Many tales have been told of the Kings of the Hai-Harai who ruled in the land of Hai-El Nador and later the Southern Lands. Some of these are entirely apocryphal, most are legend, and some are just plain false. So as my task, as appointed by the high court of King Aranai the Third, was to establish a true and faithful account of these mighty men.
What I relate to you now is the result of long hours of laborious toil, of endless readings, and, when possible, investigations with those who witnessed history first hand. While King Aranai is yet absent the throne, I was appointed this task some twenty-two years hence when he still ruled from his court at Ardentine. As most of you are aware of what has happened as of late, I'll not repeat that story here. This work concerns the years before the Great Blackness, when Hai-El Nador was generally a pleasant place to live, its people strong and plentiful, virtuous and kind, and brave in battle. And this is the story of the kings who led them.
Hai-El Nador was originally a much larger place than it is today. Some relate tales of a larger land shrunk by the Great Blackness; but this was merely the end of the beginning. The beginning of the Hai-El Nador was much larger and more wonderful than the land possesses today. The fields were auburn with wheat and barley and the lands filled with game. The borders stretched from the Hai-El in the West to the Nador Forest in the East. From the bluffs of the highlands in the South to the Krillian glacier in the North, all the eye saw was ruled by the throne in Ardentine. When God and Man walked yet with each other as father and son, Ardentine was laid stone by stone in a century and a half, and men hearkened to the king annointed there by the Lord. And from this first Man-King, a line of kings lasting seven millenia inspired men to live lives of courage and fortitude, of honesty and compassion, and of love for one another.
But this first story is not their story, but the story of the end of Kings, and beginning of the End. For the Creator called to his own, in his rest, the Kings of the past. And the men of today, a race fallen from grace, and afflicted by their own maligned selfishness, destroyed what had been held sacred for seven thousand years, and abandoned their peace to pursue selfish ends, and live lives of perpetual fear. Yes, this is their story, and it begins with the last great king of Hai-El Nador.
The last of the Great Kings of Hai-El Nador was Heor the Only. When his line ended, so ended the hope of Man, for he left no descendants, and not by fate nor will, but by unfortunate circumstance. To understand more properly the fate of Heor, one must understand the events which preceded his reign, and ultimately led to his cruel fate. For Heor himself spent his last days in a land of mouths and stomachs, yet without men or women. A century earlier, his predecessor made a colossal blunder, which led, indirectly, to the Great Blackness we have today. His predecessor was Nalchal, the last of the line of Ardan. After Nalchal, the Kingship, even that which we know today, was not passed by annointing or blood, but by appointment. And this the result of a terrible blunder made during the reign of Nalchal.
King Nalchal abdicated the throne to men less virtuous than himself. While he still sat at Ardentine, he allowed his kingdom to be run largely by his advisors. King Nalchal concerned himself mostly with expensive delicacies and the "finest the field and forest has to offer." His advisors concerned themselves with the expansion of trade, even to lands whose kings were openly hostile to the King. Heor was yet unmarried, though engaged, when the Great Wars began. The King saw them first as merely failed diplomacy, and did not understand the sentiments of those who took up arms against him. His belief, however unfounded, was that merely sating the appetites of those who rose up against him would ameliorate their anger and end the hostilities. He understood not that when Evil barters, it never strikes a bargain. His last act during his reign was to allot half his taxes of field and game to Kelmor, the King of the Wasted Lands, in a vein attempt to appease him. Kelmor used the grain and game to feed his army, though it was completely consumed even before the first battle took place. King Nalchal was killed by Kelmor before the two even greeted each other. Upon seeing the king slain, his entourage turned tail and fled. The entire ration was lost, and his entire royal company deserted him before his death was complete.
Without a king, and without a successor, a particularly astute advisor seized control of Ardentine as its Steward. An ancient office, which had existed only in the Laws of the King, it was first exercised by this Andan. Andan was a man of quick wit and political intelligence unrivaled even today. Though his blood was royal, he knew it not; his mother died during childbirth and he had been raised by the royal family as an orphan. His tenure was brief, yet notable, for he held the position for such a short time. Yet, when he assumed the title of Steward of Ardentine, trouble was coming faster than he could fathom. He knew his wisdom was insufficient to deal with the threat at hand. His chief aim upon hearing reports of soldiers along the southern border was to secure Ardentine, perhaps the best he could do given the troubled times which had befallen Hai-El Nador.
The first army marched against Hai-El Nador marched in late fall, at the urging of Kelmor. Feorgen-Ham led two divisions, ten thousand total, against the southern bluffs in early November. Their rations were the grain grown in Hai-Entenbier, collected by King Nalchal. They camped by the river Hirii, also known among the common people as the Winneharah. This river cut a canyon through the highlands, and opened a natural pass from the rolling hills of Hai-Entenbier to the plains of the Echora. The Southern bluffs, which formed a natural border between Hai-El Nador and the lands to the South, were eroded considerably here, and opened a valley wide enough for an army. Kelmor used this to march into Hai-El Nador completely unopposed.
Before the hostilities escalated into battle, Kelmor sent a detachment of four dozen soldiers and four skeelrats up the river to perform reconnaisance. They had travelled up the canyon for less than a day when they discovered the reason why it was left without watchtower or guard detail. In the crevices and crags spiders the size of horses would string webs between the canyon walls to catch whatever happened to float downriver. After losing two men to the spiders, and suffering a half dozen casualties in the fight to free the first two, the young lieutenant decided to fall back and scale the cliffs up to the highlands. The element of surprise would certainly be lost, he felt, but it was already lost anyway. From there they followed the canyon cliffs for fifty leagues without seeing a soul.
Just as the young commander was considering turning toward the interior, a scout reported a castle just a few leagues distant. It was not Ardentine, as the lieutenant soon discovered. In fact, it was not even a castle. It had no king. It was merely a large stone and brick edifice, half of which had been carved out of the canyon wall, and the other half built up of large stones and primitive mortar. Upon further inspection, it became evident this was a monastery. Still, Felamar, the young lieutenant, wanted desperately to claim some combat experience. A monastery would do; it would count as a seize and slaughter operation. If he called it a castle, so would his men, and he thought it an easy victory.
Felamar sent two of his skeelrats around to the cliff side to climb up and over the wall, and open the door for his invasion force. Now, as few of you have even heard of skeelrats, much less seen one, a bit of an explanation is in order.
A skeelrat is the largest and meanest lizard you will ever meet. Standing 20 feet tall and as much as 30 feet in total length, they tower above men and rider on the battlefield. In spite of the fact that they are covered almost completely with near-impregnable scales, they are seldom used for charging the line. Instead, their most notable feature - their arms, are put to use as artillery pieces. For a skeelrat, you see, has wiry front arms easily twelve feet long, and can lift stones weighing more than a man and throw them farther than two hundred yards. Pressed in battle, a skeelrat's scaley armor and long reach make quick work of even the bravest men. With a sword they are deadly, but with the mace even moreso. The tail end of a skeelrat has no problem swinging a blade-studed mace weighing more than a man.
However, the are not completely shielded. There are still weak parts of the skeelrat which can succumb to sufficiently sharp metal with enough momentum. And the young lieutenant thought nothing of the fact that he had to walk across a large plain to get to the monastery. By which time, the monks were well aware of the impending danger. As men were posted to the towers, the skeelrats Liku and Niku made their ascent up the sheer edge of the cliff and back wall.
Niku poked his head above the parapet first, only to be blinded by spear thrusts in both eyes. Frantically screaming, he lurched backward in pain, and never regained his hold on the wall. Upon seeing Niku fall to his death in the canyon below, Liku proceeded more cautiously. He placed his hands above the parapet first and leaned back. He deftly avoided the spear thrusts which blinded his partner, but two axes swung hard severed his fingers completely off, and he too fell backward into the canyon below.
And though among the monks not many were bowmen, they outnumbered their attacking party considerably. A shower of arrows and a mere ten casualties sent Felamar back the way he came.
Had he known better, he surely would have stayed. For Felamar did not know, and did not understand, the extent of his mistake. But Feorgen certainly did, and had watched from his camp the watchfires ignite one after the other across the hills of Hai-Entenbier. When Felamar returned and tried to cast the best light on his reconnaisance, Feorgen fed him to the two skeelrats he formerly commanded. For skeelrats are a most vindictive and spiteful breed, with a penchant for live meat.
Skeelrats are also expensive. If bought as a slave, they cost as much as a hundred men. If hired as a mercenary, they cost as much as fifty soldiers. And they are well worth their rate, for a skeelrat can easily kill a hundred men a day on the battlefield.
And Feorgen-Ham weighed heavily his next move. His artillery pieces had not yet arrived and were a fortnight distant. Recent rains had muddied the paths and delayed things a bit. Perhaps had he received this news before sending Felamar he might have waited. But he knew the kingdom of men was aware of his presence - or would be shortly - and he thought he could easily lose an uphill battle into Hai-Entenbier. As his mind wandered through the battlefield scenario, a shout rang out.
The spiders had come downriver and caught a soldier bathing. Captain Heffel brought up his archers quickly and a volley of arrows landed on target, killing the soldier, but doing little more than angering the spider. Even though the spider was mortally wounded, it would take hours for it to die. Finally, Klaiku, the skeelrat, forded the river, found a large stone, and sent it skyward. It splashed into the farther of a group of three, instantly disembowling the spider. And another flew, and soon the other skeelrats joined in and almost made a game of it. Stones flew and spiders popped open, and the remaining ones fled to the protection of the cliffs.
Feorgen ordered Klaiku to investigate. Klaiku returned with news that among the webs found, a hundred and twenty seven soldiers lay entangled, most of whom were dead. They had been taken at night, over a course of a few days. His presence was most certainly known if even the vermin were coming to feed on his army. His two divisions broke camp and started the march into Hai-Entenbier.
Resistance was light. In fact, before coming to the twin tower cities of Hegel and Hormach, the plain was deserted. He was confident. He knew they had seen him coming and fled. Feorgen-Ham stood on the plain, surveying the twin pinnacles from afar. Between them ran the Winebre, a tributary of the Winneharah. Each stood on a hill, almost equidistant from the river below. Feorgen sent one division across the river to attack Hegel, and retained one to attack Hormach. His army was four days into Hai-Entenbier.
The siege at Hormach resulted in no immediate surrender, even though the King of Hormach had less than a thousand men in the tower. Looking out, he saw the tower was surrounded by the black armor of the tribes of Tarkan, the ancient warrior race Kelmor had hired as mercenaries. They were not completely human, though not identifiable as any other race, either.
With a day of feigned negotiation, strictly to buy time, the sun rose and set on the black army. Both Feorgen and the King did not want to engage each other immediately. The King delayed, because he had sent a request for help, and Feorgen because he was hoping for a panic-induced surrender by the King's men. But neither received what he had hoped for. The messenger had been followed and finally killed a few leagues distant. Feorgen used the time instead for his skeelrats to gather stones from the river.
The King of Hormach was certainly in dire straits. As he looked out to the north, he saw the opposite tower, where his son, Heor, was the guest of the king of Hegel. In the distance he could see the army approaching, but it had made camp for the night and was perhaps a half day's march away. If he could delay their approach long enough, perhaps his son could escape. He watched as the towers far distant to the north passed many messages, but none for him. Help was not coming.
As dawn broke on the first day of hostilities, the king saw Hegel also surrounded by the black army. They had marched through the night, under the cover of darkness.
So the first day of combat began. Skeelrats launched stones at Hormach and the King's artillery responded in like manner. Volleys of arrows were exchanged. Feorgen-Ham became furious when, in the early afternoon, a casualty count revealed nearly a thousand of his five thousand had become casualties of artillery. "Pull them back from the wall, you idiots!" Feorgen's voice was so loud and commanding that his front line troops heard it echo off the tower walls. So the men pulled back, out of artillery range, and the skeelrats continued to pound the castle with artillery.
The volley of flaming arrows did nothing, for there was nothing in the castle courtyard to ignite. Klaiku made an interesting observation. All of the artillery came from but four arcs behind the castle walls. So the skeelrats began to pick up the stones lobbed by the castle and sent them back in high archs over the castle walls to where they believed the catapults were anchored. The King, upon noticing the pattern of volleys, ordered the catapults moved back, and watched as stones pelted the courtyard. When the artillery subsided, Feorgen believed he had smashed the King's artillery, and ordered his men forward again. The King responded by bringing forward his catapults again, and launched a quick series of volleys, suppressing the enemy yet again. Feorgen's men fell back out of artillery and arrow range.
Without any artillery at all, the assault on Hegel went even worse. Though they suffered fewer casualties to artillery than the army south of the Winnebre, they still lost two thousand men the first day. Volleys of arrows were exchanged, but no real progress had been made. So at the end of the second day of the siege, the black army was considerably weakened. The King of Hormach had lost only a dozen men, and the King of Hegel, none.
Feorgen was six days in the interior of Hai-Entenbier. In another day, the battering ram would arrive. His heavy artillery, the stone slings and catapults, might possibly catch up in another eleven or twelve. He waited it out. He was no longer interested in the economy of surrender or in limiting casualties. He was going to engage both towers, one at a time should the need arise, with the full brunt of his army, its artillery, and seige machines.
When the king of Hormach was woken at midnight, his watchmen reeked of fear. In hushed tones words were exchanged as the king climbed the parapet stairs. Out the window, in the light of the full moon, he could make out the unmistakable silhouette of the stone slings and ladder boxes approaching from afar. As dawn broke, they were still out of artillery range. It did not take long, however, for them to advance.
The exchange of stones and arrows began. All archers were on the wall, instructed to pick their targets carefully, and volley all but a dozen shafts. The artillery came in furiously, much faster than before. And the reply was just as lethal. Within a quarter of an hour, all of the ladder boxes had been splintered by artillery, but the battle was not won yet. The artillery exchange continued, and with a great crash, one of the King's catapults snapped in half, the victim of Black Army artillery. And the stones kept coming. And another catapult smashed. And archers were retreating below the wall, to the place mentioned beforehand.
Feorgen-Ham watched as the outbound volleys became less frequent. He directed his artillery, as well as the skeelrats, to target the two remaining points from which stones came over the wall. They complied. And the stones stopped coming. He pushed forward his men to the wall, and only a smattering of arrows withered out between the cornices. Hormach was about to be taken. He brought the ram forward, and rammed the door. Stones were dropped, but he took only a few dozen casualties before the first large crack appeared. And then an eerie silence set about, broken only by the sound of the flames and crackling of wood burning in the ram. Feorgen came forward and inspected the ram, and then the door. And he listened.
And when all were quiet, he could faintly hear the sound of horses in the distance. He ordered the door broken completely, quickly, fearing approaching cavalry. The ram pounded and a half hour later, the door finally gave way completely. Rushing in, the soldiers found the place deserted, and Feorgen himself climbed the tower and when he looked to the East, scowled bitterly. The King of Hormach, and all of his men - about five hundred still alive, were charging eastward on horseback. At six miles distant, even Feorgen-Ham, without even a horse, could not catch them. His cavalry would not be able to catch them before sundown.
He ordered the tower burned, and it was. The thick black smoke was watched with horror by the men under siege in Hegel. Kiril, the King of Hegel, was ambivalent. He too saw Heth, the King of Hormach, riding off into the distance at his time of greatest need. Though he told his men that Heth was going to rally help, he was not sure if he really believed it. He knew Heth, and did not believe that he would abandon his son Heor. Yet it appeared most cowardly, when but three thousand of the Black Army remained across the river. Surely their combined forces could have thwarted the attack. It was time now to think of other things.
Heor did not go into the parapet apartment gracefully. The King had him, and his daughter, to whom he was engaged, removed by force to the secret compartment in the top of one of the castle towers. Well stocked with bread and cheese and wine, they could remain comfortable for quite some time as long as their presence remained undetected. But Heor was furious regarding what had happened to Hormach and desperately wanted to fight. So the King let him remain on the wall with a bow - and an escort.
The Black Army crossed the Winnebre the same day that Hormach fell, and brought the ram against Hegel. Without any artillery at all, the men of Hegel could do little against the approaching army save the occasional arrow. When the door was finally breached, Heor jumped from the castle wall to the courtyard, breaking his fall with the rope formerly used to raise the door. In the thick of the action he slashed his way through the invaders from behind, before himself being dragged back up the wall by the King's guard. Realizing that he could not fight both the guards and the invaders, he acquiesced. Soon the hole in the ceiling through which he entered the parapet was sealed with a stone, invisible to anyone who did not know such a compartment existed. And through a crack in the wall he watched in horror the spectacle of invasion.
For at that moment, there were scarcely a hundred men to Feorgen's five thousand. The courtyard was black with soldiers who cornered a few at a time and took turns against them. Yet, it almost seemed unfair, for the Black Army was overconfident, and the men of Hegel desperate for their lives. Each of them seemed to wait for a blow which would expose a weakness, and then, a careful jab here, a slice there, and the bodies of the Black Army began to pile up. Before the last man of Hegel was run through, Feorgen lost six hundred soldiers. Every man in Hegel fought valiantly to the end, and the last to die was the King himself.
Corya, the King's daughter, refused to watch. But when the head of her father rolled on the stone of the courtyard, she burst forth uncontrollably with a quick scream. And the stone silenced it.
The tale of Hegel's fall is not told solely because of the bravery the men showed, or the skill with which they fought, but because of the aftermath in the courtyard that day. For I resolved when I began writing this to record only those true facts, verifiable by historical record or direct eyewitness. And with respect to what I tell next, I am sure, having dutifully researched the story, is the truth. For even soldiers of the Black Army, even Feorgen-Ham himself, witnessed and recorded what I am about to write here.
When all of the men had been slain, the sun broke through the clouds with such brightness that all in the courtyard were blinded. Feorgen-Ham had ordered the King brought outside the castle walls to kill him there, but the King stopped at the end of the courtyard pavement and refused to go any further, "I shall but by death alone leave my post and my charge as king of Hegel!" he exclaimed. And Feorgen heard him and granted his request, and killed him there. By mere fate alone, he turned away to chastise one of his captains for the loss of soldiers when the light appeared, and so he was not blinded. But when the light subsided, he, and those still outside the castle, saw angels coming down from heaven and taking the bodies of the slain men of Hegel directly into the clouds. And so there were no bodies except those of the Black Army left in the courtyard. And this is why the names of the men of Hegel are written on the walls at Ardentine, because there is neither burial plot nor headstone by which their loss may be commemorated.
When the day was over, Heor and Corya packed their provisions, and waited until midnight. At that time, during the changing of the Black Army guard, they went over the castle wall with a rope and escaped north and east on foot. When morning broke, they were spotted by some riders.
Signal towers in the land of Hai-El Nador dot the landscape every 20 miles or so, from East to West, and from North to South. A message can be sent from one end of the kingdom to the other in about a quarter of an hour. These towers are manned by a royal detail, who ride on horseback from tower to tower to provide shift relief. And this detail found Heor and Corya on the morning after their escape. They were soon sequestered to Ardentine.