THE BATTLE ON THE AULD HAG’S MOUND

 

"So, what does it write?" said Varrik.

"Here, read it yourself."

Varrik hastily grabbed the yellowed paper and held it close to his face.

"Oh my God!! Gigorin!" he cried, "How will you be able to collect 400 golden triens"

"I won't need that much. Read on."

Varrik bent over the note once more. Gigorin was right. The loan shark bestowed upon him a pair of choices. An offering to surrender 400 shimmering gold pieces forthwith, relinquishing ties with the debt. Alternatively, he had to endure the yoke of granting 13 gold triens every passing moon for an arduous span of four years. This was the debt that his father's departure had now placed on Giggorin's shoulders.

"Well, you can’t collect that money with the officer's salary, that's out of the question", said Varik after a while.

"What are you suggesting then?"

"I don't know. I only know that elf hunters are paid handsomely in Pyrgosia. About a golden trien for every elf's head or so."

Gigorin avoided looking at his friend. He understood that desertion was his only option. The irony! This damn debt led him to enlist two years ago, now the same debt was forcing him to desert.

He took the note again and read it twice more so he wouldn't forget it. He was trying to memorize two simple numbers. The 400 and the 13. He was never good with numbers. They slipped out of his mind as if they were made of smoke. 

With a steady hand, he took out his spear and carefully took off the leather strips that held the metal head on the wooden torso.

Using the tip as a knife, he carved, on the empty back of a coin, four vertical lines and two zeros. The 400. In the empty space that was left, he carved thirteen small lines. Then, threw the paper into the fireplace of the inn, to burn among some smoldering logs. He flipped the coin on the palm of his hand. Carved on the reverse side of the coin, a hideous elf, eyes bulging and tongue sticking out, glared at him with hatred in an endless scream.

"Damnation," he cursed while putting the coin in his bag.

He tied the tip back to his spear and left the inn alongside Varrik.

He had engraved the number, not in a coin, but in a medal of fortune given to him when he enlisted. He shouldn't have done so. The druids used to say it was a jinx to mark one of these medals.

The regular medals of fortune were of silver, with semiprecious stones and some voluptuous nymph engraved on their good side. Therefore, it was simply impossible to mistake them for simple coins. But the ones given to the military enlists were made in the same matrix used for coins. They had coated them with copper, instead of silver, to reduce the cost, and instead of a nymph they had decorated them with a screaming elf. Apparently, they had done it because many believed that the blood of elves brings good luck. So since they didn't have precious stones, they thought that this was a cheap way to force some luck on them.

Gigorin was given two of them when he enlisted and another one when he became an officer. He sold the first two to a farmer. But the latter he kept. He had associated it with his promotion and thought it was indeed lucky. Strangely enough, everything has gone south since.

He was not frightened by the empty talk of the druids, but he regretted the fact that he could not sell it later. No one would buy a "jinxed" medal of luck. He himself did not believe in the religion of the druids. He was not yet born when his family was proselyted to another faith, the faith brought to this land by the "Envoys".

Unlike the others, this faith preached the existence of a solitary deity, who diverged from the gods and spirits of the druids and sorceresses by showing genuine concern for humans and voluntarily intervening to aid them. This benevolent deity did not demand sacrifices and held a strong aversion towards the use of enchantments. They rejected acceptance of sorcerers and nymphs, and their priesthood consisted solely of the humble "Keepers." The rise of the religion of the "Envoys" occurred nearly seven centuries ago, when the first Envoy emerged within the towns and villages inhabited by the Strukturites. As per the ancient teachings, this God had vowed that in dire straits, a new "Envoy" would be dispatched to offer assistance.

 

"Name and rank," the guard shouted abruptly.

"Captain Gigorin Fedan, from Callidora Province."

"Non-Commissioned Officer Varrik Stef, from Lykaina Province".

Without waiting for the guard to ask them to do so, the two officers took out the iron rings they wore on the index of the left hand and handed them over to the guard. He looked at them for a while and then returned them back.

"You may pass."

"Are you new here?" asked Varrik.

"I enlisted two days ago, sir!"

"Why so?"

"I don't want to miss the battle. My brother heard it would take place within two weeks."

"Are you in a hurry to shed the blood of the Bishmans?», asked Gigorin.

"Captain, you grew up in Callidora province. But we who live near the border have suffered greatly from these bastards. Now the time has come to set the record straight and I want to be there".

"Do you have a wife? Children?"

"I have a brother and three sisters."

"You're new and that's why you don't know the signs. This very morning, the Bishmans carried the Pyroflame cannons to the outskirts, under the Auld Hag’s Mound. This is to say that if they manage to get it to the top of the hill, our positions will be within their firing range. So, go see your siblings today. You don't want to leave it for later." - he paused a while to look the young soldier in the eyes - "the battle will take place tomorrow at dawn".

 

The sun rose over the Black Mountain, which now belonged to the area controlled by the Bishmans. Its pinnacle gazed upon the horizon, surveying the formidable army that the Structurites had amassed below. No, fewer than four thousand troopers and four hundred horsemen.

Then the sun lit up the Forest of Shadows, whose logging was the real cause of the conflict between the two nations. In front of the forest, the Auld Hag’s Mound rose like a natural stronghold. A stone mass, resembling a human’s hunch, that Strukturitan folklore tied to a nefarious old witch. For centuries, anyone who wanted to set foot on the hill had to leave first some gift, outside the outside the hag's abode,, a mere hollow at the foot of the hill.

Finally, the light of day revealed the positions of the Bishmans, whose soldiers had gathered next to the Auld Hag’s Mound. The Strukturitan spies had estimated them to be no more than two thousand men.

Ominous, the sunrise painted the landscape with its scarlet color. The aged General Xelanos supervised his army of Strukturites, for the last time. In the prevailing darkness of the hour, the soldiers could not see his swollen eyes, or his wrinkled forehead, but heard only his hoarse voice, echoing to its familiar tune.

"Hundreds of years ago, our ancestors tamed the calcined steel. From ordinary men they became creators. They fabricated magnificent constructions that were neither overcome nor will ever be. Each of you, no matter how simple and insignificant you may feel, remember that you are the descendants of creators, favorites of the gods, equals of the fiends in cunningness and ingenuity."

His voice resonated with courage, giving the impression that he feared naught. Yet, appearances deceive, for within his heart there were many things that upset him. Mainly, the ferocious Pyroflame cannons. He dreaded not the battle's outcome – for him, victory was certain – but rather the death toll it would exact upon his men.

After finishing his inspiring speech, he ordered his men to march and take their positions on the battlefield. 

The army was broken up into three parts. The first two would attempt a frontal attack against the fortified positions of the Bishmanian infantry, while five hundred soldiers along with the cavalry would try to cross around the Auld Hag’s Mound in order to surround the enemy's position and destroy their artillery. Among them, Gigorin was advancing briskly, at the head of his own division.

"Gigorin, my friend, I have something to confide in you," Varrik whispered, "I would have told you before, but I had sworn to keep it a secret."

"And what changed now?" asked Gigorin.

"I believe that you can be useful in this higher cause. Will you hear me out?"

"Fine, speak fast."

"When we camped outside the city of Salimm two weeks ago, I had visited a Temple of the Envoys. There, I learned a secret that should not reach many ears."

"What is it?"

"A new Envoy has appeared."

"What?" Are you sure?"

"The Keepers are certain. So am I."

"Did you meet him?"

"Yes, I saw him and talked to him"

"What does he seem like?"

"Different, you don't meet such people every day."

"And what did he tell you?"

"What does it matter? What could he say to me? What could I understand? Well then, he told me every time you think and act with your heart, you become yourself an Envoy, that's what he told me and then....then he added it is when you put others first that you think with your heart"

"We are told by the Keepers, that the Envoys always come in dire straits. In civil wars, sieges or persecutions. But we don't live in such times now. These border skirmishes with the Bishmanns possess none of the marks of a true war and there are not even rumors about separatist movements. I fail to comprehend how our epoch can bear the title of 'time of need".

"I don't know, my friend. But the Envoy is here. And that's why things have become dangerous. People who should not have learned of the Envoy’s arrival, have been made aware of his presence. He has already survived two attempts on his life, luckily escaping both unscathed. That's why he's now traveling in all secrecy."

"Speak swiftly. How can I be of use?"

"The next stop on his journey is Theolon. There he will inaugurate a new sanctuary. There he will need this" - Varrik took out a pouch that was hanging from his belt. It was made of fine blue silk– "Don't ask me what's inside, because I have not the slightest idea. I only know that I must bring it to Theolon in two months' time. The Envoy himself used to carry it with him. He said it would be a great evil if they caught him and this heirloom was lost with him. I was so impressed by his presence that I volunteered to bring it there myself. But I don't know if the army will pass near Theolon. But should you do what you say you're going to do, you must be able to get to Theolon on time."

"I didn't say I was going to do anything. I just considered it... You know what? Keep it. After the battle, if I'm still alive, I'll take it. If I end up doing what I suggested I would do, then I'll take it with me."

 

Soon, the general’s messenger arrived with orders for Gigorin, and so the company commander was cut off from the rest of the army and together with three spearmen advanced to the Forest of Shadows.

There they found the river that divided the forest in two and followed it. As they moved along the riverbank, the gurgling song of the water mingled with the sounds of the birds. The flying denizens of the forest knew no war, so they continued to search for food, chirping excitedly.

The beautiful sounds accompanied Gigorin and his men to the small clearing where the spy's tent was located..

"Good morning Galander. What news, do you have for me?" asked Gigorin as soon as he entered the tent.

"The attack must be thwarted," shouted the spy

"That’s impossible! Our men have already taken their position, on the battlefield. ."

"We are doomed! The spirits are on their side," he shouted once more.

"Which spirits?"

"The Auld Hag!! The hellish Auld Hag!!"

"Please calm down," intervened a young woman with blonde unblemished hair, who was standing next to the spy. Gigorin did not fail to recognize the spy's assistant. 

"He's right, my Captain", said the young woman. "We must drop back. The Bishmans managed to raise the cannons up the hill during the night."

"That's impossible. No one can raise these heavy cannons in the darkness."

" It was the Auld Hag that raise them upon the hill. They gave her the offer she asked for!. Blood! Plenty of blood!" the spy erupted again.

"Whose Βlood?"

"Ours!" the spy screamed again.

"The foul spirit is messing with his head", one of the spearmen interjected. "There are no canons in the hill".

"You fool! I saw her with my own eyes. She asked for…She wants me to deliver her…but I can’t…I shall not…"

Two hands pierced the tent and their nails plunged into the spy's rear side, piercing him like knives. Τhen they pulled him backward, and the unfortunate man was hurled off the tent. Gigorin got a glimpse of a large mouth with greenish, rotten teeth behind the unfortunate man. Immediately, a wind with the force of a storm overturned the tent and pushed away those inside it.

Gigorin found himself inside the stream. He lost his lance and was now soaked to the bone. He leaned on his elbows and lifted his body out of the water. Next to him was the blonde girl, she looked even more dizzy than him. Gigorin caught a glimpse of a wrinkled hand stretching out towards her. Without even thinking he drew his cutlass sword out of his sheath and hit the dark hand of the old woman.

With a scream, the hand was pulled back and disappeared into the air. Gigorin got up and grabbed the young woman. 

"I only want the female," said a voice like a loud whisper, "I like the color of her hair."

Gigorin retreated with small steps, while also putting his body between the girl and the creature.. He saw her. A shadow-like figure, without legs and arms but with large teeth like nails, rushed towards him. He drove her away at the last minute with a powerful blow of his sword.

"Give her to me."

Gigorin heard the metallic sounds made by the armor of his attendants.

"Hit her with your lance," he ordered.

Only two lancers obeyed his order. The third one was lying dead on the soft ground.

"Damn you monster," Gigorin shouted.

He felt the searing pain as the witch's wicked claws dug deep into his shoulder, drawing blood. The nightmarish visage, gnashing its teeth malevolently, hovered above his vulnerable neck. Suddenly, a deadly lance materialized in the witch's mouth, narrowly missing the captain's cheek as it whizzed past. With a defiant shake, Gigorin leaped away, never faltering in his retreat. Just as he glanced back, he witnessed the malevolent witch dissolving into nothingness, engulfed in a fiery, scarlet glow. The soldiers along with the girl ran furiously to get out of the forest. A strong glow greeted them when they went out into the plain. A jet of fire and mud passed before their eyes, and footsteps of horses and groaning people reached their ears. Gigorin lifted his gaze to the sky and saw it furrowed by numerous red lines. It looked as if the heavenly firmament had caught fire. The Pyroflame cannons.

"Retreat!! Retreat!!" he screamed – as he broke into a run through the panic-stricken crowd of his soldiers. He jumped over a mutilated horse that was aching in pain. He passed past a puddle, with a metal ball still burning. He was screaming and cursing like crazy.

"Retreat!! 

A ball full of fire came down from the sky a few meters in front of him. Her fiery tail, made of metal and watered in resin and tar, followed it and looked like a hellish whip full of fire.

Gigorin fell down, narrowly escaping death by a few inches. The tail passed over his head, reaping what he found in its path. A deafening noise was heard, like an explosion, and a wave of dirt and mud fell upon him, covering him whole.

When he recovered and removed the soil over him, he saw another landscape. The green valley had disappeared and a scorched plain filled with corpses and fires had taken its place.

"Behind you!" the voice of Varrik reached Gigorin's ears.

The Captain saw a group of Bishmans, with their curved swords and short shields rushing at him. He searched for his sword but he had lost it. He tried to turn back but he got confused and stumbled, landing with his face on the black soil.

Varrik closed the distance between himself and the approaching Bishmans, swiftly unleashing his attack. With precision, he thrust his lance, lodging it between the teeth of the first enemy. Powerfully, he launched it at the second, managing to pierce through his shield. Then, he erupted into a violent flurry, decimating their ranks. Gigorin, observing the brutal carnage, saw Varrik effortlessly dispatch four adversaries before one of their curved swords found its mark in his chest.

As their attention shifted to the fallen captain, one of the enemies advanced towards Gigorin, seeking to join forces with his comrades. Skillfully evading the attack, Gigorin seized his sword and swiftly reversed its grip, piercing The Bishman's heart..

Rising to his feet, he surveyed the remaining adversaries—only three remained. Determination etched upon his face, he reclaimed the fallen spear still impaled in the shield, deflecting the Bishman's blades before forcefully toppling him. Raising the spear high, Gigorin ruthlessly thrust it into the enemy's chest multiple times. Finally, he took up his sword and shield, launching an assault on the two remaining foes. Skillfully repelling a barrage of strikes, he relentlessly pursued them until he had exterminated their threat..

Now alone amidst the desolate battlefield, Gigorin bent down beside his fallen comrade. Grief and admiration intertwined as he spoke to the lifeless body.

"Truly, in times of danger, God sends one of His Envoys. In my case, He sent you."

 

Securing the bag containing the precious heirloom to his belt, Gigorin took a moment to survey the aftermath of the battle. It was a scene of utter devastation—the Structurites had suffered a crushing defeat. With no other Bishman forces in sight, he surmised that they had been dispatched to "clean up" the wounded..

Now, the path of Gigorin was open. He had to return the relic to the Envoy, in the city of Theolon. But before going there he had to find the money that the loan shark was asking of him for this month.

With his path now unobstructed, Gigorin knew he had to return the relic to the Envoy in the city of Theolon. But before embarking on that journey, he also had to find the money owed to the loan shark for the month. Frustration etched across his features as he rubbed his face. In time, he would sort it all out. Not now, though. Now, he had to bury his friend.