"I told you that it wouldn't hold water worth a wooden pail if you put on that wretched stuff!" The count ranted. Several of the nearby river sailors, boat captains and hired men glanced up with mixed smiles of amusement and worry. This was typical Count Chace routine, and besides, he rarely meant it as harshly as it appeared.
With a look of annoyance and perhaps a faint twist of a grim smile, the count of House Herrsan studied critically the two ships floating lazily out in the deep river before him, for where he stood on the stone and metal pier just off shore. His house, House Herrsan, loomed up glinting silver and blue in the late sunlight of the day, as the sun took up a lazy position in the western sky, as if growing tired of the day itself. The never-ending wind was still blowing across the fields and jagged hills around on Chace's fief lands, though a little more warm and gentle on the river. Sparkling in the fairly warm afternoon (as far as Savarica summers went), the river the mainly fed Lake Imirad flowed gently past, cold and fresh. A few water birds cried overhead, and the usual sounds of the docks and men and ships working and sailing, upriver or down, on their way both ways. River traffic was heavy between Lake Japhethis and Imirad, and to the dismay of some and glee of others, House Herrsan owned the greater part of the river that flowed between. Something that every, quick-thinking, clever count of Herrsan had taken full advantage of. Chace was no exception. A large portion of the land's strength in gold was backed by his river.
"I told you, it was never going to work with that calking!" He went on, generally loudly informing both everyone and no one. The trees back on the bank behind him waved gently in the breeze, though farmer's fields bordered the riverbank on both sides other then House Herrsan's own riverfront. "Now it will have to all be redone! And soon...that council in Davardi takes place in two weeks" He seemed to think for a moment. "Not that I'm in any hurry to get to that blasted mess..." He chuckled, "I doubt anyone is."
"My lord!" A small rowboat, from the nearest of the two small river ships, one of Count Chace's personal sailing vessels, suddenly hailed him. A few men sat in the bow of the boat, rowing for the green shore where the Count stood muttering and calculating.
Chace looked up sharply from the polished stone landing. "What? Eh?"
"The skiff is just a little slow and unstable, my lord, though the caravel holds nicely!" A larger man, probably one of the shipsmen, called out to him across the water with his hands cupped to his mouth. He seemed pleased enough.
This seemed to slacken the count's nerves somewhat. He grunted. "Good enough for the caravel, then...decent. But I'll have that skiff of mine fixed before the week is out! You hear me? Or I tell you I won't give you a copper for the sorry job that fellow did." Apparently satisfied his hired sailors had gotten the message, he nodded grimly as the rowboat turned about and began to row steadily back towards the royal skiff.
After a moment's thought, the count raised his own hands to his mouth. "HEY!"
The rowboat abruptly stopped and the leading man nearly fell out in his eagerness to turn and listen.
"Hoist the blue and silver banner up on both of them!" Chace smiled grimly. The boat captain nodded and they turned about again, back for the two under-construction ships.
"My lord?" A new voice broke into the count's thoughts, as he calculated how much gold he could make off of river traffic that week while still being fair and decent.
Chace whirled about quickly, his slender, serious gaze fixing on another man, a messenger, who had been waiting at his shoulder while he had dealt with the sailors.
His eyes narrowed. "What?" Leaning up against one of the landing supports on the stone and metal driven dock, he adjusted his his tunic and cloak as he listened to whatever report this man had to offer.
"Sir, a caravan had arrived from the south." The man said abruptly, his eyes rolled up as if trying to remember a memorized list. "Led by a ranger clan, they're on this side of the river and are requesting housing for the night here. They offer payment."
The count looked up sharply when a foreign caravan was mentioned. That was news indeed. An eyebrow raised.
"From the south routes?"
"Yes, my lord." The messenger coughed.
This time it took the count a moment to realize what he was asking. "OH! Well, oh yes, certainly, they can stay, and forget the payment. Tell 'em we can put up a caravan for the night, certainly." He smiled warmly.
"Yes, my lord. I will." The young messenger youth paused for a moment, and seemed about to say something more, when the count snorted.
"Get going then! You can come back after you've done that and report whatever you forgot!"
"Right away my lord!" The messenger set out at a breakneck pace off into the trees and towards the House Herrsan.
The Fall of Kire`falraedis
Thursday, January 28, 2010
The wind howled across the nearly barren, white plains that were icy and chill, void of life. The sparkling cold sky above, almost entirely black except for the pinpoints of starry light that burned clearly in it, looked down blackly on the scene below. The world seemed dark and silent, unmoving and unchangable, though despite the flat plains the even blacker, darker peaks of the Outer North Wilds reared up in the distance. Far to the north of those smooth plains there was far reaching mountains and jagged hills that showed the boundaries of Savarica, where civilization and human power came to an end, and was replaced by only sheer wild, unknown, wasted land.
But only one symbol stood on the northern reaches, the silent, sole sentinel that watched the edge of the known world from only God knew what evils beyond, was a castle.
The castle.
One of six, exactly identical castles that guarded Savarica on all sides, its very foundation stones, corner pieces, its walls and protection. Those six castles were the Spires, the Six Spires of Savarica that alone held out the massive tides of evil and darkness on all sides. And worse things. The Spires of Savarica, massive, icy white castles, remained for several centuries the pinnacles of protection for the people.
But only one, one of the strongest of the six, guarded Savarica's northern border. And that sole, strong castle was Kire`falraedis. The Northern Spire, one of six, it stood like an icy pinnacle on those frozen plains, nothing around it in any direction but snowy fields, copses of trees, and a few jagged hills in the distance. The distant lights of a city, a human city, some miles south, was the only light on those dark plains. Other than the constantly burning towers and glittering walls of the castle itself, lone guardian of the northern borders.
Out in the darkness of the night, some miles just north of Kire`falraedis, two pairs of glittering, cold eyes watching the massive castle's towers and keeps, and the dozens of soldiers and carls that constantly watching the walls and parapets. The mortal men had learned their lesson after their hard ages of trying to survive the barbaric wastes around them, without the Amaras, without God. Now they kept a hard and close watch.
But hopefully, that would be irrelevant by the end of the night.
The pale, white faces seemed to match the pale, icy white surroundings nearly perfectly, as did their equally white cloaks and hands. The two lone figures of pure, icy white surveyed the castle from a distance, crouching low in the snow, their white hoods pulled back across their shoulders while they watched.
"What think you, Mistress?" One of the voice hissed, though any human studying their faces would hardly be able to tell the difference from male and female Norn, both of them having slender, white features and glittering black eyes.
"We wait." Came the flat reply.
"Of that, I know." The other spat back, his whispery voice like the cold wind that blew it, "Be our good warriors and fighting-elves placed?"
The other, the one addressed as "Mistress," seemed to think a moment before replying. Neither took their eyes off the distant spires of Kire`falraedis while they spoke quietly.
"Well enough." The Mistress of the Norn Clan replied, "We wait. For the signal."
The other nodded, apparently satisfied. "And the...the...the Young Ones?"
"Both are ready to descend. Do not worry about them, Master Jahil'kaj." This time, the other's piercing black eyes turned to survey the lesser servant. Her eyes seemed to cut like a cold knife, for the other looked away quickly.
"We will move in when the signal is given. The mortals will do their part, and the Young Lords will do their part. That is all."
"Of course, Mistress. Of course."
It wasn't too much longer after that the signal came.
Though it was well past midnight, the time any honest traveler would be off the roads, four riders rode up from the south, picking their way through the snows on the covered road, and working their way up towards the single, solid gate of Kire`falraedis. Four human riders, cloaked and hooded entirely in black, wound their way through the heavy snows and towards the castle, as if they would ask for lodging for the night. If they had faces, hidden away under their hoods, they were invisible in the darkness.
When the four riders, just south of the castle, rode up into sight, immediately the call went up on the walls. Torches flared up and a few various guards hurried out to the southern wall stretch, over the gatehouse, to survey the four black riders that came up out of the south.
When the four riders came into earshot, over the icy wind, they were quickly hailed by the voice of a guard on the walls without further ado.
"Hoy! Who goes there?!" He called out, what looked like some huscarl commander with a few of his men behind him, all of them holding torches.
The foremost black rider, tall enough to be a large man, didn't reply immediately until he was somewhat closer.
"Messengers from the southern cities! We wish to speak to the commander!" He called out quickly, the unknown rider's voice ragged and a little harsh sounding. "A message for the castle lord! Open the gates!"
A few up on the walls made moves as if to go and start opening the heavy, metal gates, but the huscarl commander, barely outlined by the torches on the walls, didn't move for a moment.
"What kind of messengers come at the eighth hour of night?" He barked.
"Urgent ones, for the general alone! I tell you, open the gates! This is a highly important one!"
"All four of you, urgent messengers?" He called back, still suspicious.
"Yes! The roads are treacherous this far north!" The other snapped back, pulling his black cloak tighter against the wind. "Open the gates, blast you!"
There was a long silence, with only the echoes of a few roused soldiers inside moving about, looking for activity. It wasn't for a long moment before the commander replied.
"One more question...what is the name of the general you wish to speak to?!" He called down, and waited.
There was a silence. Nothing replied for a long moment.
"Come now, who do you deliver your message to? Surely..."
The foremost black figure turned abruptly to the one beside it.
"Now, Ravis." He murmured. "Do it now."
There was a shudder, and abrupt change in the wind...and then a massive shock of sheer power.
BOOM! The gates themselves suddenly shuddered and cracked, as if hit by a massive, invisible hammer.
"...TO ARMS!! TO ARMS...!!"
BOOM.
The commander whirled about, abruptly disappearing back behind the walls, while men scattered about like leaves and hurried this way and that, mostly scrambling to get off the gatehouse wall.
"ARCHERS! SHOOT THEM DOWN..."
BOOM.
This time, a new voice sudden boomed over the castle, as if carried by the chill wind, coming from yet another one of the black, unknown figures before the gates, all sitting calmly in their saddles, hidden, while the gates shuddered.
"IDIOTS. IT IS TIME YOU LEARNED TO FEAR THE MASTERS OF THE NORTH." It announced, as coldly and regally as though the black figures were royal trumpeters. "TOO LATE."
This time, a line of quickly responding archers and axe throwers leaped up onto the walls, torches held by bearers before them to see by, where the commander had been just a moment ago.
"Company, take aim...draw...!"
The leading carl of the battalion didn't get much further. Without another word, he suddenly fell back on the wall, screaming, as one of the three black figures below that had nearly been turned into a living pincushion pointed up at him with a single finger. Clutching his throat, the man writhed on the walls, where his men stood motionless, still ready to shoot, or dropped their weapons to help their leader up.
It was another mistake. Within a matter of moments, all the rest of the men, holding their various bows, arrows and axes, fell back doing the same, as if they were being strangled with invisible hands at their throats, choking and screaming, dropping their weapons in a panic.
BOOM. This time, the gate visibly weakened, as if it had been hit with a massive fist of stone over and over again.
"Cursed sorcery...shoot! Someone shoot...!"
Still untouched and unmoving, one of the black figures, a slender person, rode forward another step and extended her hand to the double gates. She muttered something quickly under her breath.
BOOM...CRACK! This time, the gates trembled once more, and then fell inward, broken entirely. A gaping mouth of an entryway, showing the ice covered courtyard of the castle inside, was all that remained.
Without further ado and apparently not even worried, the four black hooded riders and their dark horses started forward at a walk, riding through the ruins and into the courtyard as calmly and unmoving as though they were a royal parade. The screams of men and shouts of rage filled the wind, as men on the walls drew their swords and axes, and rushed down to the courtyard. Archers on the walls and higher in the castle keep aimed and shot.
Not an arrow touched them, as if some were deliberately driven off course by the wind. A few of the ragged wall sentries made a rush at the four invading sorcerers, swords high and glinting, to kill the warlocks.
One or two came at the foremost rider, the large man, who turned abruptly when he heard them and lifted a hand towards them.
Within seconds, the nearest man, a young carl, suddenl dropped his sword as though it were poison, yelling and clutching his hands as the sword in the snow turned red, then white, with the sheer heat of melting metal. The other man, a little wiser, tried to edge around behind and cut the horse's legs out and thus dismount the sorcerer. With a cry, he dove at the black steed, swinging his heavy blade.
The sorcerer on the horse whirled about at the sound of the enraged cry and extended his hand again.
"Go to the underworld, foolish human!" He screeched. The man looked up and they met eyes for half a moment.
And that was all it took for the sorcery to do its work. Within moments, as if carved right out of the snow at his feet, the man managed to get out one angry curse before he was turned perfectly to ice, frozen inside and out, his sword still in hand.
Another man had dared to rush the nearby female sorcerer, who was not nearly as generous as the foremost leader was. As soon as nearly half a dozen tried to extend a small spear line before her, between her and the castle's double doors, she smiled sickly beneath her hood.
With a wave of her hand, the snow they stood on turned to black fire.
Scattering and screaming, some of them now burning torches as their furred jerkins and coated armor caught fire, the men nearly instantly dispersed, dropping their spears. The black fire didn't give off any light in the least, but it burned with a cruel heat that was so hot it almost froze like ice. Without another word, grimly chuckling to herself, the sorceress rode right through it, untouched by its flames.
Having cleared the way, the four sorcerers stopped at the foot of the castle doors, and all four dismounted easily.
"Ravis, these too." The leader hissed, now pushing back his hood. As he revealed his face in the cold starlight, it was the face of a middle-aged man, strong and powerfully built, with the look of a wolf about his face. His dark hair and eyes had ice tangled in them.
"Break the doors."
The nearby sorceress and second in command lifted up both her hands to the doors, as if gesturing for them to open. This time, there was no invisible battering ram or force required, the double doors groaned and opened of their own accord.
She smiled grimly. "The way is open. Send for the others."
When a sound, like the sound of a dying monster, a piercing screech, suddenly cut through the quiet plains and was echoed on the wind like a cold and distant memory, the Norns pricked their ears. More sets of black eyes materialized out of the snows around them, as if by magic, around the lone Mistress who ruled supreme.
She nodded to her clan, as the sound died away on the wind. "Now, the way is open. Run them all into the ice."
It was bad enough when the guards hurried inside, leaving only half of their men on the walls behind them, to attack the four black magicians that were now inside the castle's center keep. But when out of nowhere, a sea of pale, expressionless faces and grim black eyes seemed to appear like ghosts out of nowhere all around the walls, and started flooding in through the gate, silent and deadly, the men left outside sent up screams and curses of horror. A Norn clan. An entire clan of them. It would be a bloody night.
But it wasn't until the roar split the air that the men gave up in despair.
At first, it seemed distant. But without ending, it grew louder, and closer, like a monster on the wind very quickly approaching. Occasionally the very air shuddered around them, as though a giant flying animal was beating its wings.
Men outside in the courtyard, dueling with the pack of Norn raiders who wore their slick icicle scimitars and cruel, slender spears, nearly dropped their weapons in shock and horror. Even the Norns seemed to visibly hiss and cringe, as if cowering back before the sudden angry roar.
Then there was the audible beat of two pairs of wings. And two huge, absolutely massive forms winged out of the darkness.
The last thing any man in the castle knew before the world turned into a burning, writhing, flashing red insanity was a sudden breath of warm air and a column of red fiery breath.
Black Lord Warhespar's children had arrived, returned to Savarica.
But only one symbol stood on the northern reaches, the silent, sole sentinel that watched the edge of the known world from only God knew what evils beyond, was a castle.
The castle.
One of six, exactly identical castles that guarded Savarica on all sides, its very foundation stones, corner pieces, its walls and protection. Those six castles were the Spires, the Six Spires of Savarica that alone held out the massive tides of evil and darkness on all sides. And worse things. The Spires of Savarica, massive, icy white castles, remained for several centuries the pinnacles of protection for the people.
But only one, one of the strongest of the six, guarded Savarica's northern border. And that sole, strong castle was Kire`falraedis. The Northern Spire, one of six, it stood like an icy pinnacle on those frozen plains, nothing around it in any direction but snowy fields, copses of trees, and a few jagged hills in the distance. The distant lights of a city, a human city, some miles south, was the only light on those dark plains. Other than the constantly burning towers and glittering walls of the castle itself, lone guardian of the northern borders.
Out in the darkness of the night, some miles just north of Kire`falraedis, two pairs of glittering, cold eyes watching the massive castle's towers and keeps, and the dozens of soldiers and carls that constantly watching the walls and parapets. The mortal men had learned their lesson after their hard ages of trying to survive the barbaric wastes around them, without the Amaras, without God. Now they kept a hard and close watch.
But hopefully, that would be irrelevant by the end of the night.
The pale, white faces seemed to match the pale, icy white surroundings nearly perfectly, as did their equally white cloaks and hands. The two lone figures of pure, icy white surveyed the castle from a distance, crouching low in the snow, their white hoods pulled back across their shoulders while they watched.
"What think you, Mistress?" One of the voice hissed, though any human studying their faces would hardly be able to tell the difference from male and female Norn, both of them having slender, white features and glittering black eyes.
"We wait." Came the flat reply.
"Of that, I know." The other spat back, his whispery voice like the cold wind that blew it, "Be our good warriors and fighting-elves placed?"
The other, the one addressed as "Mistress," seemed to think a moment before replying. Neither took their eyes off the distant spires of Kire`falraedis while they spoke quietly.
"Well enough." The Mistress of the Norn Clan replied, "We wait. For the signal."
The other nodded, apparently satisfied. "And the...the...the Young Ones?"
"Both are ready to descend. Do not worry about them, Master Jahil'kaj." This time, the other's piercing black eyes turned to survey the lesser servant. Her eyes seemed to cut like a cold knife, for the other looked away quickly.
"We will move in when the signal is given. The mortals will do their part, and the Young Lords will do their part. That is all."
"Of course, Mistress. Of course."
It wasn't too much longer after that the signal came.
Though it was well past midnight, the time any honest traveler would be off the roads, four riders rode up from the south, picking their way through the snows on the covered road, and working their way up towards the single, solid gate of Kire`falraedis. Four human riders, cloaked and hooded entirely in black, wound their way through the heavy snows and towards the castle, as if they would ask for lodging for the night. If they had faces, hidden away under their hoods, they were invisible in the darkness.
When the four riders, just south of the castle, rode up into sight, immediately the call went up on the walls. Torches flared up and a few various guards hurried out to the southern wall stretch, over the gatehouse, to survey the four black riders that came up out of the south.
When the four riders came into earshot, over the icy wind, they were quickly hailed by the voice of a guard on the walls without further ado.
"Hoy! Who goes there?!" He called out, what looked like some huscarl commander with a few of his men behind him, all of them holding torches.
The foremost black rider, tall enough to be a large man, didn't reply immediately until he was somewhat closer.
"Messengers from the southern cities! We wish to speak to the commander!" He called out quickly, the unknown rider's voice ragged and a little harsh sounding. "A message for the castle lord! Open the gates!"
A few up on the walls made moves as if to go and start opening the heavy, metal gates, but the huscarl commander, barely outlined by the torches on the walls, didn't move for a moment.
"What kind of messengers come at the eighth hour of night?" He barked.
"Urgent ones, for the general alone! I tell you, open the gates! This is a highly important one!"
"All four of you, urgent messengers?" He called back, still suspicious.
"Yes! The roads are treacherous this far north!" The other snapped back, pulling his black cloak tighter against the wind. "Open the gates, blast you!"
There was a long silence, with only the echoes of a few roused soldiers inside moving about, looking for activity. It wasn't for a long moment before the commander replied.
"One more question...what is the name of the general you wish to speak to?!" He called down, and waited.
There was a silence. Nothing replied for a long moment.
"Come now, who do you deliver your message to? Surely..."
The foremost black figure turned abruptly to the one beside it.
"Now, Ravis." He murmured. "Do it now."
There was a shudder, and abrupt change in the wind...and then a massive shock of sheer power.
BOOM! The gates themselves suddenly shuddered and cracked, as if hit by a massive, invisible hammer.
"...TO ARMS!! TO ARMS...!!"
BOOM.
The commander whirled about, abruptly disappearing back behind the walls, while men scattered about like leaves and hurried this way and that, mostly scrambling to get off the gatehouse wall.
"ARCHERS! SHOOT THEM DOWN..."
BOOM.
This time, a new voice sudden boomed over the castle, as if carried by the chill wind, coming from yet another one of the black, unknown figures before the gates, all sitting calmly in their saddles, hidden, while the gates shuddered.
"IDIOTS. IT IS TIME YOU LEARNED TO FEAR THE MASTERS OF THE NORTH." It announced, as coldly and regally as though the black figures were royal trumpeters. "TOO LATE."
This time, a line of quickly responding archers and axe throwers leaped up onto the walls, torches held by bearers before them to see by, where the commander had been just a moment ago.
"Company, take aim...draw...!"
The leading carl of the battalion didn't get much further. Without another word, he suddenly fell back on the wall, screaming, as one of the three black figures below that had nearly been turned into a living pincushion pointed up at him with a single finger. Clutching his throat, the man writhed on the walls, where his men stood motionless, still ready to shoot, or dropped their weapons to help their leader up.
It was another mistake. Within a matter of moments, all the rest of the men, holding their various bows, arrows and axes, fell back doing the same, as if they were being strangled with invisible hands at their throats, choking and screaming, dropping their weapons in a panic.
BOOM. This time, the gate visibly weakened, as if it had been hit with a massive fist of stone over and over again.
"Cursed sorcery...shoot! Someone shoot...!"
Still untouched and unmoving, one of the black figures, a slender person, rode forward another step and extended her hand to the double gates. She muttered something quickly under her breath.
BOOM...CRACK! This time, the gates trembled once more, and then fell inward, broken entirely. A gaping mouth of an entryway, showing the ice covered courtyard of the castle inside, was all that remained.
Without further ado and apparently not even worried, the four black hooded riders and their dark horses started forward at a walk, riding through the ruins and into the courtyard as calmly and unmoving as though they were a royal parade. The screams of men and shouts of rage filled the wind, as men on the walls drew their swords and axes, and rushed down to the courtyard. Archers on the walls and higher in the castle keep aimed and shot.
Not an arrow touched them, as if some were deliberately driven off course by the wind. A few of the ragged wall sentries made a rush at the four invading sorcerers, swords high and glinting, to kill the warlocks.
One or two came at the foremost rider, the large man, who turned abruptly when he heard them and lifted a hand towards them.
Within seconds, the nearest man, a young carl, suddenl dropped his sword as though it were poison, yelling and clutching his hands as the sword in the snow turned red, then white, with the sheer heat of melting metal. The other man, a little wiser, tried to edge around behind and cut the horse's legs out and thus dismount the sorcerer. With a cry, he dove at the black steed, swinging his heavy blade.
The sorcerer on the horse whirled about at the sound of the enraged cry and extended his hand again.
"Go to the underworld, foolish human!" He screeched. The man looked up and they met eyes for half a moment.
And that was all it took for the sorcery to do its work. Within moments, as if carved right out of the snow at his feet, the man managed to get out one angry curse before he was turned perfectly to ice, frozen inside and out, his sword still in hand.
Another man had dared to rush the nearby female sorcerer, who was not nearly as generous as the foremost leader was. As soon as nearly half a dozen tried to extend a small spear line before her, between her and the castle's double doors, she smiled sickly beneath her hood.
With a wave of her hand, the snow they stood on turned to black fire.
Scattering and screaming, some of them now burning torches as their furred jerkins and coated armor caught fire, the men nearly instantly dispersed, dropping their spears. The black fire didn't give off any light in the least, but it burned with a cruel heat that was so hot it almost froze like ice. Without another word, grimly chuckling to herself, the sorceress rode right through it, untouched by its flames.
Having cleared the way, the four sorcerers stopped at the foot of the castle doors, and all four dismounted easily.
"Ravis, these too." The leader hissed, now pushing back his hood. As he revealed his face in the cold starlight, it was the face of a middle-aged man, strong and powerfully built, with the look of a wolf about his face. His dark hair and eyes had ice tangled in them.
"Break the doors."
The nearby sorceress and second in command lifted up both her hands to the doors, as if gesturing for them to open. This time, there was no invisible battering ram or force required, the double doors groaned and opened of their own accord.
She smiled grimly. "The way is open. Send for the others."
When a sound, like the sound of a dying monster, a piercing screech, suddenly cut through the quiet plains and was echoed on the wind like a cold and distant memory, the Norns pricked their ears. More sets of black eyes materialized out of the snows around them, as if by magic, around the lone Mistress who ruled supreme.
She nodded to her clan, as the sound died away on the wind. "Now, the way is open. Run them all into the ice."
It was bad enough when the guards hurried inside, leaving only half of their men on the walls behind them, to attack the four black magicians that were now inside the castle's center keep. But when out of nowhere, a sea of pale, expressionless faces and grim black eyes seemed to appear like ghosts out of nowhere all around the walls, and started flooding in through the gate, silent and deadly, the men left outside sent up screams and curses of horror. A Norn clan. An entire clan of them. It would be a bloody night.
But it wasn't until the roar split the air that the men gave up in despair.
At first, it seemed distant. But without ending, it grew louder, and closer, like a monster on the wind very quickly approaching. Occasionally the very air shuddered around them, as though a giant flying animal was beating its wings.
Men outside in the courtyard, dueling with the pack of Norn raiders who wore their slick icicle scimitars and cruel, slender spears, nearly dropped their weapons in shock and horror. Even the Norns seemed to visibly hiss and cringe, as if cowering back before the sudden angry roar.
Then there was the audible beat of two pairs of wings. And two huge, absolutely massive forms winged out of the darkness.
The last thing any man in the castle knew before the world turned into a burning, writhing, flashing red insanity was a sudden breath of warm air and a column of red fiery breath.
Black Lord Warhespar's children had arrived, returned to Savarica.
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