Forgotten Guardians

The wind whipped at the side of the tent bending the canvas and poles to near breaking. Vander sat inside stirring a small fire, trying to fight off the chill. It had been almost two weeks since he had met his strange wizard friend. They had made their camp at the bottom of a shrubby ravine. Usually, the location was perfect to keep the wind down but it didn’t seem to help tonight. The two had started to rebuild Vander’s army. They had over fifty men, and a few more came in everyday. Parlon had created a spell which would whisper into the ears of every able man in the area about the new army. The spell would not force them to join, only inform them of the location of the ravine. Most of the soldiers were young men from the nearby villages seeking fortune and glory. They had no military or weapon training, but they were eager to fight, and with daily encouraging by Vander, telling them how they would rid the world of evil and bring order to the chaotic world, they learned quickly. Vander started to train them in the ways of fighting while Parlon taught them field medicine and organized die men. The men gave their hearts and loyally to Vander. They would have walked off a cliff if ordered to do so. Vander, however, wasn’t content; men came, but only a few at a time. It would take years to gather enough men to start a march.

Parlon and another large man named Charkic, entered Vander’s tent. He was a big muscular man who was nearly seven feet tall. His hair was short and black with wisps of gray, showing his age. Several scars were upon his race, medals of past battles. He was the only other man who had soldier training other than Vander. He had been a mercenary for quite some time, but now devoted his life to Vander’s cause. Something had happened to him in his past, something which involved the dark races, for every time someone mentioned a troll or goblin, Charkic’s face would contort into uncontrollable rage. He hated those creatures with a passion which burned in his eyes. Vander used Charkic’s passion of hatred to inspire his men. He had appointed Charkic his First lieutenant.

Vander didn’t rum around to face Charkic and Parlon as they stepped up behind him, “How does it go?” he asked half-heartedly.

“The supply line has been cleared and is ready. All men have been provisioned and tented, sir. Ten more showed up today and are being supplied as we speak, sir.” Charkic said in a military manner. Their supplies were provide by the near by villages. Some of the villages had to be persuaded to “donate” to the cause. Even after they were enlighted to the purpose of such an army but sometimes people must be forced to what is right Vander knew.

“Soldiers or boys?” Vander asked, still poking his fire.

“Young men from a nearby mountain village, but I will turn them into soldiers, sir, you have my word,” Charkic said, standing straight and his arms behind his back.

Vander had no doubt that the newcomers would be soldiers or die at the hands of Charkic. He was a brutal instructor, but Vander feared the coming winter. How many of his men would stay out here in the freezing cold?

As if reading his thoughts, Parlon spoke, “Will the men stay through out the winter?” he asked as he faced Charkic.

Charkic did not care for the wizard and never let his guard down when around him. He scowled at Parlon for asking the question which was on all of their minds. “Yes, even if I have to tie them down to the ground, they will stay, wizard.”

“Many of them are already losing faith and talking of leaving, General. We must think of something,“Parlon pleaded.

“Out of tricks, wizard?” Charkic said sarcastically.

“Enough, Parlon is right. We must raise their spirits,” Vander said as he turned around.

The three stood silent, thinking of something that might rekindle their soldiers’ spirits. Then Parlon raised his head, “Maybe a name for the army or an emblem.”

Vander raised an eye brow at the thought. He looked to Charkic to see his response.

“That’s actually a good idea, even if it came from a wizard. The men need a symbol to look upon to give them courage,” Charkic said, ignoring Parlon.

“Maybe even having an emblem on their tunics would raise their spirits,” Vander said out loud, more to himself than the others. Charkic grinned broadly at the suggestion.

“That will drain our funds considerably,” Parlon advised.

“I do not care about money. The people will support us,” Vander said as he waved off the advice. The people would support his cause or pay for their mistake. “I will think upon the name and emblem. Charkic, make the preparation and retrieve a seamstress from a nearby village,” Vander said as he dismissed his lieutenant.

Charkic turned on his heels and swiftly left the tent, letting a smirk come to his lips as he passed Parlon. Parlon easily let it pass and turned his attention back to Vander who still seemed doubtful.

“Forgive me, General, for my lack of faith. I only worry about running low on necessities before your army is ready for the campaign,” Parlon said as he bowed low.

“Your fears are justified. It will take some time to gather a large enough force and with winter coming, we will be hard pressed for men,” he said as he turned back to poke at the fire again.

“Sir, may I share an idea?” Parlon asked with bow.

“Speak it,” Vander said, concentrating on the fire again.

Parlon reached into his robe and produced a crystal that gleamed like the blackest of midnights and held it out to his general. Vander looked up from his fire poking and half glanced at the item.

“What is it?” Vander asked, not impressed.

“It is a piece of the dark priestess Khafin’s heart,” Parlon answered proudly. Khafin was an evil priestess from hundreds of years ago, who had slaughtered hundreds in her blood lust. Her stories where told around campfires to scare young children into behaving.

“What does it do?” Vander asked, still not impressed.

“It beckons all creatures with evil hearts and bends them to its will,” Parlon said almost demonically.

Parlon’s comment caught Vander’s attention. He spun around and looked the wizard straight in the eye. His blood boiled at the thought of the evil creatures; trolls, giants, goblins, ores, ogres, and other foul creatures. “Our men are not ready to handle what that damn piece of glass might summon,” Vander spat.

“No, General, this is how you will rebuild your army. By spring you will have a force which could rival any kingdom,” Parlon proclaimed as he reached his arms to the sky.

“An army of evil. I will not be akin to such foul, demonic creatures for any reason, even to further my purpose.” Vander rose dangerously from his chair.

“No, no, General, you misunderstand. What better weapon could there be against evil but evil?” Parlon said as he coward back. “Why should your noble men bleed and die when we can enemies do it for us.”

Suddenly Vander’s face lit up with a grin, “And if they die, the enemy will be only helping me; they will be killing themselves.”

“Yes, General. Save your soldiers and let the evil creatures take the blades and arrows. It is a win-win situation for you,” Parlon said nodding his head.

“Very well, I put you in charge of the wretched vermin. Start immediately, but keep them away from the soldiers and provide them with no provisions. Let them starve for all I care,” Vander said as he waved Parlon away. Vander sat back down with a smile. Soon he would have an army and rid the world of evil and all its demonic servants.

In the weeks that followed, Vander’s thoughts brightened. A seamstress came from the small fishing village of Sweetport and was frantically working on the over shirts for the men. Most of the men were already wearing their new garments over their armor with pride. Vander’s crest shined brightly on their chests as they practiced their march. Vander had created the emblem with the help of Parlon to inspire his men. A silver blazing sun with a single ray shooting down engulfing a vertically raised sword. Vander had a tunic made for himself as well, but his was embroidered with silver thread. He decided only he and his lieutenants would wear such tunics.

Charkic was being measured for his silver embroidered tunic at that moment. Parlon had refused to wear the emblems for he explained that he was nothing more than an advisor. Vander didn’t press the matter. Wizards were an odd sort to begin with anyway. Banners were also being made to match the emblem, to encourage the men during battle. The men’s spirits were high and talk of leaving was all but extinguished. Vander had also decided on the name for his army; “Army of the Light.” The name would inspire people and rally them to his aid. More men kept arriving every day. Vander had over a hundred men so far; Parlon’s spell had done well.

Parlon’s other spell from the heart of Khafin was also working. Goblins and ores flocked in everyday, answering the call of the black crystal. Vander had more than five scores of goblins, and a few scores of orcs.

Even a giant and a few ogres had come. More would come by the spring and his army would be complete. Vander ordered a small wall built around the human encampment and had Parlon place an enchantment on it so that no goblins or other creatures could cross it. The wall was only four feet tall but the powerful enchantment kept the creatures at bay. Vander had ordered that none of the creatures would wear the emblem of the “Army of light.” The denizens had to find their own means of shelters and food. Charkic almost went berserk when the first tribe of goblins came into the ravine camp. He charged out with his huge broadsword, hacking at the wretched creatures as they dumbly stood entranced by the will of the crystal. Quickly Vander had calmed the giant man and explained his plan for the creatures. Charkic still did not like it, but only backed down because of Vander’s command. Vander only respected the man more after the argument, for Charkic truly hated the evil races. Vander knew that Charkic loyalty was complete and patted himself on the back for recruiting him. The rest of the men seemed a little skittish around the creatures, but were quickly put at ease when Vander told them of his plan for the horde and about the enchanted wall.

The goblins, and orcs and other creatures were in turmoil at all time. They wouldn’t go near the wall and kept clear from any soldier who came through the encampment, but they fought among themselves, tribe versus tribe, giants picking on the smaller creatures, all fighting over food and shelter. Vander decided against his best judgment and called forth the five ogres who were in the encampment. He chose the ogres for a few simple reasons, ogres were more intelligent than the rest of the creatures and they were the most brutal and ruthless of the dark races. He appointed four of them his captains, the fifth and the largest of the five was named Racore. To Vander’s surprise Rancor, was quiet intelligent and could speak many languages. Vander chose him as his second lieutenant for his size and his fighting ability, his intelligence was a surprising bonus. Racore did fight with skill and clearly had seen many battles. He became the commander of the horde of goblins and orcs and was the only creature allowed to pass the enchanted wall with the help of a magical emblem Parlon had created. His job was clear; he had to organize and train the horde. In the few days which passed the spectacle was quite impressive. The ogres didn’t handle training in a military fashion, they used brute strength and killed a few of the lesser creatures to strike fear into the rest. The horde camp was slowly becoming organized: small huts were constructed all about, other creatures made homes on the sides of the ravine, and the tribal wars were all but extinct.

The day was clear and chilly as Vander walked out of his tent to greet the new arrivals. The morning air bit at his exposed flesh and the ground cracked under his feet from the night’s frost. He strolled up to the wall, wearing his full outfit with his embroidered tunic over his armor. He could hear Charkic barking orders at his men while they practiced their march. Parlon was standing at the wall with the morning light shining off his tattooed head. He watched as the new arrivals made their way through the ravine. It was a large tribe of orcs, dazed and confused as to why they were traveling. They turned the bend and found Racor and two of his captains waiting for them. The orcs took up a howling and snarling as they caught sight of the ogres, but Racor just stood there, feet planted and his arms across his chest. He stood silently, passing his gaze over each of the orcs, measuring them up, seeing where to place them. He stomped up to the group’s supposed leader, leaned down and snarled and barked some commands in the orcish tongue. Most of the orcs stood still with a blank expression, not knowing what to do. Racor growled and spat some more commands, and then all of the tribe went into a frenzy, jumping over each other as they rushed for the horde encampment. The captains ran behind them barking commands until the ores were enveloped into the horde. Racor casually strolled back to the encampment with a superior grin.

During the frenzy Vander glanced at Parlon. As he looked more closely at Parlon a cold shiver ran up his spine. Suddenly he was terrified of the wizard. He shook off the feeling and turned to watch his men at practice. Something about the wizard of late always made him feel uneasy. There was something gnawing at the edge of his mind. Parlon was indeed a powerful wizard, but why was he so uncomfortable around the small man? Vander decided he would keep an eye on the wizard for a while.