The land was bathed red, and the dull glow of the sun created an orange haze in the air. The small rugged trees of the Alhest Mountain foothills leaned with the subtle wind. The wind carried through the Gamerst Ravine, whispering secrets through the current. A small rodent-like creature sniffed the air, smelling a new scent, and then it scurried away quickly as a worn leather boot entered its view.

The man walked over the small hill, choosing his path wisely, for there were many loose rocks about, and a slip could mean a fall back down into the depths of the ravine.

He walked as if in a great hurry, and he moved fast as he scaled a steep wall of rock. A steel sword swung wildly on his belt as he climbed, and he steadied it with one hand, and then swung over the top of the rock wall.
 

The trees were absent on the top of the small hill, and the fading sun created shadows on his sharp face, and illuminated the small amount of stubble that was growing on his chin.

His worn hood kept his eyes unseen, and only a small amount of his brown hair was visible. He looked around, and then jumped back into the small amount of bushes offered near him. He was camouflaged well by his dark green, brown, and gray clothes, and from the bush he peered out at the valley that rested five miles to the west. They called it Falling Valley, and for good reason, as showers of rocks would tumble down into the valley often from the cliffs on either side. His face looked suspicious as he looked at the valley, but eventually he stood.

“Not yet.” He muttered, and then he looked back to the east. “Aradais may stand by tomorrow.”

It was then, as if dramatically, that the sun sent its last dying rays shooting across the rocky terrain, and bathed a huge structure in its orange glow. In fact, the structure was built up of many other structures, but from a distance, the huge thing appeared to be one because of the huge wall that surrounded it.

The man’s face seemed to become sad as he looked at the city. The sun began to fade, and then it sunk behind the mountains, and the whole area was cloaked in the mask of darkness. The man sighed, and began to make for the direction of the city, and as he walked, he began to sing softly.

“There used to be a hero,

From the land of Gladarone.

His name was Falahais,

And his armor ever shone.

Of his deeds they told,

And of his sword they sang.

They sang of its silver,

And how in war it rang.”

The rest of his words were impossible to tell, for the wind picked up, and he hurried faster, and the tune on his lips was only a dull hum. The man picked his way down a rocky cliff, and ran out into a wide valley, which was where the city lay.

The valley was rocky and the area had no barriers to block the wind. Many huge rocks stuck up from the earth, as if a huge creature was trying to dig its way to the surface. The valley was almost a mile across, and it was many minutes before the man came close to the huge gates of the city. Almost immediately the thick gates began to creak, and they swung inwards, and the man ran hard, and as he passed the gates, they began to close.

The city was solid and well made, and the main road of the city went both left and right of the gate. Two towers reached into the sky about two hundred feet from the gate, and archers could be seen within, looking down. The flag of the city flew over the towers, and the wind tore like a savage beast at them. The edges of the flags were frayed and worn, yet they looked proud up high, as if they signified some power.

The high stone walls of the city blocked the wind, but the clouds raced overhead, and their blue light created an eerie effect.

“Haithalon!”

The man turned as he saw a guard in steel walking over to him. The symbol of the city Aradais, a mountain between two stars, was etched on his finely crafted chest plate. A look of worry was clear on his face, and Haithalon, the man, started to speak before the guard.

“No sign of the army, Captain.” Haithalon said grimly. “At least, they haven’t come through Falling Valley yet.”

The Captain gritted his teeth, and looked up at the dark blue light of the sky, then snapped his gaze back to Haithalon.

“No sign of allies?” The Captain asked, and Haithalon shook his head, and light from a nearby torch shown through the veil of darkness over his face, revealing dark brown eyes that were almost blocked by his dark brown hair.

“No, and from the dark clouds to the west, I think that heavy storms besiege the lands of King Haven and his city of Lorandel. I doubt it would be possible to assemble an army and march in those conditions. Do we have any word from our scouts?”

“No,” The Captain said, and he tightened his grip on the sword on his belt. “I fear that they might not have made it to Lorandel. Xaith grows closer by the day, and I fear his spies may have found the tracks of our scouts. Xaith’s hand grows long. More and more men are becoming loyal to him, and there are reports of more goblins, giants, and ogres leaving their tunnels to join him.”

Haithalon grimaced and then his scowl became more pronounced as he felt a drop of rain on his hood. Haithalon saluted to the Captain and turned away. The torches were flickering with the light drizzle, and the rain was creating a soft series of taps. A low rumble echoed through the sky, and to the west, only now a mile away, a series of black clouds were forming.

Haithalon walked along the main road, and where once there were busy stalls where people sold food and goods, there was only an empty section. Whether it was from the weather, or the approaching army of Xaith, Haithalon couldn’t tell.

The road came to a perpendicular fork as the main road continued and the other road broke off to the right to the main marketplace. Haithalon continued along the rock road, and his boots made barely a noise against the stone, unlike those of the City Guard. Technically, Haithalon was enlisted with the City Guard, but he was a scout of Aradais, not one of the guards that patrolled the city. On his right, the side where the main wall resided, there were towers posted every one hundred feet or so. The dark towers looked ominous against the dark sky, and Haithalon turned away and passed another break off in the road, this one leading to the main section of the city where the citizens lived.

Haithalon was making for the break off that led to the Palace of King Variel, where the main barracks resided. The circular shape of the city made it so there were two entrances to the palace that lay opposite to each other. Two gates protected the entrances, but they were presently open, so Haithalon walked through.

The courtyard he entered was huge, and roughly circular. The Palace lay in the middle, and steps led up to it on all sides. The Palace was made of white rock that was stained in places of age. It was a circular building with two towers built on either side. The main barracks for soldiers resided in the tower to Haithalon’s right. On it was engraved a sword and shield.

The Alhest Mountains rose up behind the palace like huge guardians, and even in the darkening light, they were easy to discern. Haithalon kept a brisk pace to the palace, until he reached the front doors, which were barred. Two guards holdings tall spears outside of the doors knocked a signal, and heavy creaks were heard from within the palace as the iron barricades and wedges were taken off. The doors were opened slowly, and Haithalon entered. The palace was made of marble and stone on the inside, and was wide and spacious. The Palace was old, but still it remained the pride of Aradais.

Haithalon turned right to head for the barracks, instead of left, where the other tower held the Commanders and Captains of the guard. All was silent inside, apart from the distant sounds of the front doors being latched and barred.

The passageway curved slightly to the left, and finally came to a set of sturdy wooden doors. The wood was not from the lands near Aradais, but mostly from the lands of the city Lorandel, which was west of Aradais, near which the Afarest Forest lay. The two cities exchanged goods often, and Aradais supplied Lorandel with rich irons and metals, perfect for weapons and armor and construction. Over the Alhest Mountains, the way would be short, only a day and a half’s journey with not many stops. But because of the mountains, the traders were forced to take Ravon’s Pass, a narrow trail through the mountains. The mountains contained the lairs of many goblin tribes, so the two cities often had to send a force of guards to guard the trading caravans. Still, many caravans were ambushed and the passengers killed by the cruel goblins. In the end the distance itself was not very far, but many precautions had to be taken to avoid goblin attacks.

Haithalon entered the tower to the barracks, which was almost empty, save the few night guards who were getting ready to go out and begin their shifts. There were five levels of the barracks, each containing multiple beds and small rooms for washing and eating. It was simple, but it was clean and well built.

Haithalon ascended the stone steps that circled the tower, and after coming to the second level, ascended another set of stairs, until after a few more sets of stairs, he came to the top level. Here there were multiple windows that were blocked by wooden shutters. He opened the shutters after removing an iron peg that held the wooden doors in place, and a cool breeze swept into the room.

From here he could see almost the whole city, and below, the walls of the city were dotted with small flames of the city guard. He could see several catapults being wheeled into place on the wall, and multiple carts following holding the huge stones that provided ammunition for the catapults. The snow tipped Alhest Mountains could be seen as a dark silhouette against the sky. Falling Valley was too dark to be seen, and even if it were light, the whole valley would not be able to be seen, due to some of the mountains closer to the city. Gamerst Ravine was a dark blot upon the landscape, right between the feet of two of the Alhest Mountains.

He reached for a map that was next to his bed, and unrolled it slowly. He looked to Aradais, which was in the region of Kathalion that covered the eastern edge of Patharion. Patharion was a huge peninsula, and it stretched from the eastern coast to the far reaches in the west, where the dangerous uncharted lands lay. Fathal, the southwestern region of Patharion lay near the uncharted lands, and there, the sun roasted the desert sands. Only two cities resided in Fathal: Vialark and Gathion. But north of Fathal was Dark Ridge, the third and final region that covered most of the north. The name itself was true to the region, for the lands there were dark and cold, and it was there that Xaith’s kingdom resided. The kingdom was called Demasorg, and it was protected by the Gloom Fissure to the west.

“A blight upon the land.” Muttered Haithalon, and he rolled up the map and tossed it back to where it had been.

Haithalon sighed, and his face was masked in anguish. He pounded the stone wall with his fist.

“How can we win?” He asked the darkness of the city. He went to his small bed and unbuckled his sword and sheath, and tested the bowstring of his wooden bow that lay on the small wooden table next to his bed.

He removed his cloak and wrapped it up, and he lay down, and for many minutes, he lay without closing his eyes. Only after twenty minutes did he notice an uncomfortable lump at his hip, and he sat up.

He flashed out the dagger at his hip, and unbuckled the sheath, and roughly slid the dagger back. He had enlisted as a scout eleven years ago, after the last of his distant relatives had died, when he was sixteen, and after spending his life in the city, he had come to call it home. He could feel almost feel the last heartbeats of Aradais through his feet, and he knew its end had come.

He sat up quickly and his eyes flashed open. They had not heard from the scouts they had sent out in days, and Haithalon knew in his heart that they hadn’t reached Lorandel. But perhaps there was still hope.

Haithalon leaped out of his bed and grabbed a small pack that contained some small amounts of food and water he used when he was scouting. He buckled on his dagger, sword, and finally his bow and quiver, and tightened his cloak. He had heard before that if one wanted something done, they had to do it themselves.

Swinging his pack over his shoulder, he descended the stone steps quickly. All feeling of weariness was gone, and he saw clearly what he had to do. Once he reached the bottom level of the barracks he moved over to a small desk where a quill, ink, and parchment lay. He scribbled a quick note, and looked it over.

To whoever may read this,

I am leaving to Lorandel. I know our scouts did not reach the city, and I know that I can. Tell one of the captains of my departure. I hope to be back after two days with allies. Haithalon

Haithalon looked up to the door, and pushed on it, and went out into the main palace. The silence of the halls was strange, and Haithalon’s footsteps seemed to fill the area. He ran hard, and when he came to the palace doors he waited as they were opened.

The rain was falling a little harder, and Haithalon pulled his hood up. The courtyard of the palace was not very busy, but there were a few guards about. Most of them were working to secure the doors, and some seemed to be working on the layout of the Aradais forces.

The minutes passed as Haithalon ran past the many buildings of the city. He passed several battalions of guards, and a few civilians who were hurrying to their homes. When he reached a set of stairs that led to the wall, he climbed them hastily. The guards were few on the wall, though he could make out two farther along setting up a catapult. Haithalon took a few quick looks around and then looked down over the wall. It was smooth and slick with the rain, but Haithalon made out a small ridge in the rock running diagonally. He swung one foot over and pushed lightly on the wall, and lowered his other foot.

He kept most of his weight on his hands as he tested out the small ridge. Moving to the left, he slid his hands along the wall and moved his feet. The wind flared out at him and speared him in the side, and he almost slipped, but he held on. He was only twenty feet from the ground, but the wall was becoming too high for his hands to reach.

Carefully, he moved his hands to the side of the wall. With a deep breath, he let go. He moved his feet quickly to keep himself from falling, but he only made it ten or so feet down before he fell. He rolled to take the impact, and he felt himself hit mud.

He moved to his feet and scowled as he felt his muddy wet cloak. He looked to the Alhest Mountains in the west, his destination. He started moving towards them, though the dark sky made them hard to see. Ravon’s Pass was thin and easy to miss, and Haithalon had to be careful, because it wasn’t hard to get lost in the many cliffs and small ravines of the mountains.

The valley between the Alhest and Aradais didn’t take long to cross, and soon Haithalon was in the foothills of the Alhest. The water splashed all around him, and a small stream trickled down the mountain, fueled by the rain.

An hour and a half passed, and Haithalon kept west, though he moved a little south. The entrance to Ravon’s pass was in a small ravine, with cliffs on either side of about twenty feet. Haithalon slipped out his bow, for this was the area of the goblin caves, and it only took seconds for a goblin attack to commence. The rain drenched Haithalon’s hood and cloak, and the hood sent drops of water down his face.

The rain was picking up, and after a little while more, Haithalon spotted it. There was an indent in the rock, only about ten feet or so wide, but Haithalon could see it. He moved over to the small ravine and looked down. He held his bow with his left hand and with the other hand gripped the slick rock. He swung over the side, and moved quickly down.

He jumped the last five feet, and the sound of his impact echoed slightly through the cliffs. Haithalon looked around carefully. He had only traveled through the pass alone once before, and only in broad daylight, when the goblins tended to stay in their caves.

Gripping an arrow tightly, Haithalon moved it to the string of his bow and watched for a sign of movement. He waited for half a minute, then kept moving, as softly as possible.

The cliffs on either side moved closer, so the space of the pass was only seven feet wide. The pass moved up slightly and started to move in between two tall peaks of the Alhest Mountains, though the tops were not visible in the dark clouds.

The cliffs did protect Haithalon from the wind, and he felt slightly less chilled, though no less nervous. He kept and arrow close to his bow at every second, and his eyes constantly moved about.

It was after an hour of hard running did Haithalon finally stop for a quick drink of water. He downed a fourth of the small container, and saved the rest. As he put it back, he listened intently for a sound. The rain made it almost impossible to hear anything else. Haithalon swung his pack back over his shoulder, and began to move again when he looked up and froze. A dark shadow stood on the cliff above. It looked humanoid in shape. Haithalon’s eyes widened as it moved, and roared out. In the distance Haithalon heard an echoing roar, and then another. Haithalon drew back the string of his bow. Goblins.