off they rode.
—
"Damn and curses!” Syndirin hissed angrily and pounded the table with his fist. His assembled clique around the table before him struck silent. Syndirin seethed, "Incompetents! A simple mission of information extraction and they fail! Where are they? Bring them before me!" casting his glare past the table watching for anyone approaching. But the subjects did not approach, and never would.
"They are dead, M'Lord," said an officer Knight, Gwar.
Syndirin heatedly faced him. "Dead!” he exclaimed. "Dead as they should be! Fail me and they deserve no better." Then, peering at Gwar, "How did they die?"
Gwar shook his head, muddled. "Seemed the work of an assassin, or a skilled swordsman. Their bodies were left in the woods."
Then, Syndirin, anxiously, "how do we know they were not interrogated?" When Gwar responded only with a troubled look, Syndirin stepped slowly around the table, eyes on Gwar. "How do we know they didn't let something slip?"
Gwar was turning pale, looking left to right at the other ones present, as though for help. Syndirin paused movement, his accusative peering twisting into an expression of angry glare. "How do we know they did not foul our plans!!” he screamed at Gwar.
Gwar started trembling. "C...couldn't 've!” he brokenly worded.
After a piercing moment under Syndirin’s glare, Syndirin said with words of poison mockery, "'Couldn't have'?" He slammed his foot on the ground sharply. "Couldn't have!" Rounding his anger upon the entirety of the group, he voiced, "A group faces his greatest weaknesses not on what is outside, but on what is inside!" He pointed at Gwar. "He is our weakness - our failure! I leave him charge of an important mission, and he handles it recklessly, sending idiots to do a mans job!" He clutched his staff in both hands. "I cannot tolerate a weakness!" He raised his staff, aiming it at Gwar, eyes flaring. His staff emanated black.
"M'Lord, no, please!” Gwar cried, stumbling out of his chair. The staff kicked back as the spell was released, a black blur darting at him like an evil spirit. It hit him in the chest, and his body skidded across the stone floor, crashing into the wall, lifeless.
"Traitor! Die like those others!"
Syndirin felt fearful eyes of the remaining gathering, watching him. Perfect, he thought to himself. He is gaining respect of them by fear. Always made the job easier.
He let go of his staff, holding it once again like a scepter and no longer a weapon, facing the others. "Any other reports? How about the raiding mission?” he asked wearily.
A chair scraped the ground as a cloaked Summoner stood up, Syndirin's eyes turning to him. "Yes, Korchloc?” Syndirin responded dryly.
Korchloc nervously cleared his throat. Then after a pause. "The night infiltration on castle Glaewalt was thwarted, M'Lord," a voice came out from under his enshrouding hood.
Pause.
Then, "Yhey raised the alarm, the tower guards that were overlooked, M'Lord."
"Were there any survivors?"
"Yes, M'Lord. There were."
"Did they extract any information, from any taken prisoners?"
"No, M'Lord. None."
Syndirin cursed under his breath, and glared at Korchloc. "If you want to live," Syndirin began in cold tone, "And if they want to remain survivors, then they had best turn around and go back, and get prisoners!"
He cast from his bare hand a quick Dark attack spell at a chair, which spun through the air, shattering as it smashed against a far wall.
Korchloc looked at the pieces of the chair on one side of the room, then at the lifeless Gwar on the other, then at Syndirin. "Yes, M'Lord Syndirin!” he said fearfully, and ran from the room, his cloak whipping behind him. His rapid footfall faded as he made distance and eventually was gone.
"Uldrin!” Syndirin shouted. Another armored warrior stood up.
"Yes, M'Lord!” he responded.
"Gather up the fastest vessel we have, and get out there with Korchloc, and with those men, now! Do not sleep until the you have returned to me with the prisoners."
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