Thasun stood upon the eastern gate of Sandrei. While the city unfolded behind him, a different spectacle played out before the walls of the city. Something that he had never seen before. The mounted folk had brought their army in the morning. Around one thousand horses arrived every hour and there was no end in sight. The officers estimated the numbers to be seven thousand already.

The Thalor garrisons troops stood at six thousand. If one indented to count the old, weak, children and women as well the cities number would rise to a maximum of twelve thousand defenders. The rest of the population had evacuated ahead of time. The surrounding baronies most likely sent smaller battalions into the woods to harass the enemy on occasions by mounting surprise assaults with bow and arrow.

The barricades, pitfalls and trenches that the defenders had prepared beforehand, had already fallen. With the arrival of mounted archers these defenses were brought to surrender rather quickly. Now only the walls of stone stood in the way of total domination by the horse lords.

“There! The Kórren Lahn. They are coming,” a officer shouted next to Thasun on the wall.

Kórren Lahn. The leaders. A wild, disorganised heap of tribe chiefs, that normally spread out all over the eastern plains. Each escorted by twenty of their most loyal men, they rode towards the city. Their flags and tribal signs fighting in the wind. Thasun counted silently. Thirty-two. Though, aside from those twenty-one riders under each banner, he spotted two vastly different characters.

Riders clad in a pitch black plate armor, on horses that could easily have jumped out of Thasun’s own nightmares. Large spikes and plates of bones grew out of their flesh, forming horrifying defenses. Fiery red eyes and a dark black, leathery skin made them a abomination of horror. Smoke rose from their nostrils.

“By the god…. What is this.. this creature?” Harle Thalor asked. “Is that even a horse?”

Thasun shook his head, before giving the young lord a explanation. “No. Those are… no, those were… Unicorns. A long time ago… Go to your mother. Relay a message to her and the other officers. Tell them two Albae are under the Kórren Lahn.” As Thalor Mey’s youngest son followed Thasuns order the advices all the other guards to keep an eye on those black riders at all times.

What Thasun knew about Albae from legends was but a few things. There had been Albae in the old Valuan, killing and tracking their mortal enemies: Elbs. The creatures of light were mercilessly hunted by those spawns of darkness. But those events had transpired over a thousand years ago and described the Albae as angry, dark gods that could only be killed by scores of sorcerers and magic. But legends often over exaggerated, and Thasun would soon find out if that was the truth.

Hours passed, where the Kórren Lahn raised their camp in the middle of their troops. As it began to approach mid-day, they held some sort of council. Not surprising. After all they had never before tried to attack a fortress of this size and the swordmaster suspected, that they missed the experience and the means.

But the appearance of those two legendary creatures unsettled him. He made his way towards the fortress to rely his estimations and advice to the commanding officers. Thasun had been raised towards the rank of major, but it was more of a honorary position than giving him real power. He was simply appreciated as advisor and a strong warrior. However, it gave him the freedom of passing between walls without being questioned by the guards.

After a few minutes of marching he arrived at the castle and shortly after that in the audience room, where he had asked for the Nepheniel just days prior. His thoughts drifted to Ollowyn. Hopefully the artifact would reach him in time.

Entering the room he did not wait for curtsies, bows or other court proceedings. Thasun hated this sort of thing and he just wanted to advice, shake up the commanders and make them think.

Immediately he began speaking. “M’lady. I have to say, the appearance of those two Albae is unsettling me. We should at least triple the guards for tonight. Five times the amount would be better.”

Arletan, the old advisor of house Thalor, snorted. “As if those are real. No way the horse lords have legends like these fighting for them. It is a trick to destroy our morale, that’s all.”

Thasun shook his head. “No. I am certain. Those two black, terrifying horses they are riding? Those are called Nightmares for a reason. Rare carnivorous beasts, that only let themselves be tamed by Albae.” His hand twitched a bit on face of such ignorance. This advisor had attempted to discredit him at any turn so far. “If a normal man would attempt to ride it you will only find a skeleton left after the Nightmare picked him clean.”

“Master Torreí. Do you believe that they will attack the city? They have never done so before.” Harlen Thalor looked at him with a worried expression. Apparently he believed Thasuns estimation.

“Their appearance is, as i said, worrying. Normally I would assume that they plunder the surrounding villages and move on with life. Maybe they would ask for payments so they leave. And the logistics regarding a longer siege… especially with so many horses… A lot of you know that this is a nightmare. Especially since we went through the trouble of destroying the surrounding fields yield.” Thasun frowned. “Not to forget the missing siege gear. They could build ladders and rams easily, but without siege shields for their archers or siege engines….their losses would be insanely high. But as I said… the Albae.”

Arletan wanted to raise his concerns again, yet Harlen Thalor ended the attempt immediately by holding a speech. “It is always best to assume to worst, in order to be prepared for what will happen.” After a quick pause he continued. “Many of us know that my late father uttered those words all the time. I think it would be wise to follow his sentiment. We do not know, if an attack is going to happen. But we should be prepared. I want each and every one to look out for possible counter attacks that we could mount. Arletan. Please send falcons to the other houses and ask for help again.”

Lady Irina Thalor threw something into the conversation as well: “Why would those Albae support the Kórren Lahn? As far as I remember the ultimate goal their race set themselves is to rid the world of Elbs. And there never were Elbs in Zenshin. The last visitor had been a thousand years ago.”

Thasun frowned. It was indeed odd. There were elves to the south of Valuan, across the seas. Yet those lived isolated and shut themselves off from the world. Even the Union of Vereil, that currently warred with Valuan, held a polite distance to the race of light. And the elven domain Nielthúín bordered on over a third of their country.

“Maybe they want something else?” Harlen tried weakly. “Gold? Old Artifacts?”

General commander Zaldor Treiin hit his fist hard onto the table. “Enough! We have to prepare for an attack. Lord Thalor wouldn’t have wanted us to waste our time thinking about these pointy eared fucks. There are only two of them. We will keep the idea about negotiating with them in mind. Sitting is dismissed. Back to your posts!” He rose as well, bowed to Lady Thalor and her son, and left.

The commanding officers returned to their assigned positions and Thasun frowned at the hot midday sun. He had enjoyed the morning cool. Sighing, he returned to the eastern gate as well. As he arrived there, he saw that the Kórren Lahn were still holding council. Their army had spread out considerably. It looked threatening, though the swordmaster did not fear them in a siege. But a certain thing was unsettling: The Albea were giving orders to some regiments of the horse folk. And they followed with enthusiasm. Hundreds of them ran around frantically gathering axes and other tools, only to vanish into the woods. Apparently they wanted to gather timber. So a siege was no longer a possibility, but a fact.

Thasun stared at one of the Albae, that executed two men with a thin, dark sword. It was too far away to tell how well he handled his blade, though the process barely took two seconds. With the executions the other warriors increased their pace, bringing in horses to move tree by tree to the center of their army.

Thasun leaned over towards a younger soldier. “Recruit. I will cover your post. You will relay a message to the general commander. The Kórren Lahn are gathering timber. They are building siege equipment. Thasun Torreí asks for a meeting at the eastern gate. Understood?”

The boy repeated briefly to show that he had understood. “Gathering timber, siege equipment. Thasun Torréi. Meeting.”

Thasun nodded. “Good. Dismissed.” For a while he looked at the back of the young recruit, that ran across main street to relay his message. The battle really was coming. Thasun was looking forward to it, though it was likely that he was the only one on this wall that thought that way.

It took some time until the necessary officers gathered at his location. Meanwhile the Kórren Lahn had raised a large, massive tower entirely made of logs. At seven meters height, he towered over the city walls by quite a bit. The wooden platform they added at about a meter height made it clear that this was going to be used for cremation and that it wasn’t a very failed attempt at a siege tower. As Lady Irina Thalor finally arrived, Thasun only had to inform her.

“M’lady. I’m afraid the Kórren Lahn want to cremate your late husband. I’m sure that they…” He sighed. “I’m sure that they want to honor Lord Thalor Mey. He won many battles against them, and they want to give him to their gods. By burning him.” Thasun eyed the old woman, that had tears in her eyes.

“They want our city, our land. They want to see us dead. They want to enslave our people, kill us and drive us away. Why would they burn him to honor him?” Tears of grief and anger now rolled down her cheeks. “He belongs to our family tombs. Alongside his father and grandfather. Not burned like one of these savages!” She looked at Thasun with a defeated gaze. “Please. Master Torreí. Don’t… Don’t let my husbands deeds for naught. Please make sure this city doesn’t fall!”

Thasun nodded. He saw this a little different, the Kórren Lahn did not know that it was dishonorable for Zenshins nobles to burn their dead. He respected them for giving such thought to their mortal enemy that had denied them again and again. He would make sure that they would learn to fear him as well. So they would burn him too, should he ever fall on the battlefield.

Vanátorás stroked the side of his Nightmare. It was restless. No wonder, since literal mountains of food walked by him day in, day out. The work was progressing smoothly, especially after his sister had executed a few of those crude barbarians. Those unworthy creatures had so much self esteem, yet their skills were only comparable to children. So young, so inexperienced.

The Alb drew one of his knives. It was forged of Durássium, a black metal that could only be worked with much skill and craftsmanship. Some of these savages also possessed weapons that were forged with Durássium. Duraksteel, they called it. A insult to every real smith. It was an imitation that did not even come close to the real deal. While Vanátorás’ knife was forged from pure Durássium, Duraksteel was produced with a mere splinter of the precious metal mixed into common steel. A splitter to forge a thousand blades. Vanátorás threw away the thought. Why was he concerning himself with those savages? Black veines shot over his face. Ragelines, that openly declared his feelings to the world.

A feeling of disgust and rage. Vanátorás shot forward and grabbed one of the passing barbarians by the neck. Pulling him close he rammed his knife deep into his heart. Immediately the long and spiky tongue of his Nightmare shot forward, ripping into the man. A shredding sound later a large chunk of meat was stripped of his ribs as the dark horse feasted. Vanátorás skillfully cut off the forearm of his enemy. Handing the limb to his companion it was stripped off all flesh just minutes later. Vanátorás eyed the two white bones, discarded one and leaned on his Nightmare as it picked the corpse clean. A perfect forearm bone with a neat form. Casually he used his knife to carve into the bone. Deeply sunken in passion and concentration he let his Durássiumknife whirl around, creating more and more details.

Quickly the image of a burning city appeared in it’s details, like a human artist could never reproduce. He opened his tight plate armor and pulled out one of ten small cases where he stored his masterpiece in. Seven others had already been filled. Bones that showed carved ruins of villages and a elben face distorted in pain. His previous achievements. They would make for a nice addition to the wall relief in his home in Dsôn Níethrâk.

The savages were eyeing him in horrified fashion, ever since he had killed the filthy human. They discussed something in their own, rough, ugly language. That they even talked about him killing one of their worthless own! The audacity. Ragelines began to show on his face anew. These ugly, disgusting faces and this tone deaf insult of a language! Vanátorás hated this race. Only their bones made for some fine art, and sometimes he liked to use their bodies as well. That was all they were good for.

As he drew his knife again, they quickly dispersed to continue their work again. Urgh. Humans. How he despised them…. But before he could choose another bone, his sister arrived and stepped next to him.

In the beauty of the albic language she whispered to him: “The voting is over. So it begins.”

Vanátorás nodded. “Then we will see, if they have chosen well.”

His sister laughed deviously. “Don’t be mean. You know those apes cannot choose anything, for we decide. God, sometimes I miss orcs. They are much simpler. You point and they do. No questioning things. Less words.”

Vanátorás shrugged. “Either way, both are disgusting, vile creatures.” Then he marched towards the new ruler of the horse folk. He did not even look at him. It was of no importance. The vote had served only to make one thing painfully clear to those savages: They were not in charge.

Quick as lightning he drew his blades and dashed past the man. He severed the mans head quickly, turned to grab the simple golden crown he was wearing and let the body collapse under it. Then he kicked the head into the gaping masses and threw the crown towards the most brutal looking barbarian.

“You are the leader now. Order your men to get ready.” Vanátorás spoke in the language of the savages. It felt terrible to twist his mouth so unnaturally. His Nightmare had approached at the smell of blood and he mounted it as he eyed the gathering hordes. Now it was time to raze this city and hand it over to ash and cinder in order to gain what Vanátorás and his sister had looked for. It had taken many segments of eternity....