Chronicles of Arborell, Copyright Wayne Densley 2005 All Rights Reserved




The passage of a long Summer had almost come to an end, and in the waning of the season its grip upon the lands of Arborell was weakening. Already the winds had begun to turn, the promise of the coming Autumn a welcome prospect for the residents of Callenfrey as they settled to sleep. Summer had not yet passed completely though. After the heat of an unusually warm day the town sweltered in the warmth of a night without breeze, no relief or comfort from the humid air that flowed slowly onshore from the nearby sea. Townspeople turned restlessly in their beds, and the few guards that maintained the watch upon Callenfrey's walls patrolled listlessly, weighed down by heavy armour and thick leather jerkins. Only the sounds of birds crying out in the distance broke the uneasy silence of a town trying to rest. It was not a comfortable night.
In the dim illumination of a crescent moon Callenfrey sat against the lapping shores of the sea, quiet and tranquil in the darkness. It was a port of some renown, a central point for the distribution of cargo and luxuries into the hinterlands of Northern Kalborea. Its harbour was deep, its citizens surrounded by high walls and protected to the north by a range of hills. At all sides the forests of Kalborea crowded up against the settlement, and but for the unusual warmth of the night hours everything appeared peaceful.
For weeks the coast had been on alert however, all ports and towns from the wash of the Laneslem north to the Shan Valleys anxiously watched for a possible Horde attack. Rumour and gossip had put a large force of Hresh moving southwards in search of plunder and slaves. Garrisons along the entire coast had reacted to the concern of their citizens even though there had been no evidence that such a warband was on the move. The alert had been raised anyway, and because of it the townsfolk of Callenfrey slept a little easier. The guards that walked the walls of the port town that night where not happy though. For Armen Albreght and Janen Greel in particular it was a hard shift.
"I tell you Armen there is no reason for us to be walking the parapet this night. The Horde is long gone and we're just wasting our time."
Armen looked at his companion and shrugged his shoulders. "Whether we are or not isn't really the point is it? We've done this same patrol for the past week and I'm getting well tired of it. Have you had any word from the Watch Commander when we'll get a change of roster?"
Greel just grunted. He had forgotten to ask but simply didn't wish to admit it. His friend had an irritating habit of nagging like a crone if things weren't going his way. Instead he decided to change the subject. Armen Albreght was having a lot of trouble with his new equipment and it offered an opportunity for Greel to evade the question.
"By the Gods Armen, will you stop fidgeting. How can a man concentrate on his job when you're constantly jerking your shoulders around like that? What's wrong anyway. I bet you didn't report to the Armourer did you? I swear, you complain all night about that blasted shoulder strap and then do naught about it."
For Armen it seemed an unfair aspersion. "Look Greel, I told the bludger to adjust the straps, but he just looked at me like I was stupid. Expects me to fix it myself. The old gear worked just fine and I didn't want to give it up anyway. This new chainmail is way too loose across the shoulders. Keeps slippin' off every time I move my sword arm. I tell you though, if there ever was any trouble here I'd spend more time pulling this blasted mailcoat up than fendin' off the Horde."
Greel could see the mailcoat was too broadly fitted and told his friend to stand still whilst he adjusted the strap himself. All it needed was a few extra holes and it could then be secured tighter. For just a few moments the guards took their eyes away from their watch as Greel worked quickly on the recalcitrant strapping. What they did not see was the three furtive shapes that slipped silently over the battlement and then disappeared into the town's dark streets below.



In the forest that ringed the port of Callenfrey the night was neither quiet nor restful. Amongst the trees that stood as silent pillars in the dark, a large number of Hresh Warriors spread out, taking up pre-determined positions and organising their ranks for the battle to come. Highly disciplined, they lived for combat and the spoils that came from conquest and violence. Before them lay a great prize and they were hungry for the treasures that would be found within its high walls.
For three weeks the Hresh Warband had endured forced marches and starvation to arrive within the fringes of the trees that surrounded the town. From the Wastes of the Sanhar they had come, crossing the treacherous passes of the Great Rift and slowly infiltrating through the forests of the Shan Valley until they had found their way to the coast. Now four hundred pairs of dull green eyes peered carefully from the undergrowth, and made preparation for the attack that had been the sole purpose of their journey.
The Hresh Chieftain Ansolon'Denmar knew the town would be unprepared, the small garrison no match for their number. For two days they had lain within the forest edge, watching the guards, checking the timing of patrols and determining the numbers of guardsmen rostered for the early hours. Ansolon's crue leaders had all agreed, Callenfrey was a target of opportunity that begged assault. Tonight they would attack. Tonight their scimitars would taste the blood of their enemies.
With only a few words of command his warriors quickly formed an extended line within the undergrowth at the forest's edge and waited for the signal to move forward. It was to be a quiet advance. No warcries, no beating of drums, just a determined rush for the few guards still at their posts, and then the systematic slaughter of all the townspeople within. Some would be taken as tribute for their masters but most would die, the town burned to the ground. It would be a statement the Nations of Men would not be able to ignore.
Ansolon watched as his scouts made it over the walls. Without cry or alarm they stole into the town and took up their positions at the harbourside. Their job was to torch the fishing boats and cargo scows that sat languidly at dockside. No one would be allowed to escape by sea. This was going to be an extermination.
When the Hresh Chieftain was sure his scouts were safely within the walls he signaled to his crue commanders to move forward. The rustle of hundreds of heavy-shod feet moving through the undergrowth was like that of the wind in the trees but his troops were well trained and well disciplined. As a quite black wave they crossed the short distance between the borders of the trees and the high walls of the town's defenses. In a series of carefully practiced movements, cloth-covered grappling hooks were thrown over the defensive wall and pulled tight against the battlements. With almost no sound the attackers began their climb up towards the unsuspecting guards, and in the gloom of night hauled themselves over the parapets.
Ansolon'Denmar was the first Hresh to make the wall. He knew his crue understood exactly what they had to do, the most crucial objective to get the entire Warband over the walls before the first alarm was raised. If they could achieve this then the town was theirs for the taking.
As he watched, the numbers of his dark warriors grew upon the battlement. The wall was high but not very wide, and it did not take long for the parapets to become crowded. Only then did he give the signal to move into the town itself. In groups of five his warriors began to descend the narrow stairs to the hard cobble of the streets below. Their luck at remaining undiscovered could only last a short time however.
Greel was the first to see the Hordim. At three bells in the morning only five guards were stationed upon the battlement and two of those manned the guard post at the main gate. The Hresh has timed their attack well, when only one guard stood alone upon the north wall. He died instantly, an arrow piercing his chest. As the Hresh spread out, one group made directly for the gatehouse and silently cut the unsuspecting guardsmen's throats. There had been no sound, only the muffled gurgle of a short, lethal attack. It was as the Hresh warriors left the gatehouse that they were spotted by Greel. He had completed his patrol of the wall and had stopped at the gatehouse palisade to wait for Armen to meet him there. Each had a section of the battlement to watch and most of the conversations they had were just quick words spoken when their patrols crossed. The movement below his position caught his eye immediately. For a moment he hesitated, unsure as to whether lack of sleep had affected his vision, but as the dark shapes began to move out into the town he could not doubt Callenfrey was in real trouble. Quickly he unfastened the horn that each guard kept at their belt and trumpeted a loud signal that broke the night air like a thunderclap.
The effects of the alarm were immediate. Lights came on all over the small town, the guard barracks suddenly alive with desperate guardsmen attempting to ready their equipment. The Hresh kept to their orders and made no sound. Although the town was coming to life at the sound of the alarm they knew that as long as there was no noise neither the town's people, nor its guards, could know how many they were, or their position as they spread through the streets. That was at least until the real work began.
Greel could see from his vantage upon the main gatehouse palisade exactly what the Hresh were doing. A large group were making straight for the guard barracks, other smaller groups spreading through the narrow cobbled streets and disappeared quickly into the shadows. He estimated there were hundreds of the creatures and despaired at the small number of soldiers that could be raised to meet them. If the town of Callenfrey was to survive it would be up to its citizens to beat back the Hordim attack.
With sword in hand Greel ran down the stairs that led from the main gate to the street below. His friend Armen was nowhere to be seen but he could not be concerned with that now. Inside the gatehouse was a small armoury with crossbows and a good supply of bolts. He had no chance against such a force alone, a few well-aimed bolts might however, even up the numbers.
At the run he made it to the gatehouse door and pushed hard but it would not open easily. The body of one of the guards lay prone across its threshold and it took all the strength he had to force the door wide enough to gain entrance. Once inside however, he resheathed his sword and took up one of the crossbows. With two belts of crossbolts in hand he ran quickly from the gatehouse and crouching low, made his way back up to the main gate's battlement. Here he would have a clear view of the entire length of the wall and a good third of the town as well. Carefully he loaded his crossbow and realised that he had far more targets than his supply of bolts could possibly bring down. He resolved to use them all to good effect.
The large group of Hresh making for the Barracks were his first target. In quick succession he felled three of the Hordim before a small group detached from the main force and moved back towards him.
"Oh cripes", he muttered under his breath, the Hresh running straight for his position, a look of murderous determination in their green eyes. He brought down two more before they reached the steps at the base of the gatehouse, but he had run out of time. Throwing down the crossbow he drew his sword and stood fast upon the battlement. At least here, within the narrow confines of the parapet, he would stand some chance against the fearsome creatures that now closed in upon him. As he waited the world seemed to slow down about him, his attackers closing as the world erupted before him in flames. The town was alight, the Hordim throwing flaming torches in all directions, burning everything they could reach. The cries of women and the sounds of combat were now rising above the crackling roar of houses alight and shops ablaze. Beyond the town a dull red glow lit up the sky, the harbour now burning as brightly as the town itself, and everywhere he could see the Hresh, killing indiscriminately as they went from house to house.
The first warrior that made it up the stairs to the parapet did not have to wait for Greel. At a rush the guardsmen slammed into the creature and threw it back onto the stone floor of the battlement. The second Hresh tripped upon the thrashing body of the first and both went down as Greel swung his sword. Both died where they lay but the rest of the Hresh did not hesitate. Jumping the prostrate bodies of their comrades they fell upon the hapless guard trying to force him against the wall where he might be pinned and killed. Greel was having none of it though, swinging his sword in a wide arc he kept the Hresh at bay whilst slowly moving backwards. Behind him was another set of stairs on the other side of the gates. If he could make it to them he might be able to make a run for the narrow town streets. There he might have a better chance.
Suddenly from the darkness emerged another shape. Along the parapet behind Greel the glowing fires of Callenfrey illuminated another figure, shorter than the Hresh it ran straight at Greel, the glint of steel flashing in the firelight.
"Get down Greel!" came a welcome voice. It was Armen, holding a long cavalry lance and aiming its razor-sharp blade directly at the first Hresh at Greel's front. The Guardsman flattened himself against the wall as Armen drove the lance straight through the first Hresh and into the second that stood behind. Armen pushed both backwards into the remainder of the Hordim and toppled them all onto the parapet. Avoiding the writhing morass of arms and legs Armen grabbed his friend and pulled him towards the other stairs.
"This is gettin' out of hand!" Armen gasped as he hauled his friend down onto the cobbles below. At a run the two guards raced into the streets and only stopped when they were sure the Hresh were not in pursuit. As they tried to recover their breath, they looked at each other and Armen shook his head in disbelief.
"Not exactly my idea of a quiet night by the seaside, eh?"
Greel smiled but he was too breathless to answer. Instead he looked to the east and the rising smoke pyres from the harbour. In such times their duty was clear, defence of the town meant finding what remained of the garrison and then driving the Hordim out. It would be easier said than done.
Greel looked at his comrade, "Any idea where the Watch Commander is?"
Armen shrugged his shoulders. "The last thing I saw was the Barracks under attack and the Hordim swarming around it. If he is still alive he ain't gunna be a happy man, I'll warrant."
Greel knew this would be the last night of their lives. All around them the town burned, bodies littered the streets and a terrible cry raised itself above the sound of the conflagration. If any of the garrison had survived they would be wherever the main body of Hordim were. To find them would be their objective as well.
With swords at the ready the two guards moved through the streets, passing burning buildings and the pitiful cries of their inhabitants. Carefully they negotiated their way to the Barracks and there they found the remainder of the Garrison. In the open square that fronted the small Barracks building a battle was ending. The garrison, caught unprepared, had been cut down as they had raced out onto the cobblestones. Only a few had survived and were now under siege, having fought their way back to the building itself. All around it the Hresh hammered and smashed at its walls with their scimitars, tearing at the windows and doors, trying to bring the structure down.
Greel looked at his friend and took a stronger grip upon his sword. "I guess this is as good a time as any to do something stupid eh?" Armen nodded. If they were going to die then it would be with their comrades. Without hesitation both guardsmen charged the Hresh, swinging their swords wildly as they ran. As they raced towards the Hordim a thick pall of acrid smoke descended upon the square and they disappeared into it, their weapons flashing red in the reflected light of a hundred fires.



Within the forests that surrounded Callenfrey all was quiet, the violence of the Hordim attack a distant murmur quickly lost in the dense undergrowth and tall timber. For Mallen Cael, slowly following the southern road as it wound its way to Callenfrey, it was almost the end of a long night. Two days travel from the town of Kal Mannion had left him sore and fatigued and he had only one desire, to find a comfortable rest in his own bed. Usually he would not be out on the road at this hour. His business abroad had left him delayed and unwisely traveling in the dark, but another half hour would see him home, and he was eager to see his brother.
Mallen was tired but his mind was full of the past day’s events. He had always done his best thinking upon the road, and as he made his way through the dense forest he went through a careful checklist of what he needed to do in the coming weeks. There were debts to be recovered and a long line of small jobs and other tasks that would need his attention. In the quiet he let his mind wander freely and in doing so he found it settling upon his younger brother. It was not an important thing but he hoped Tomas had remembered to close up the shop, he was always leaving it for Mallen and it could easily slip Tomas’s mind if he was not reminded. Still, he had good news for his little brother, another successful trade with the Mining Guild had placed in his hands enough copper plate to keep the shop in stock for the next year. It would be good to get home and tell him.
In the still of the night the steady rhythm of his horse's hooves against the trail was mesmerising. It was dark, only the thin edge of a waning moon throwing any light onto the dim forest ahead. His senses were still alert though. He had traveled the paths and trails of the North Coast for most of his life and he appreciated the need to always be on guard. The forests of this region harboured more than just the odd bandit.
As he traveled he considered the next move he should make. His metal-goods shop had been a huge success in the port of Callenfrey, and there was a good chance that there might be further opportunities for the same type of establishment elsewhere. All he needed was a bit more money and a few more trusted staff. He smiled when he thought about his brother's opinion on such ambitions. Given the chance Mallen knew Tomas would be quite content with the one shop, he had no greater plan than to live life and die happy. It was a simple objective, one that Mallen fully understood but it was not all that he wanted, he had greater ambitions and a greater need to succeed.
Their parents had died when they had been no more than youths. Mallen had taken his brother and together they had journeyed the roads of Kalborea, finding work where they could and living the hard life of the itinerant. Mallen had worked as a labourer, tracker, hunter and metalsmith. Any job that would put food in their mouths was good enough for him and somehow, after many years travel, they had ended up in Callenfrey. The shop had been Tomas's idea and the simple pans and jugs they had produced had been eagerly bought. Success was a sweet thing, something Mallen believed he deserved. For now at least he was happy.
A movement to the right of the road suddenly brought Mallen's senses into sharp focus. With no wind the forest was still and the slight flicker of light against a few moving leaves put all his senses on edge. His horse felt the change in its master's posture and quickened its gait. With hand resting lightly upon the hilt of his sword Mallen searched the undergrowth looking for any sign of trouble. He did not have to wait long for it.
From out of the darkness two Hresh scouts burst from the edges of the road, one reaching for Mallen, the other barreling into his horse's side. Taken by surprise the horse faltered, rearing backwards and twisting sideways as it tried to escape its shadowy attacker. In the sudden assault Mallen Cael lost control of his mount and the horse fell awkwardly into the undergrowth at the roadside, rolling over its rider and skidding down a long embankment into the shallows of a small stream.
In a fit of terror the horse bucked and grunted as it tried to regain its footing, and as the animal heaved itself upright it rammed straight into the pursuing Hresh, launching them both into the ferns at the stream's edge. In the confusion that followed Mallen scrambled deep into the shadows of the gully, his breath shallow as he waited for the Hordim to regain their feet. He dared not move a muscle lest he betray his position to his attackers.
Lost in the dark of the undergrowth Mallen laid still as the two Hresh crashed through the bushes looking for him. Each creature yelled low guttural oaths at the other as they searched for their intended victim, pulling up bushes and threshing the long grass as they went, but Mallen remained still, preferring the edges of the dense brush to any open confrontation with these two Hordim. In the gloom of a copse of giant ferns he lay watching as the Hordim became more and more agitated. In the light of the moon he could see their eyes glowing with a green-edged tinge as they scoured the embankment looking for him. The closest scout stopped only a few metres from where he lay and he could hear the Hresh's chest heaving with the exertion of the assault. The Hordim was only lightly attired, a crudely fashioned leather jerkin barely covering a body well-muscled and slick with sweat. In the Hresh's hand rested a jagged scimitar that glinted razor-sharp in the moonlight.
With the smell of damp earth in his nostrils Mallen lay unmoving as the second scout searched the other side of the stream. Both were frustrated by their inability to find him and the young Kalborean did not doubt that if they did he would die.
By a chance of fate it was his horse that saved him. From somewhere further along the stream it called frantically to its master, and with grunts of cruel anticipation the creatures charged off after it, leaving Mallen alone in the dark. It was an opportunity he was not going to let pass. When the Hordim were a safe distance further down the gully he raised himself to his feet and carefully climbed back up to the roadway. A quick check of the road showed it to be clear, and he ran desperately in the direction of Callenfrey, a chill in his spine compelling him onwards.
Watching closely for any further sign of danger Mallen raced for the safety of the town's high walls. In his mind his thoughts were a patchwork of fear and confusion. He had only ever seen such creatures once in his life. It had been an execution of prisoners in the far hinterland of Kalborea, at a time when the Hordim had been raiding deep into the plains of the west. The possibilities of what they were doing here left him in a state of anxiety for his brother’s safety.
Through the forest he moved quietly but quickly. His horse had been lost to him but at least he was alive. Amongst the trees he felt exposed and alone, and he could only wonder at the reasons why such creatures should be here. And he knew there would be more, of this he was certain. Hresh could only be this far down the coast if they were part of a larger group. Long experience with the Hordim had shown Men that they always had a reason for what they did, and they always worked to a plan. The creatures that attacked him were in the forest for a purpose, and that meant everybody was at risk.
When Mallen finally broke from the trees he stood upon a high hill looking down at the port of Callenfrey. Ahead the road twisted its way into a small valley which then opened up into a flat area of farmlands and the port itself against the sea. The town was surrounded on three sides by forest, nestled beneath a series of hills that protected it from the strongest of the north winds. The high wall that encircled it shone in the dim moonlight with a gray edge and it should have been a familiar sight, but this night what confronted Mallen Cael took his breath away.
The town was on fire. A great conflagration tore and swirled through the port. Buildings were aflame and a huge pall of smoke hung as a veil over everything. In the harbour boats of all sizes wallowed, burnt to the waterline, sinking slowly into the black waters. And above it all was the chilling sounds of people crying out, of sorrow and anger mixed in torment. Mallen ran, it was all he could do. His brother was somewhere within the ruins of the town, his only thought that he must find him.


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Chronicles of Arborell, Copyright Wayne Densley 2005 All Rights Reserved

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