Black clouds covered the sky, blocking out all light of the sun. Rain poured down in sheets, lightning zipping across the sky. Less than a second after the lightning could be seen, thunder crashed with a great noise, shaking the walls of the battered castle.
Not a single animal could be seen. For they had all gone into hiding, seeking shelter from the endless rains. The plants were dying, having been drowned and deprived of sunlight. The grass was an unhealthy shade of dark brown. Fallen trees littered the plains, their bark decaying, their leaves floating in the puddles that were scattered about.
The castle was tall and dark. Its walls were beaten and battered, covered in grime and filth. Long vines, covered in poisonous spines, crawled up its sides, killing off all other plant life that dared to attempt to grow anywhere nearby. Several of the castle�s tallest towers had crumbled, and now lay broken upon the ground below, or scattered about the inside walls of the city which contained the castle.
Blood stained the castle walls. All around the castle were small houses of wood and stone alike, many of them burnt and charred. Peasants, including women and children, worked the fields, and did masonry work, erecting statues of vile, hideous demons and monsters of the darkness. Their faces were twisted into sadistic, evil grins, showing teeth carved of fine white ivory, sharp as a razor.
The peasants worked without rest. They were covered in scars and bruises, and their tools were of the lowest quality. Expressions of pain and sadness were upon their faces as they worked, supervised by dark men, clad in jet-black chain mail, carrying swords, whips, and instruments of torture. They were tall, their eyes shining with a bright red fire. Upon their heads were coifs of the same color and make as their mail, and upon the coifs were set smooth helms, embedded with black gems, and unholy inscriptions in a forgotten tongue of the darkness.
Dead bodies littered the streets. Some were of warriors, others of slaves. Even the massacred bodies of young children lay upon the roads, their faces frozen in cries of pain and terror. Broken weapons, helms, and mail hauberks lay around the bodies, covered in their dried red blood. Inscriptions of dark spells were carved upon the roads, in the same language as those that were carved onto the helms of the dark knights.
The wind howled as it rushed madly through the city, twisting in between buildings, around and through the castle towers, and across the flooded plains. Droplets of rain hit the stone hard, splashing upwards before settling into one of the large puddles that abounded.
Not a single plant grew in the city; not a single tree, bush, or vine, save the gruesome, spiked vines growing along the castle walls. They twisted upward, their long spikes giving the decrepit castle a menacing look.
In the inner halls, a tall man, clad in mail, sat upon a demonic throne. A sword was at his side, it�s blade covered in blood. He grinned sadistically, his eyes burning with a hellish fire.
"Lord Oredun!" Called a voice from behind the throne room doors. "I bring news from the battlefield!"
Oredun smiled darkly. He was sure that his army had been triumphant. "You may enter." His voice was cold and hard, yet carrying with it a powerful aura of greatness and terror.
A tall, thin man pushed aside the door. He wore a black leather tunic, a small dagger at his side. His face was pale and white, covered in bruises. He looked underfed, having gone many days without food. His blue eyes gave away his utter hatred for the Black Knight who sat before him.
Oredun growled, his eyes for a moment shining brighter red than before. "Why hast thou come to bring me news, Virelian vermin? Where is the normal messenger of my armies?" He was filled with anger that a Virelian slave should be in his presence.
"I know not," replied the messenger. "But they asked me to deliver to you news of the battle at Elernol."
"Well then," Oredun replied. "Tell me, and quickly, before I feel the need to rid you of your head."
"Yes Lord..." Fear entered the man�s voice as he began to speak. "Lord Rengar of Elernol has fallen in battle with the portion of your army that was dispatched to destroy the city."
"Very good," said Oredun, clasping his hands together. "Is that all there is to tell? Or have you more news for me?"
"There is more..." The messenger trailed off, fearing to bring bad tidings to the Black Knight.
"Well?" The Black Knight was eager to hear more of his army�s victory at the guard city of Elernol.
"The tidings are not good," spoke the messenger. "Even as the forces of Elernol seemed beaten, the White Army arrived from the north. Neyteg, of Cirtenia, and Eldamir, of Relnin, led the White Army. Also in the army was Arozal, heir of Coralis, and Felimor, Prince of Serassia. They annihilated your army, leaving not a single survivor." Although he tried to hold it back, the man smiled at the thought of Oredun�s forces at Elernol falling to the White Army.
Oredun clenched his fists, his eyes again flaring bright red with anger. He stood up, raising his hand to strike the messenger. "Though my attack upon Elernol may have failed, I shall still win the war. The White Army, and all of its supporters, shall be crushed."
Without a word, the messenger slowly drew the dagger, which hung at his side. Its handle was of gray metal, laced with black. Its blade was sharp, made of a metallic silver blue substance. The man leapt forward, driving the dagger towards Oredun�s heart.
Without so much as a look, the Black Knight caught the dagger, only inches from his chest. He looked upon the Virelian man, chuckling softly. "You sought to kill me. You are indeed quite foolish."
"I... I..." The man backed away, his mind racing. There had to be some way he could escape. And how had the enemy caught his dagger? He hadn�t looked, hadn�t seen it coming. So how? It must have been some Black Magic, or superhuman power that the Black Knight possessed.
"You what?" Oredun asked, toying with him. There was nothing he enjoyed more than watching a foolish man beg for mercy that he had no chance of receiving, just before he was slain.
"Please, Lord!" Yelled the man, dropping to his knees. "Spare me!"
Oredun laughed harshly, turning the dagger in his fingers. "No, I shall not spare thee my wrath. I shall cut out thy heart, and burn thy body."
"No!" The man jumped to his feet, aiming a blow at Oredun. His fist impacted hard with the jaw of his enemy. Blood spurted from his knuckles where they had come into contact with the black coif his opponent wore, but he ignored it. He kicked high, catching Oredun just below the chin.
The Black Knight stood still. The man threw another punch, but this time, Oredun reached out and caught the man�s fist. "Again thou hast tried to attack me, foolish man. I shall enjoy watching thee die in agony." He pulled sharply downward, cracking the man�s arm at the elbow.
The messenger cried out in pain, falling backwards. Before he hit the ground, Oredun was pulling him upwards by his hair. Blood seeped from his arm, and his bone was exposed, its white surface shining in the torchlight.
"Have you any last words?" Oredun switched hands, now holding the man by the neck with his left hand. With his right hand, he withdrew the dagger that the man had earlier used to make an assassination attempt against him. He held its clean, sharp blade against the man�s neck, pressing it inward just enough to draw a tiny droplet of bright, red blood from the man�s skin.
"P-please..." The man stuttered, unable to breath.
"What futile words..." Muttered Oredun. He smiled sadistically, chuckling evilly. He moved the blade downward, making a long cut across the man�s body, stretching from his neck to his heart. Then, without a word, Oredun pushed the shining blade into the man�s chest with all his strength. He released his grip on the man, allowing him to fall to the ground, writhing in agony.
The man struggled in vain to remove the dagger from deep within his chest. It had penetrated his heart. There was no hope of living for the man. Blood poured from the wound, staining the battered stone floor a dark shade of red. He lay in a pool of the sticky liquid, watching as his life force drained away slowly.
"I tire of this," Oredun said. He stepped forward, staring down at the man.
The man looked up at him, his eyes full of pain and terror. Fighting against death, he spoke. "Oredun, your power is not forever. The White Army shall crush you."
"I think not," replied Oredun. He raised his boot above the man�s head. "Goodbye, foolish one." He stamped downward, crushing the man�s skull beneath his heel.
The Black Knight smiled darkly, and walked back to his throne. He sat down upon his throne again, calling for his guards. "Dispose of this body."
Two men entered the room. They bowed before Oredun, their lord and master. They then picked up the body of the Virelian man, and hurried from the room, ignoring the trail of blood, which they left to dry upon the stone floor of the castle.
Oredun again chuckled. He had enjoyed killing the messenger. What a fool the man had been to attempt to slay him, the Black Knight, the new Lord of Anglemour. Yet, the death of the man was quick and painless, compared to what he had planned for Neyteg, Arozal, Felimor, Eldamir, and the rest of the so-called White Army.
Felimor stood upon the gray bricks of the tower, looking down at the world below. His mail was dirty and battered, having suffered much damage in the battle. He wore no helm, allowing his long, dark hair to flow freely in the wind. In the distance, the sun had begun to set beneath the horizon. Night approached fast, bringing with it black clouds to cover the stars and moon.
The Serassian Prince lay deep in thought. So much had happened in such a short time. Yet ever did his mind stray toward Dahgoren, and most of all, his thoughts focused on Erenis. He sighed deeply, looking at the lands below him. The ground was scorched from fire and lightning, and in the center, a great spot of black lay where the bodies had been burned. Glittering shards of swords and other weapons were strewn about the field of battle.
Erenis... How he longed to again be with her. For three years he had stayed in Dahgoren, three years of happiness. It seemed so long ago now. It had all changed that day, the day Endeln and Arozal came running into the city, claiming the Black Knight had arisen. Now he stood atop the greatest tower of Elernol, having only hours before battled against, and defeated, the Black Army of Oredun, or a portion of it, at least. Far greater battles were before him, he was sure. But he could not give up, could not return to Dahgoren until the war had been won, until the Black Army was annihilated and Oredun cast from his dark throne and slain.
His thoughts again turned to Erenis. How was she faring? Had life been good to her? Did she still think of him? So many questions, so many questions, which would have to remain unanswered for many months to come, until the war was over. It seemed that everything now revolved around this war. Not just his fate, but also the fate of all of Anglemour, and every living thing in it.
Felimor turned away, moving his right hand to rest upon the hilt of his sword. Its cold, hard metal felt good against his warm, sweaty palm. In the past, he had always been comforted by having the blade at his side, or in holding the blade in his hands. But now, even grasping the handle of the sword ever so tightly, he did not feel totally safe. For he alone could do naught against the Black Army.
He knelt on the ground, his knees pressing onto the cold stone of the tower rooftop. He clasped his hands in front of his face, closing his eyes lids over his bright blue eyes. He prayed. "Arendil... Long have you watched over the lands. Even today, you blessed our armies, giving us the strength to defeat the Black Army. But even bloodier battles shall come soon, and I fear Oredun is indeed the mortal form of Nauglen, the Black One. Please, Arendil, White One, Lord of the Light, deliver us from his reign of terror and death. Save us, my lord. I beg thee..."
He finished praying and rose to his feet, feeling again the wind upon his face. And again, he grasped the hilt of his blade. Upon his back, he could feel the great weight of the heavy longbow. Beside it, his pouch of arrows was full. After the battle, the people of Elernol had been kind enough to supply him with their finest arrows, each carved from hand, and of extremely high quality.
"It is time now I returned to the others..." He spoke softly to himself as he moved towards the doorway to the tower. He opened it, moving down the long steps. He came to the large, empty room where the warriors had gathered. In one corner of the room stood Neyteg, Arozal, Eldamir, and a young woman whom he did not recognize.
Arozal turned, hearing footsteps. "Felimor!" He called. "Come join us. We now discuss our next action against the Black Army of Oredun."
Felimor moved swiftly towards them, coming to stand in between Arozal and Eldamir. "What is it you wish of me?" He asked, wondering of what they had been speaking of before he had come into the almost completely empty room.
"First," said Arozal. "This is Eurisko, daughter of the now deceased Rengar, Lord of Elernol."
"Hail, Noble Lady," Felimor bowed low before her. "I am Felimor, Prince of Serassia, companion to Arozal."
"Greetings, Lord Felimor," replied Eurisko politely.
"Now," said Neyteg. "Let us return to matters of importance. Eldamir, what were you saying?"
Eldamir began to speak, his voice grave and serious. "We have beaten a small portion of the Black Army, but nonetheless, we surely have taken Oredun by surprise. He will now be eager to destroy us. We must make all haste back towards the stronghold in Ceres Ellenon. There we can withstand a siege for nearly a year with the great store of food and the underground streams. If he catches us at unawares on the plains, we shall surely fall beneath his might. We cannot defeat him by brute force alone."
"I wholly agree," replied Neyteg. "We must return to Ceres Ellenon, and there plan our next action."
"May I come with you, Lord?" Asked Eurisko, finally. Her innocent voice had a hard edge to it.
"Young lady," responded Neyteg, his voice uncertain. "You are not a warrior, but a maiden. Stay here in Elernol, where you will be safe."
"No!" Eurisko flared with anger. "I am a warrior. I can fight alongside you. I will come with you, no matter what."
"Indeed," added in Arozal. "I have seen her upon the field of battle. Very skilled is she in the arts of war. She would make a fine addition to the White Army, or so I think, Lord Neyteg."
Neyteg sighed softly. "Then so be it," his voice still seemed uncertain. "The Lady Eurisko is to come with us, to aid us in battle to the best of her abilities. Let us now return to Ceres Ellenon."
"Yes, let us go." Eldamir turned, moving down the long flight of stairs. The others followed, moving at a quick pace. They had not a moment to waste, for that single short moment could mean the difference between life and death.
The company left the city, followed by the White Army. Only the soldiers of Elernol and some two hundred knights were left to defend the guard city, with its tall, gray walls of smooth stone rising high above the empty plains, which surrounded it. The White Army moved swiftly, though not as much so as when they had first journey to Elernol.
They rested frequently enough, and ate their fill. They slept at night under the stars, leaving only a small watch of guards, which defended their encampment in shifts, switching off every few hours. But not a single guard did they need, for their journey back to Ceres Ellenon went without trouble, save the occasional wolf or two.
Mid day on the third week they arrived at their stronghold. As the White Army approached, everything seemed to be in good order. The sun shone brightly above, without a single cloud in the blue sky to block out its golden rays of warm, yellow light, which shone upon the ground below, as well as upon the mail of the White Army. Together, clad in mail of all different colors, they appeared very bright, shimmering like a huge gem set upon the Earth.
Neyteg dismounted his horse, leaving it to the care of one of the younger knights, looking to be only sixteen years of age, or thereabouts. Arozal, Felimor, Eurisko, and Eldamir did likewise, dismounting their mighty horses and leaving them to the care of the young man.
"It�s good to be home," said Neyteg, taking a deep breath of air.
"I can hardly call this place home..." Replied Arozal, his voice low and sad.
"Arozal," spoke Felimor. "Are you sure you�re alright? I know everything that has happened lately must be hard on you. It�s hard on me, as well, though I know it hurts you more. You are strong, my friend. Let it show. Do not hide behind your depression."
"I cannot help it," replied Arozal. "My whole life was torn away from me. The only thing left for me is my memories, but even they fill me with depression."
"Let go of the depression," cut in Eldamir. "It stains your memories, twisting them into horrid visions. You must face the fact that your father is gone."
"I have accepted that my father is gone." A hint of anger had begun to seep into Arozal�s voice. "And it is all my fault that he is gone. And now, it is up to me to slay the man I once called my father."
"Stop blaming yourself!" Neyteg shouted, becoming frustrated at the attitude of the young warrior. "Erozal died, and it wasn�t your fault. There is nobody to blame. It is in the past, and the past will not change. The being that now controls his body is in no way your father, Arozal. We�ve been over this before. Your father is gone, and Oredun is not. It is up to all of us to rid the world of the evil that is Oredun, the Black Knight."
"Do not tell me what I already know," shot back Arozal.
Eurisko suddenly spoke, her voice soft. "Arozal, I know what you�re going through. I know it�s hard. But you can�t let the anger control you. Your anger is not at Neyteg and the others, but at Oredun. As is mine. We�re all your friends. You can trust us, Arozal. Please, just understand."
"I..." Arozal bowed his head, looking ashamed. "I�m sorry, everyone. I did not mean to become angry."
"It�s alright, my friend." Felimor laid a hand upon Arozal�s shoulder. "We�re here for you, always."
"I thank you," replied Arozal, raising his head and smiling weakly.
"Now that this has been solved," spoke Neyteg, turning towards the deep, dark chasm, which lay before them. "Let us enter the stronghold, and there we may rest and plan our next course of action against the Black Army of Oredun."
And so, they descended into the stronghold. The march down the stairway was long and tiresome, tolling heavily upon the already weary warriors. Ever more horrifying was what they saw upon reaching the bottom of the canyon.
The oak door to the stronghold was torn off its hinges, covered in dents and scratches, cast down upon the ground. Blood stained not only the door, but also the floors and the walls. It dripped from the ceiling, falling upon the ground below. The entire entrance hall was covered in the sticky red liquid. Bodies were littered about, clad in torn mail and crushed helms, their coifs ripped into many pieces. Still clutched in their hands were long broad swords, their blades bloody, many of them having shattered beneath the warriors as they fell to the ground. Wooden tables and chairs were overturned, broken into many pieces and scattered about the large, blood-covered entrance hall.
The whole place was destroyed. Not a single living soul was left in the stronghold, which had been thought to be totally and completely safe. Even the woman and young children who escaped to the stronghold had been slain, their bodies cast on the ground just as those of the fallen warriors. Carved upon the wall in crude, dark lettering were the words "Oredun fer denut", which meant, "Darkness has come" in the high language of ancient Anglemour. Underneath it was inscribed, "The White Army shall fall before our might. No mortal may challenge the power and fury of Oredun, the Black Knight, high lord of all Anglemour".
Neyteg stood in awe, looking at the destruction that lay before him. His stronghold, his home, everything he had left, it was gone, destroyed. All the people who had trusted him that they would be safe, they were all dead. "How can this be?" He was in shock, and for the moment, he was weak. Anger and disbelief surged through his body, fully uncontrolled, as he stood unmoving.
Eldamir was the first to speak. He stood next to Neyteg, taking in the horrific setting. "Neyteg, my friend..." He knew not what to say, but he felt the need to try his best to help out the aging Paladin. "Do not grieve. We will avenge their deaths. Oredun shall fall before the might of the White Army."
Neyteg sighed. "Let us go from this place, before grief wholly overtakes me. I can bear no longer to see this foul site."
And so, without another word, they again left the stronghold deep within Ceres Ellenon. Mounting their horses in silence, the army turned and rode towards Relnin. For that seemed to be the only major location still remaining under the control of the White Army and its followers.
The boy raced through the dark woods, feet hitting the ground hard. He ran full speed through the thick brush, hopping over outstretched tree roots. He wore simple white clothing, torn and drenched with fresh blood. There was a long bloody gash across his forehead, just above his long, thick, dark eyebrows. His eyes were green, yet at the moment they were bloodshot, traced with red lines. Most of his thick, blond hair was torn out, leaving his scalp badly bruised and bloodied, covered all over with small cuts and gashes of all sizes.
He had no weapons and no armor, yet he appeared as if he had had only just returned from a horribly gruesome and fierce battle. He breathed heavily as he ran, weaving in and out of the large, brown trees. Branches and bushes tore at his legs and face, bringing upon his skin more blood. The forest was dark, with no stars or moon to cast upon it the light of which none did it have. Owls hooted loudly, their mysterious, haunting calls filling the wooded area. Dark clouds floated by overhead, ominous and foreboding.
The boy ran as if the Nauglen himself was at his back. His long legs stretched across the forest floor, then hit with a soft thud. Twigs snapped, and bushes flew backwards, whipping him in the face. His breathing became heavier than before, until finally he could no longer go on. He stumbled, tripping over the gnarled, outstretched root of a tall gray tree, its leaves falling as his feet caught upon the ancient, twisted root. He fell, flying several feet before impacting hard with the trunk of a small, broad tree, its branches already fallen and laying upon the leaf-covered ground. His face hit hard, again opening up the long, deep gash, which ran across his forehead. Blood poured onto the ground as the young boy pressed his hand against the wound, attempting to stop the flow of the sticky red liquid.
He moaned softly in pain. A black veil had come over his eyes as he fought with all his might to stay conscious. "Ugh..." He muttered, attempting to turn over. Without a doubt, his right arm was broken, the bone shattered into thousands of minuscule shards.
In the distance, there was a shuffling in the brush. From a particularly dark patch of trees, two figures appeared, clad in shining black chain mail, leather hoods wrapped tightly about their lean, cruel faces, hiding their dark eyes, which shone with malice and hatred for all. They carried mighty swords, with thick gray handles and long, sharp black blades, tipped with a powerful poison.
The smaller of the two knights was the first to speak, standing just behind and to the left of his taller, thinner companion. "Where�d he go?"
The taller warrior growled, then spoke, his raspy voice deep and harsh. "I know not. But the boy is somewhere around here. I am sure of it. I smell his filthy Virelian blood in the air."
"Yeah," replied the first black clad warrior. "But where is he? We�ve got to kill him!"
"So foolish," the second said, his dark eyes scanning the area. "You are too willing to rush into things. You lust for violence, yet you are unwilling to think. Slow down, plan your maneuvers, then strike with a concentrated fury and decimate your opponent."
"Don�t give me another of your speeches." The smaller warrior had begun to sound indignant. "I�ll do what I wish, whether you approve or not."
"You will learn, in time." The tall one chuckled softly, still scanning the area. "I smell the boy. He is nearby. I smell his sweat. I smell his blood. I even smell the immense fear building up within his heart."
At that moment, the boy made a foolish mistake. He shifted his position, and in the process, a twig broke. The simple noise seemed as loud as thunder in the almost fully silent night air. Even as he quieted himself, he knew that he had made a fatal mistake. Death was soon to come upon him, to end his young life without question.
"There he is," spoke the taller warrior, calmly moving toward the boy, sword in hand. He smiled sadistically as he pressed the sharp blade against the boy�s throat, drawing a single drop of bright red blood. "You know what mistake you made, don�t you boy? You know why you�re going to die here tonight, do you not?"
Suddenly, the boy took on a defiant air, speaking out the best he could with the black bladed sword pressing into his neck. "I know what I have done, but I know not why I should die for it. I did what is just, what needed to be done. I did the will of Arendil, as should be done always."
"Foolish vermin!" The smaller warrior kicked the boy in the stomach, causing him to roll several feet, clutching his midsection in extreme pain from where the heavy boot of the armor clad man had impacted so forcefully with his skin.
"Enough!" The taller of the two held him back, throwing his smaller, weaker companion to the ground. "I shall deal with this foolish young man." He turned again to the boy, his mouth twisted into a dark, sadistic grin, his eyes shining with a bitter red fury. "Tell me what you did. It is not for you to judge what is the will of the White One. Arendil is but a weak fool. Nauglen, the Black One, it is he who holds true power."
"That is not so," replied the boy angrily, for a moment forgetting that the tall, skinny man could slay him on a whim, and think nothing more of it. "As for what I did... I was worked in the fields, and the slave driver spoke harshly to me, yelling insults at me, and at my family as well. I simply refused to stand for it. So, I picked up a large rock, waiting until he turned, and broke his skull to pieces. I then ran, pursued into these small, dark woods by you and your companion."
"So you admit to murdering the man?" Asked the smaller warrior, for a moment gaining control of his fierce temper.
"Yes," responded the boy, trying to mask the pain and fear in his voice. "Yes, I admit to killing him, and I would do it again, if I got the chance. He was a fool, just like both of you. All who follow Oredun and become part of his Black Army are foolish."
"I need not hear anymore," said the taller warrior. He pressed his sword downward, and within less than a second, the boy was dead, his severed head rolling down the hill. Without a word, the two sheathed their weapons, walking slowly away from the forest, satisfied with the completion of their task.