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Chronicles of Arborell, Copyright Wayne Densley 2008 All Rights Reserved
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 In the restless quiet of a warm night the port town of Callenfrey slumbered. The passage of a hot Summer had almost come to an end, but the lingering heat of those long days remained, the town sweating in the embrace of a night without breeze, no relief promised from the humid air that rolled onshore from the nearby sea. Townsfolk 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 find rest. It was not a comfortable night.
In the dim illumination of a crescent moon Callenfrey sat against the languid shores of the Grey 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 had put a large force of Hresh moving southwards in search of plunder and slaves, and 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 were not happy though. For Armen Albreght and Janen Greel in particular the dark hours had proven a hard shift.
"I tell you Armen there is no good reason for us to be walking the parapet this night. The Horde is nowhere to be found 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 relentlessly if things weren't going his way. Instead he decided to change the subject. Armen was having a lot of trouble with his new equipment and it offered an opportunity for Greel to evade the question.
"By the Fates Armen, will you stop fidgeting. How can a man concentrate on his job when you're constantly jerking your shoulder 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 'aught 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 shield 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. Focused on the adjustment they did not see 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 a large number of Hresh Warriors moved purposefully, taking up pre-determined positions within the undergrowth. 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, 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 that begged assault.
Hidden within the shadows Ansolon checked the disposition of his forces and then motioned to his brother, who stood quietly at his right shoulder.
"The vehmin remain unprepared, Gehdru."
His brother nodded as he surveyed the town's defences. "Yes Tuan. Their walls are high but they are under-manned, and vulnerable because of it."
Ansolon agreed. "Call the crue to battle order. The bidding of our Masters must be done here but remember brother, what we need can be found here as well. When you find the ones we seek bring them to me unharmed."
Gehdru'Denmar stood to attention then disappeared into the surrounding trees. In the quiet that followed Ansolon considered the battle to come and felt his heart race at the expectation of it. This was the purpose that they had been created for, instruments of violence that enjoyed no concept of mercy or defeat, and he could see in the eyes of every soldier in his crue that same anticipation. He was not going to make his Hresh'na wait any longer.
With only a few words of command his warriors quickly formed an extended line 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 the townspeople within. Some would be taken 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 climbed silently over the walls. Without cry or alarm they stole into the town and made for their positions along the harbour foreshore. It would be their job to torch the fishing boats and cargo scows that sat languidly at dockside for no-one would be allowed to escape by sea. If all went to plan their assault would be more than a simple attack, it would be an extermination.
When the Hresh Chieftain saw his scouts 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. As a quiet black wave they crossed the short distance between the borders of the surrounding forest and the high walls of the town's defenses. In a series of carefully practiced movements, cloth-covered grappling hooks arched over the defensive wall and were then pulled tight against the battlements. With almost no sound the attackers began their climb towards the unsuspecting guards, and in the gloom of the 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 could be raised. If they could achieve this the town would be 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 descended the narrow stairs to the hard cobble of the streets below, each squad fading quietly into the shadowed lanes and alleys.
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 had 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 struggle 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 south 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. As he waited the dark shapes moving through the shadowed streets below caught his eye immediately.
For a moment he hesitated, unsure as to whether lack of sleep had affected his vision, but as the creatures began to move further into the town he could not doubt that Callenfrey was in real danger. Quickly he unfastened the horn he kept at his 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. In the face of their discovery the Hresh kept to their orders and made no sound. Although the town was coming to life at the cry of the alarm they knew that as long as they made 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 directly for the guard barracks, other smaller groups spreading through the narrow cobbled streets before disappearing quickly into their shadows. He estimated there were hundreds of the creatures and despaired at the small number of soldiers that could be raised to meet them. He knew then that if the town of Callenfrey was to survive it would be up to its citizens to beat back the Horde 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 stood a small armoury with crossbows and a good supply of bolts. He had no chance against such a force alone, though a few well-aimed bolts might 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 sheathed his sword and took up one of the crossbows. With two belts of crossbolts in hand he ran quickly from the gatehouse and made his way back up to the main gate's battlement. From this vantage he had a clear view of the entire length of the wall and a good portion of the town as well. Carefully he loaded his crossbow, but he knew 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 as the Hresh ran 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 there, within the narrow confines of the parapet, he would stand some chance against the fearsome creatures that now closed in upon him.
It was as he waited that the world seemed to slow down, his attackers illuminated in red 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 he could see a dull red glow lighting up the sky, the harbour burning as brightly as the town itself, and everywhere there were the Hresh, killing indiscriminately as they moved from house to house.
The first warrior that made it 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. They 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 warriors at bay whilst slowly moving backwards. Behind him lay another set of stairs and realising that there were simply too many of the Hordim he retreated, his intention to make a run for the narrow streets below. If there were to be any organised resistance given to the Hordim it would be found in the town itself and he knew that was where his duty lay.
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!" shouted 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 shouted 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 had been left behind. 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 that was quickly obscuring the sky overhead. In such times their duty was clear. Defence of the town meant finding what remained of the garrison and then driving the Hordim out. At that moment is seemed to the guardsman easier thought about than actually 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."
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 arose 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 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 there could be no better place than alongside their comrades. Without hesitation both guardsmen charged the Hresh, shouting 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 glare of a hundred raging fires.
Within the forests that surrounded Callenfrey all remained quiet, the violence of the Hordim attack a distant murmur quickly lost within 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 such an 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' 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 of his success.
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. Upon this quiet path his senses were still alert though. He had traveled the roads of the North Coast for most of his life and he appreciated the need to remain on guard. It was an unfortunate truth that 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 for 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. Without family to rely upon 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 had been good enough for him and somehow, after many years travel, they had ended up in Callenfrey. The shop had been Tomas' idea and the simple pans and jugs they had produced had been eagerly traded within the town and then along the entire coast. Success was a sweet thing, something Mallen believed he deserved. For now at least he was happy.
It was upon a crest in the road ahead that a movement to his right abruptly brought Mallen's thoughts to a sharper 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. Immediately 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 to find him.
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 shadowed attackers. In the sudden assault Mallen Cael lost control of his mount and the horse reared 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 breathing stilled 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 within the dark 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 the two Hordim. In the gloom beneath a thicket of giant ferns he lay watching as the Hordim became more and more agitated. In the subtle 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 remained close enough that he could hear the Hresh's chest heaving with the exertion of the assault.
It was only then that Mallen was able to have his first good look at his attackers. Through the thick ferns he watched as the Hordim searched the gully. Each of the Hresh were only lightly attired but their equipment was well-made, simply cut jerkins and breeches covering bodies well muscled and slick with sweat. Shrouded within the shadows their faces appeared not unlike those of men, but their features were heavier and less distinguishable. He came to realise quickly that he could not tell the Hordim apart, their faces identical, even to a tattoo of three tear-shaped marks beneath their right eyes. As Mallen hid he could see the creatures' skin colouration changing as they moved, merging between dark grey and a silvered green as they thrashed the gully's floor. The Kalborean had heard rumours of this strange ability but he had never seen it for himself. Beneath the canopy of overhanging trees it made them practically invisible.
Upon the Hordim's bodies only two things did not change. In the shadows their hair remained jet black, cut to a single ponytail falling from the nape of their necks, and upon their right arms a complex series of tattoos ran from their shoulders to their wrists. Mallen could see however, that each of the Hordim's tattoos were different and he wondered if this were the only way that the warriors might recognise each other. Most noticeable however, were their ornately engraved scimitars. In the moonlight they shimmered like polished silver, gleaming razor sharp as the Hordim hacked at the vegetation about them.
With the smell of damp earth in his nostrils Mallen lay unmoving as the scouts searched the other side of the stream. Both were frustrated by their inability to find him, and the young Kalborean had no doubt that if they did he would die.
By a chance of fate it was his horse that saved him. From somewhere 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 without looking back he ran desperately in the direction of Callenfrey, the warmth of the night no counter to the chill in his spine that compelled him forwards.
Watching carefully 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 Hresh once before in his life, at a time when the Hordim had been raiding along the fringes of the plains in the west. The possibilities of what they were doing within the forest left him in a deep state of anxiety for his brother’s safety.
Through the trees he moved quickly. His horse had been lost to him but at least he was alive and he intended to remain that way. He could only wonder though, at the reasons why such creatures had found their way to Callenfrey. In his mind he knew there must be more, for the Hresh could only have made their way so far down the coast if they were part of a larger group. Long experience with the Hordim had shown Men that there was always a reason for what they did, and that 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 2008 All Rights Reserved
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