The Netheron Chronicles - Joseph Black (best ebook reader ubuntu TXT) 📗

as strict as it would become later on, and the guards and sentries were being as sloppy in their work as they could without being caught.
The grounds between the castle wall and the keep were filled to overflowing with small white tents in which slept the half of the Duke of Cazerones army, trying to get as good a rest as they could before they marched south in the morning, planning on rendezvousing with the Earl’s army.
Cazerone gazed down at the silent white tents from the high balcony.
One of the Earls messengers had come to him that morning, bringing him the message. They were to meet him and his army at Teracula, three days from now.
Cazerone sighed, it had been an unexpected and very pleasant message, he had believed until then that he was the only noble left to defend Netheron, and he was relieved to find otherwise.
He knew that without the Earls help he would never be able to meet the Halavarde army gathering to face him on the plains; he knew that without the Earls help, the lands that he and his ancestors had ruled for countless generations would fall to enemy hands.
He stroked his beard silently gazing down at the castle wall, tiny specks of light moving about on it marking sentries, and then beyond, at the moat and castle gardens, huge well kept, open gardens, the perfect defense against any ambush.
He turned, his cloak fluttering about him, lifted his hand off of the gilded wooden rails and paced back into his office, his heavy boots clicking against the marble floor. It had been a long day, planning, counseling, and readying for the coming battle, and hopefully war. But he still had a couple of hours of work to do that night, signing dispatches, and doing some last minute thinking mostly.

Down at the gate the six sentries on duty where wide awake, kept so by the watchful eye of a sergeant. They all wore burnished plate armor, a long white cloak, and all of them carried a heavy halberds in their hands, always at the ready position, each also had a short sword at his belt, and a thick, heavy shield on his back.
Behind them loomed the massive portcullis, drawbridge, and gates, black in the darkness, and before them lay the moat, still and silent.
The attack came so quickly the men didn’t even have time to cry out.
All of a sudden three of them sank noiselessly to the ground, every chink in their armor bristling with arrows; the other three didn’t even have time to notice before there was a flash of movement, the moat rippled, and when the sergeant glanced down to check on them again, three mutilated bodies greeted his eyes.
The arrow that that sunk a foot and a half into his chest was only a second too late and it failed to stop his alarmed cry.
The men on the walls were on edge, what with the knowledge they would soon be going to war, something very few of them fancied doing. So the instant the sentries on the walls heard the dying cry of the sergeant at the gate, the wasted no time in screaming for the alarm to sound, before charging for the gate towers.
There was only a seconds delay between the cry of alarm and the below of the horns in the castle towers, the entire castle was awake in an instant, men running about, not understanding what was going on.
One lieutenant quickly pinpointed the problem, he and his troop were camped only a few hundred yards from the gate, and as he saw the sentries falling dead, bristling with arrows on the battlements beside the gate, he knew they were under attack.
If their enemy could open those gates then that would be the end of them, they would be disorganized and easy prey to the trained Halavardes.
He reacted instantly, sending two of his men to alert the generals to the point the attack was coming from, and then taking the rest of his men and leading them through the castle grounds filled with yelling men, running about in panic, to the gates.
The lower doors into the towers that held the mechanisms that opened and closed the gates where opened, and he and his men poured in, hoping to drive the enemy back, and keep them from opening the gates.
Of the hundred men that ran into that tower, none came out, but the Halavardes that had gotten into the towers were killed, and the outer doors where shut.

Cazerone had just fallen asleep at last, his work done, when he was awoken by a frantic banging on the door to his room. He frowned, what was this about? Then he noticed the screaming from outside, and instantly he knew.
He leaped out of his canopied bed, grabbed his gilded sword and running over to the door to his room, the cloak he had fallen asleep in flapping around him, and jerked it open, admitting a panting soldier.” We’re under attack at the gates, sir!” The man panted, before turning, and running on down the hallway.
Cazerone cursed angrily, he should have known better, turning he ran back into his room, across the marble floor, and out onto the balcony overlooking the gates and eastern courtyard.
Below him chaos reigned, men ran about in panic, and there appeared to be some sort of fire in one side of the camp.
But apparently a few of his commanders had gotten some control though, and he saw men pouring up onto the wall, archers mostly, and a half a dozen troops, each a hundred men, gathering in front of the gates. On the towers and keep he saw massive catapults being primed and loaded. Good, he thought.
The instant the thought flashed through his mind all hell broke loose.
Dozens of acres outside of the castle walls all of a sudden appeared, lit by thousands of lanterns and torches that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, and now he saw the real attack. Rank upon rank of black cloaked Halavarde warriors, massive black dragons, and other monsters that the Halavardes used in their fighting, stood there.
Even from this distance he heard the rolling roar as they cheered, a moment before they launched their attack.
The night sky was suddenly lit by massive flaming catapult balls, arrows, and ballistae bolts flying through the air from both sides. The instant their projectiles where launched, the entire army of Halavardes charged. Now the Duke could see scaling ladders, and battering rams among their ranks, this wasn’t good, with his men as disorganized as they were right now, they wouldn’t be able to do a thing if the enemy gained the walls.
He cursed violently, then turning, ran out of his room, running as hard as he could for the fight, he knew that if it came to it, he could make the difference in this fight that would tip the balance and give his men the chance they needed to get organized and defeat their enemies.

Jaden sighed.
He watched, gazing down at the battle below him, from where he sat on his massive battle horse. The once beautiful gardens surrounding Vaetrion fortress where in ruins, trampled and destroyed, a cloud of smoke from the burning city in the distance blurred the rising sun, half of the towers on the keep had fallen and smoke could be seen rising from fires in the battlements caused by fire-catapults, those once majestic outer walls that surrounded the inner fortress where in ruins, the blood and bodies littering the fallen stones could be seen even from here, miles away. . .
He saw movement about the ruins still though, and his sharp eyes could tell that the fighting wasn’t over, good work Cazerone, he had held out, even though he knew he had no hope, for long enough. He slowly raised an armored hand.” Charge!” he ordered evenly.
His heavily armored bugler standing behind him was waiting for the order, and the instant it was given he raised his bugle and gave one long, low note.
In response the entire line of soldiers behind Jaden began to advance, marching in perfect time across the rough, dead autumn grass that covered the hills they had been hiding behind.
Jaden chuckled to himself, spurring his horse forward, closely followed by his command. This was the picturesque battle scene, the commander, powerful and deadly, at the head of the army, his staff behind him, the army, perfect in shining rows, weapons glinting in the light of the sunrise, marching in perfect silence across down the grassy hillside.
Jaden took a deep breath.
It was time for him to fulfill his duty, to avenge the fallen, to protect the helpless, and to uphold men’s honor. He hadn’t been to war in 70 years, that time he had been in quite a different place, in front of quite a different army. That time he had been marching to fight his own brother.
He slowly drew his sword, the golden blade glinting evilly. His plans may not have gone as planned, Jhanzil may not have been willing to help him, Danerack may have been under siege and incapable to help him, but he had 200,000 of Arrelands finest warriors behind him. He still remembered days when he would have felt as though he could conquer the world with an army like this.
But worlds change. He also had memories of days when every Arrel on Arreland practically worshipped him as a god; he remembered days when he would have done anything too keep Arreland and its people safe. But Arreland had changed; he had no place there now.
He shook his thoughts out of his mind and concentrated at the task at hand, the Halavardes had noticed them now and where pouring out of the ruins to form ragged lines between them and their supplies and siege weapons. It was a good tactic, but he instantly knew that these were not properly trained Halavardes, this won’t take but a moment, he thought to himself grimly.
He gritted his teeth and jerked his head at his bugler.” Twelfth Legion, 2C, straight down!”
The man wet his lips and raising his bugle let loose a series of complex notes which rang in the still morning air, broken only by the sound of thousands of marching feet and the clang of steel on steel.
In perfect response the entire force of cavalry on the left wing charged for the enemy, every horse perfectly in line, every lance leveled.
Jaden felt a stir of pride in his chest at the sight. This was what a true army looked like. He had long trained his men not to make a single sound in battle; some thought it was a good thing to let out a bit of noise