The Siege of Kire'Sephal

A light, silvery snow was starting to fall once more in the fur woods, filling the evergreen branches with sparkling flakes and covered the ground in a light layer of white. Some several days fast ride northwest of House Herrsan, deep in the heart of the western forests that made up Savarica’s west entrances, the Herrsan forces plunged toward Kire’Sephal as hurriedly as they could…but it was slow going.

Only about four days out from Kire’Sephal and on the main road, the cream of Herrsan’s armies continued on towards their destination, the relief of the besieged castle, bewildered though they were by the news of its danger. Some seven thousand huscarls, glinting silver in the sunlight, marched on relentlessly, axes strapped to shoulders and shields upon their backs, covered in heavy hauberks and armor, some of the toughest and most grim men of the northern realms.

However, they were still four days off from the relief of the Spire. Kire’Sephal needed aid now.

Which was why Count Chace was far ahead of his army.

Nearly eighteen hours ride away from Kire’Sephal, now close enough to see its glittering white spires in the distance, the count rode ahead of twenty mounted men and cavaliers, grimly galloping up the road his army followed behind on, cutting his way through the snow-laden wintery land and pulling the hood of his cloak low over his face against the falling snow. As the mountain peaks to the northwest, the rugged walls of Savarica glaring down on them from so far, the foothills began to grow out of the ground, making the road winding and the forest harder to navigate. The road, slowly disappearing under snow, was still easy to see but harder to stay on now. The count kept to the road however.

“Blast this wretched, cursed storm.” He muttered into his hood, riding up a steeper hill and waiting for his men behind him, twenty armed cavaliers, to make it also. It had been a long, hard ride for them, and he knew it…but they were also slowly losing speed because of it. Not a good sign.
“Come on, now! Move!” He barked at the coming riders, who continued to climb up the slopes. Some grumbles and dark mutterings vaguely reached his ears, but Chace easily tuned them out. He turned again in his saddle to see the glinting towers of the Spire, his particular ward. His eyes narrowed. Another day, at least.
“Lord Count!” Someone rode up beside him, making it up the incline. Count Herrsan turned to see one of his lieutenants coming to a stop, looking tired but determined. A young, dark haired, slender man.
“What?” The Count’s brow furrowed slightly. He tapped his saddle impatiently.
“The men need to rest, good count, they cannot keep going like this! All night and now most of this day…” The man wiped some frozen sweat from his brow and pulled some snow off a tree branch, pouring it into his mouth for water.
“…at least for the horses’ sake, count! They’ll be dead if they ride another full night or even part of one at this rate.”
The count grumbled darkly, a frown on his lips. He knew there was some truth to the words…but the fact of the pressing need of his Spire burned his mind like hot iron.
“Blast it! They’re soldiers, man!”
“They’re men, my lord!” The slightly irritated soldier snapped back, “Besides, what condition will we be to fight in if we reach the siege lines exhausted?”
“He has a point, my lord.” Another voice broke into the heated conversation, and Chace turned to see Christopher, the gray ranger, make it up the trail on his gray horse. Though not armored and armed like the Herrsan cavaliers, Chris and his picked few men each wore their hunting bows and slender swords, and the count knew them to be quite dangerous as well as inconspicuous.
Chace looked about to quiet both men and urge them on again, as his column made it generally to the top of the rise, but after studying the ranger’s calm, set countenance, the count sighed grimly.
“…Alright, so be it.” Count Herrsan waved a hand wearily, as though his men and their constant pleas tired him. “Fine! But if the Spire…well, if…if this is all for nothing, I swear, I’ll make you regret it, soldiers!”
Both of them, knowing full well it was an empty threat, kept back thin smiles. “Of course, lord count.” Christopher offered a slight bow from his saddle, turning his blue-gray gaze to the glinting towers in the northwest. As the column rode down the hill on the opposite side, a campsite was quickly located and a fire lit for the men, and as twilight came, they rested. Tomorrow, they would reach Kire’Sephal.
Unfortunately, their smoke plume gave them away to seeing eyes, eyes that watched and scouted from far, far above them in the gray skies, in the falling snow.


Kire’Sephal was burning.
From her perch high up in the mountains overlooking it, high cliffs that looked down on the white towers of the Spire, the youngest dragon hatchling surveying the siege with amusement, though perhaps a little bored at the waiting. However, dragons are a very long-lived species. Patience is one of their virtues.
Folding her bloodless, blue wings back against her back, the massive dragon lay down upon the high rocks, leaning her bulk back out of sight. The freezing high mountains temperatures little affected her, and she was certainly well out of sight of the defenders below. More importantly, the defenders were distracted by more pressing problems than the appearance of a hatchling overlooking them from above, in the crags and rocks. Though human eyes never would have been able to see so far and so clearly the siege, the dragon’s red eyes saw easily every soldier slain on the walls. Even now, the snow elves, hiding camouflaged in the white snow, shot volleys of arrows up into the keep, and snow trolls pounding the walls and gates with ice and boulders. The fierce and veteran Herrsan defenders were nothing to be take lightly, and had pressed off every attack; but it was simply a matter of time before the food ran out. Then it would be over. Pitiful humans, that couldn’t live a full revolution of the moon without some kind of food and water. No wonder they were so short lived.
A flap of giant wings forced the blue dragon to look up, snorting her icy breath as she gazed into the gray sky. Dimly, far in the distance, the dragon heard the cries of the battle. Miles below.
At last, a dark, massive form of yet another dragon made its way out of the clouds, flapping towards the rock where the blue one sat, angling out of the harsh winds to lose altitude. At length, there was a flash of bright, cardinal red, and the form of a brilliantly crimson dragon appeared. Circling once, the crimson dragon grunted and swooped, landing on the rocks slightly above his blue sister.
Folding his wings back, the red dragon bared his teeth, each once as long as a sword blade. “Sunning your scales, child?” He mocked, curling his red tail around the rock he sat on. The wind howled louder.
The blue one snarled. “Not quite, Jorshekon. There’s little sun to be had.”
Jorshekon shrugged his massive, red shoulders, his scales shimmering brightly. “They tell me that in Savarica, the sun is warm, and green grass actually covers the ground for miles in all directions.”
The younger blue drake chuckled. “I would not believe all snow elves say, brother.”
“I don’t. I can see green glinting from afar, impudent wretched sister.” The red growled, and turned to look down at the siege also.
“You didn’t reveal yourself, and only fly down at night to give orders still?” He questioned his sibling.
At that, the blue drake tensed again. “Do you think I am entirely witless? Yes, I have done all that big brother has commanded! Peace, Jorshekon!”
“Well done then, Iradsekon.” The red dragon, undeterred by his lesser’s impudence, did not take his eyes from the battle below. “How goes the siege?”
“Well enough. It is slow going. But our…connections within the keep are going well. Soon enough the shield will be down, and both of us will be able to attack at will. Then it will be a matter of minutes.” Iradsekon, the blue drake, allowed a dragon smile to fill her snout for a moment.
“How long until the shield of the Art is down?” Annoyed Jorshekon pressed. His wings fidgeted.
“Perhaps a week, at most. Little more.”
“Good. Perhaps just in time, if this storm keeps up.” The red one turned his gaze up at the clouds. “An enemy army of humans, good fighters, is coming out of the south. Thousands of them.”
To this, the blue dragon’s ear perked. She turned to face her brother, her long neck swiveling. “Thousands of humans? Trudging this way?”
“Yes, quite a few. And a smaller band leading the way, on horses. They will be at the Spire in four or five days, perhaps more if the storm slows them. Which we hope it will, at this rate. Thanks to our black brother.” The red grinned. “Plenty of delicious bites, do not worry, foolish sister.”
“Shall we go and pay them a welcoming visit?”
“Perhaps.” With that, the red one lay down also on the rocks, closing his red eyes.