Ritto Iordai sat defeatedly beside the deceased boy. The Nightshadow Narodit poison had spread all throughout Ollowyn’s body and cut down his vital functions bit by bit. Now black, corrupted veins stood off the pale skin and his last heartbeat had been minutes ago. Now, any help would be too late. Even the leaves of the korak tree had shown little effect. Nearly ten days he had fought against the grasping claw of death. But help never came. Sighing, the great master eyed one of his older students. Karthan Cr’Axsun was still alive, fighting the heavy burns, that his death defying stunt had cost him. The fool would very likely survive, though scarred for the rest of his life.

With a heavy heart Ritto Iordai rose and stepped out of the sanctum. It was the first time in months, that he had interrupted his training. Yes he felt the next stage approaching. Soon it would be reached. Maybe he had already broken through, but not noticed? Thoughtfully he stepped into the open and felt the wind on his face. It was cooling down. The next winter would arrive soon.With a sad expression he looked into the distance. The mountains called for him. He wanted to travel, survive in the wild again. To be free.

A few minutes later one of his students ran across the yard with excited expression. Apparently he had expected to find master Kíreii or master Vanosh, and not the great master in the flesh. He stuttered around and nervously handed him a parcel.

Master Iordai frowned. What was this? “Where did you get that from?” He asked, in calm and serene tone.

“T-Th… Tha-Thasun. Fal-” Mephian gasped for air. He had run far and long. “A falcon c-came.” He inhaled deeply before finishing his sentence: “It landed in the village yesterday.”

Immediately an ice cold feeling ran across his body. The tiny old man grabbed the parcel and dashed back into the sanctum with haste, while disassembling the package. Thasun did it! Maybe the boy could still be saved? He nearly dropped parts of the package, before he arrived before their resting spots. A letter flew out between the silver chains of the artifact. With a quick glance he recognised Irina Thalors hand writing. Reading had to wait. A silver chain dropped out of the parcel. Tiny runes had been engraved into the metal with a silver cuffs on each end that had to be attached to the two participants.

Hastily he did the thing most logical to him. He bound the Nepheniel to himself. Karthan was out of danger, but additional strain on his body could prove devastating. He attached the other end to Ollowyn. Nothing. No exchange of energy like he remembered. Was it not working because Ollowyn’s pulse could no longer be felt?

Suddenly the great master remembered something his old master once said to him. “In a thunderstorm, the gods exchange their favours with the world. But don’t believe you would steal one of those for yourself, or deny the gods their due. They will smite right through you and you will perish in their exchange.”

In Iordai’s mind the Nepheniel was the lightning, that exchanged a favour or energy. If he tied the Nepheniel around Ollowyn, before attaching it to Karthan… would it work? The old man did not think about it for long, he had always been a learning by doing kind of man. As soon as he finished attaching the other end to Karthan’s wrist, he felt a constant draw of energy, that left his body. If it would help Ollowyn, was left to be seen.

Quickly he lost all control though. The energy drawn from his was vast! The artifact rapidly burned into his lifeforce until he collapsed. With a serene smile he drifted into the darkness.

Within the last ten days, Marun Kíreii had built the cornerstone for the defensive wall on Pass Dunéin. The necessary stones were carried to site by the students, which gathered them from the surrounding mountain slopes. Of course just a stack of stones would not make for a very stable and strong wall. It also required the right amount and type of mortar.

Luckily the Valley of Ending possessed a chalk stone quarry, that the earlier settlers had used a hundred years ago. Nearly untouched by time, there had been a lot of chalk stones left. Marun wanted to take advantage of that. The process of crafting good mortar took around two years. First the chalk stone had to be smacked to handy, small rubble. Then it had to be burned in a large furnace, where it became a very dry material that could be ground to a pulver very easily. Then the real time consuming part began. Dissolving the powder in water, stirring it and adding water again and again over the course of two years to produce chalk brew. If one added sand to this, he got mortar.

Deer hair and straw were often used to avoid cracks in the binding mortar later. The resulting wall was far more robust and steady than a quickly assembled wall made of stone and earth. Marun wanted to create a wall that the great master would be proud of. It finally paid of that he had paid attention to his late father's chalk brew business, even though he himself prefered the way of the sword far more.

Now that he had finished setting the groundwork properly, and had advised Zartha into how he had to set the wooden construct necessary for the later work, he was finally able to begin with his punishment: grinding the walls of the school so that they were smooth and even. He would not take another student to help, he would take this upon himself! Working until his fingers bled and his feet collapsed below his body he would atone for his sin. Marun was the one that had stood next to Ollowyn, yet the boy still got poisoned and looked like he was dying any day now. He had killed him with his uselessness. His inattention. His stupidity.

A tear ran down his cheek as he walked back towards the Iordai Sword School. The boy would have had so much talent. It would have been a pleasure to teach him. To fight against him once he exceeded his skill.

As he approached with a heavy heart, he spotted a bright, silver light coming from the sanctum.

Thasun could not believe his eyes. He would not have deemed this possible. Those despicable Albae! They had killed the newly elected “Lahn” that ruled over the Kórren Lahn in front of all their soldiers. Then he had thrown the crown disrespectful towards another leader while his Nightmare feasted on the beheaded corpse. A new Lahn had been crowned by the murderer of the old one, while they stood in the middle of an army of thousands. Not even his most loyal followers dared to go against those pointy ears. If they were that feared, how strong were they? Thasun wanted to know.

The new leader had the troops assemble and unite around the large tower of wood, that had grown even more since the last time Thasun had payed it any attention. As they formed into their respective groups, the Albae walked up and down, searching for resistance. Nine Men died, as they had looked at them angrily. Then the ceremonial fire was started, that handed the body of the late Lord Thalor Mey over to the flames. An hour later the inferno towered at twelve meters height.

Lady Irina Thalor withdrew to grief for her husband alongside her son, that tried to console her. After the executions were over with, the Kórren Lahn proceeded to the next part of their grand strategy. Thousands of green, fresh leaves were brought out by the thousands, alongside a dark pulver that the Albae added to the flames. Immediately a thick and compact wall of smoke rose from the fire. Picked up by the eastern winds, that constantly blew westwards, Sandreis gates were quickly covered by the intense smog. The garrison quickly was in danger of suffocation. The thick smoke got blown in through arrow slits and windows, and the soldiers were forced to evacuate. Luckily only the first wall was suffering from this weird attack, as most of the smog dispersed before reaching the second wall.

A few heroic soldiers poured oil towards the gates entry and ignited it in order to delay the attackers from possibly approaching. They tried to buy time. Though Thasun did not understand the reason behind this dense fog. While it clearly harmed the defenders and made them leave their posts, it also blocked the Kórren Lahn from attacking. At least it should have. The horse folk threw themselves right into the thick fog without hesitation.

Death defying, they hit their horses, forcing them to run right into the smoke covered inferno without delay. As one of the more scared riders fled to the left in order to avoid suffocation or fire, two black arrows immediately spiked out of his side. The Albae did not show mercy. They had left them no choice. Thasun ran along the wall to see everything more clearly. A few of the defenders were shooting blind arrows in the hope of hitting something. The horse folk’s warriors were armed with large axes and fought through smoke and fire. As they arrived at the gate, only a small spot was left, where no fire raged. But even here breathing was hard, as the thick cloud of darkness blew into them again and again. Thasun spotted a few defenders, that had remained. About twenty men. All dead. Though the ramp towards the gate was revealing a more devastating picture at times. Dozens had been thrown of their horses, trampled, burned or suffocated and most dropped after grinding their axes into the gate a couple of times. Thasun had never seen such a death defying attack.

The wooden gate yielded quickly under the weight of the heavy war axes. As the smoke cloud ceased to be, only a few dozens horse riders remained, that stepped over the completely destroyed gate. Heavily burned and outnumbered, though they did not stop. Forming into a rough formation they proceeded. However deadly their orders had been, the fear of the dark eyed Albae was stronger. Thasun did not care to find out what they had planned. With a surprise attack from behind and quick and fast stabs, he dismantled their formation and killed all but the sixteen horses that remained. No fighting spirit had remained within them. A sad fight. But it did wonders for the garrison’s morale. The first line of defense had fallen, but it had been costly. Over four hundred horsemen lied dead before the gate. Some spiked with black arrows, most burned or suffocated.

“Second line of defense! Set up ambushes and traps! Everyone to their respective posts!” Screamed Zaldor Treiin, the general commander. The first wall, had never been a great line of defense, as it was widespread and the gate had been weak.

The second wall gave hope to withstand longer, since the gates were crafted from solid oak wood, more than two meters thick. Impossible to overcome with only axes. As the enemies forces gathered outside the gates, and a single Alb had mounted the wall with a bow, it became impossible to retake the wall. The black arrows dispersed of any and all scouts that approached and defeated any hope for information to be gathered or ambushes to work.

Thasun had raised the idea that he would try to catch and defeat the dark eyed bowman, but the officers ordered him to defend on the wall. They were afraid of losing him. A little insulted, the swordmaster used the time to meditate and recover his strength. As the sun slowly began to vanish on the horizon, the next attack started. A large tree, that had been bound to ten strong war horses. Five to each side, with riders on top that hit the horses to get the maximum amount of effort out of them. The horses had been blinded and thick straw mats were wrapped around their bodies to shield them from arrows. They were Kórran war horses, about forty centimeters higher than normal horses and powerful stamina. The few bowmen on the wall that tried to intercept the suddenly approaching ram were helpless. Black feathered albic arrows ended then before they could mount an effective defense.

A little later the improvised ram crashed into the gate. Horses broke on impact, getting mangled into the wood, as the large tree trunk penetrated the gate right in the middle. The heavy gate got blown open by the insanely strong impact, with horses getting thrown around and their riders battered and crushed within the construction. Immediately Thasun ordered the reserve soldiers to get them out of the way and repair the gate, though the next attack of cavalry was on its way.

Thousands of mounted archers filled the city, covering the walls with arrows, while a few melee riders tried to breach the gate further. Then it became clear that this had been but a distraction move. Hundreds of siege ladders, crudely crafted and mostly faulty looking, were carried in, and soon every rider that did not hold a bow or was out of arrows, tried to mount the wall. Those that looked back or hesitated found a black feathered arrow between their lungs all too soon.

Fear and panic paired with the strong will to survive, made the horse folk fight like possessed as they threw themselves against the defenders. Thasun covered a large part of the wall himself to give the garrison more leeway. The area of three ladders were covered, as he thoroughly crushed anyone climbing up with quick stabs and sword strikes. The durak steel katana took scratches, but remained strong. The swordmaster hoped that it would last until he was able to face those dark eyed Albs. It was easy to dispose of the attackers on the wall, since they were uncoordinated due to their rush, were fighting in unfamiliar territory, not on their horses or generally worse at duelling that Thasun was.

Trying to keep as much energy as possible he lost himself in a blood rush, as he dashed back and forth. Half an hour later, gaps in the defenses began to show. Ordering the backup to defend his position he began to rush from lost spot to lost spot, breaking the attackers progress and drawing their attention. Black feathered arrows were fired at him all too often. More than one time he had to dive down or jump back due to the long distance harassment. It demanded all of his concentration, as he tried to keep the wall from being breached anywhere. Where he crushed the attackers, surges of motivation ignited the men’s morale.

Yet the second wall fell only an hour later. The gate, that had been compromised had not been able to be cleared in time, as more and more riders attempted to breach the perimeter. The soldiers had fought bravely to defend against the horse folk, though they were showered in arrows all the time, as the mounted archers shifted their focus to support them.

As the gate fell and the enemy forces poured into the second part of the city, hundred of them began to ignite the houses, sowing chaos, grief and terror. Retreat was issued and the garrison began to draw back over the wall towards the western side. From there they pushed in towards the third wall, where the next battle would take place.

Here the defenders stood before a bigger problem: the walls offered less protection from arrows and were lower as well.

Thasun, however, did not retreat. He had descended down into the outer parts of the city to hunt a special kind of prey: Albae. If they were left to command the Kórren Lahn further and assist the siege with their bows, defense would become a nightmare. The unfolding chaos of fire and flames allowed for Thasun to approach one of them easily. The horse folk was too busy setting the city ablaze to suspect him at all. Only a single warrior wanted to stop him and was quickly put down by the swordmaster.

Then he finally stood before him. In shining, black armor and a dark longbow in hand, the Alb sat upon his Nightmare. The mutated unicorn turned to face Thasun and stared at him with glowing red eyes. Smoke rose from it’s nostrils. It’s rider took of the dark durássium helmet and a pair of dark eyes eyed him. The demonic looking eyes made for a frightening look, and distorted the beauty this enemy possessed. Flawless white skin, smooth straight hair that flowed down his back and a handsome face made him seems even more unnatural. Thasun had to blink to focus. It was distracting to just look at his face.

“Ah. The swordsman. Ready to die, I see. You are fighting well… for a mere, filthy… human.” The Alb spat these last words out in disgust as he dismounted and drew a long and thin blade. “You know… we assumed you to be over there.” He pointed his sword towards the inner city. The castle that family Thalor called their own. It was burning. Thasun could see flames rise from the windows and a cloud of smoke rose above as well.

“Now it is too late, though I am glad you save us the trouble of searching for you.” A new voice called out to him from behind. Then the second Alb, a woman, walked casually past him. In her hands she held three heads. Lady Irina Thalor and her youngest son, Harlen Thalor, as well as the commanding general Zaldor Treiin.