The Dragon Realms Saga

It took all day and night to establish a base camp on the Northern Shore. Large tents and canopies were erected – a quartermaster, a medical bay, a chow line, a resting area, and one particularly enormous tent in the center that served as a war council.

Koda gathered the seven lords along with Avalon, Wiccer, and his commanding general, Ashmer. They looked over a large territorial map of Varis, sticking a dagger into the various points of interests. A dagger marked the location of the capital city of Varis, the mining city of Stonewall, a clearing just beyond the Southern Shore, and their beach camp on the Northern Shore.

General Ashmer was an older elf dressed in a green and gold dress jacket. His golden star insignia glinted on his collar. His unit patch depicted a spear in the foreground of a gold tree with eight branches protruding from it, representing the 1st Spearman Division. He lit his pipe, taking in the smooth tobacco before delving into his plan.

“Varis City is under siege, Stonewall is currently occupied by the enemy, and the Southern Shore holds the main concentration of Estinia’s reserve forces,” he paused as his pipe puffed up a ring of white smoke. The smoke danced in the air with a thick cherryroot scent, “Varis’s forces won’t be able to assist us until the city has been relieved. Stonewall both serves as a gate past the Sarkeir Mountains to the south and as a supply complex for steel weapons and armor for the Estinian siege. The clearing beyond the mountains north of the Southern Shore would be an ideal spot for a final battle.”

Wiccer rubbed his chin, looking over the map and nodding passively to Ashmer’s briefing, “A good assessment, but what is your proposed course of action, general?”

Ashmer removed the Varis City dagger and thrust it into the large map next to the clearing’s dagger, “We send a large force to stop the siege and rally the Varisian army to the clearing,” he then took the Northern Shore dagger and the Stonewall dagger and placed them with the other two daggers next to the southern clearing, “The remaining forces liberate Stonewall, meet up with the forces from the southern clearing, and run Estinia out of Varis!”

Long Whisper’s officers muttered in agreement. He pointed to several lords, “Lady Aisling, Lady Sove, Lord Fendrick, Lord Lenfrell, and Lord Eris – take your forces and drive back the siege to unite with King Dallin and head to the clearing. Lord Athar and Lady Cass, your forces will stay with the Silent Ones and myself. Together we’ll reclaim Stonewall for Varis and rendezvous with the forces from Varis City.”

Koda caught Wiccer looking aloof as he balked at the king’s assignment of the dividing forces, “Your father is in Varis City, isn’t he Captain Newsun?”

Wiccer looked up, caught a bit off guard. The White Cloaks originated from Varis City and his father had been recently stationed there to assist the Varisian army. Wiccer had been deeply worried for him. His anxiety had been exacerbated ever since the city fell under siege. He had hoped that it would be his unit that was sent to Varis City, and he could not hide the disappointment on his face, “Yes, my King,” he replied.

“Do you wish to go save Varis City with the other forces?”

“I…” Every fiber in his body wished to say yes, but he knew he needed to stay with his Watchers, “…My place is leading the ARO”

“Good,” said Ashmer, cutting his way back into the conversation, “because we could use the ARO to scout out the forest before Stonewall. The last thing we need is to be ambushed by Black Rabbits as we make our way there,”

Koda, both concerned and curious, asked, “ARO had three months to train. Are they ready to take on the Black Rabbits?”

I hope so. Wiccer thought to himself. That would have been the correct response, but was not the one he went with, “Our Watchers are an apt group of individuals that were rigorously trained by the best of the best. We are more than capable of dealing with anything that the Black Rabbits can throw at us!” Wiccer said with slightly feigned confidence.

“Excellent, captain. Gather your men and clear that forest of any Rabbit scum!” General Ashmer said with more than a hint of thrill in his voice.

“Yes, sir!” Wiccer responded with a neat salute. He bowed to his king and lords before exiting the tent.

***

“Don’t you have medic things you’re supposed to be doing?” Rulan asked, frustrated with Essie’s insufferable giggling and teasing.

Trek had set up a chess board in one of the more quiet spots of the encampment. He and Rulan sat on logs with the checkered, wooden board resting on a barrel between them. Rulan shifted on his log, squirming as if he were being bitten by invisible ants. The thought of another loss to his more mentally agile brother made him fidget uncontrollably. Essie’s commentary did not help the atmosphere. She hissed through her teeth every time Rulan made a foolish move that would cost him a piece.

“And what, miss watching your precious ego take another beating? I don’t think so!” laughed Essie. She patted her brother on his head in a patronizing manner, “Come on Rulan, haven’t you learned anything from Grandpops Sirbik? Never let your opponent control the middle rows.”

“I know, I know!” yammered Rulan.

Trek smiled amusingly, “I miss those days. I miss all the goodies that Grandma would set out for family gatherings. She always had those wooden figures covering the shelves, and a few cats curled up by the hearth. She served the piping hot vegetable and lamb pies on the coldest of winter nights. Grandma Betts gave you that old white stuffed bear, right Essie?”

Essie chuckled, shoving Trek to the side to make room on the log besides him for her to sit, “Snowflake. I still remember him.”

Rulan reached over and flicked Trek’s ear tip the way he always had to get his attention, “Hey, stop concentrating on the past, and focus on the present, I just took your bishop!”

Trek rubbed his ear, “I have time to concentrate on the past when I move three moves ahead,” Trek slid his knight into position and trapped Rulan’s king, “Checkmate! You owe me three trit!”

Rulan zeroed in on his king’s position, eying the checkmate in disbelief, “Wait a minute. I can… well I can… damn, I can’t believe I lost again!”

Trek grinned from ear to ear, “Statistically speaking you should have won at least after the eighth game.”

Rulan reached into his coin purse and pulled out three bronze coins. Each had a picture of king Jaelyn on the front and crescent moon on the back, “Three Jae-faces. There, are you happy now? I’m broke. How bout you let me win some trit back in a sparring match?”

Trek began packing up his chess set, a wide grin still plastered on his face, “How bout I give these trit to Essie and you spar her for them?”

Essie slid up to Rulan and flicked his ear, “How bout it Rulan?”

Rulan backed up, “Oh no, I err, just remembered – I’m pretty hungry. How about we find Timber and Calsoon and grab some chow?”

“Anything but fight your sister, eh, Rulan?” chuckled Trek.

“Anything!” blathered Rulan as he jogged away.

***

Blayvaar and Lear stood in line for fish stew at the chow tent with growling stomachs. Neither had seen so much as a bread crumb since they left for Varis. Blayvaar gripped his stomach to quiet his hunger, but to no avail. He sighed heavily, turning to his Yakahti friend, “This line needs to hurry up. My stomach is growing louder than a cat having its tail step–” he caught himself as Lear raised a brow, “…I like cats.” Blayvaar finished blankly as he could not readily find a way not to offend the expert swordsman.

“This yikahti likes cats too,” Lear grinned with a snaggletooth smile.

Blayvaar and Lear finally came to the front of the line and eagerly held out their tin bowls. The cook eyed their uniforms and scowled, “Move aside, I ain’t got no stew for you lot.”

“Excuse me?” Blayvaar questioned, flabbergasted by the rejection.

“You heard me, move aside. There’s plenty of hungry soldiers more deserving of food than the two of you,” the cook sneered.

“This yikahti doesn’t understand. We waited in line just like the others.” As calm as he seemed, Lear was furious on the inside.

A soldier shoved Lear from behind, “Get lost, Rabbit! You’ve got no right to our food!”

Lear spun around, a claw reaching for his sword’s hilt. Blayvaar grabbed his wrist as he pushed himself in front of his companion.

The soldier thrust a finger into the former thief’s chest, “Got something to say?”

Blayvaar smirked and he crossed his arms over his chest, relaxing his stance, “Don’t I know you?”

The soldier shook his head.

“No, I swear we’ve met,” Blayvaar insisted.

“I don’t mingle with Rabbits.”

“Yeah, I remember. Me and six of my ‘Rabbit’ friends handed you and twenty plus of your friends your asses that night in the Mystic Fang. Sad day in the 12th Spearman Division’s short history, wouldn’t you say?”

The soldier’s face flushed red as he began to grind his teeth in fury, “Well there’s two of you and all of us ready to have our payback! What do you say to that?”

Blayvaar drew his two daggers and licked his lips, “I’d say you’re welcome to try!”

Before the chaos could ensue, a command broke out in the area, “Atten-tion!”

Wiccer pushed his way to the root of the commotion. He flashed a hard-nosed face at Blayvaar before addressing both hungry Watchers, “Get your food to go, we have a mission.”

“I ain’t serving those two,” the cook butted in, repeating his stance.

Wiccer gave a cold, iron-eyed stare to the cook who might as well have crawled away into a dark corner.

“I say you will,” Wiccer sternly growled.

“Yes, sir,” The cook meekly said, quick to fill up Lear and Blayvaar’s bowls.

Wiccer turned to the Spearman’s face, “Do you have a problem with my men?”

“No, sir.”

“What’s your name, soldier?”

“Rith, sir,” he said with much disdain.

“You won’t start anything with my men again, or I will smoke you so hard the skies will rain with the tears of the gods from watching you sweat! Is that clear, Private Rith?”

“Crystal clear, captain,” the soldier said, grimacing with every syllable, then swallowing hard as if he were swallowing a mouthful of glass shards.

“We’re never going to get their respect,” Blayvaar whispered to Lear.

“The shadows that guard the light, my friend,” Lear whispered back.