The End of Days - Part 1
A Multi-part Fantasy One Shot
This story is based on prompt found here. The tale must contain sorrow and glory while also being about humanity surmounting overwhelming odds to demonstrate the courage of the human spirit. I posit that my interpretation of the prompt is literal and pulpy. Enjoy! Part 2 will come tomorrow (Wednesday 29th January 2025).
Lord Andarin stood atop the battlements of Hastos, the Last Citadel. Flags rippled noisily in the night winds. Torches burned along the high stone walls, thick and imagined to be impregnable. Andarin knew better. He had seen Tavirnum fall, with walls just as tall and thick as Hastos. He had fought at Calahancia when the orcs surmounted the walls and descended like flood waters into the city. He had heard of Farhar, Ustaros, and Balnum. All mighty places with thick walls, stout soldiers, and gallant kings. They too had fallen to the immeasurable horde from the south-east. Andarin surveyed the dark, his eyes leaping from torch marker to torch marker for signs of movement. All around the citadel were fires burning at ten yard intervals all the way out for a thousand yards, the light enough to dull the stars above. That was for the best for the Gods should not witness the end of man, the sorrow of a god could bring ruin upon the world. What would that matter if man were extinct? Andarin thought. It would be best if the world ended with us, the elves of the east and dwarves of the north have retreated and abandoned man to this plague of orcs, let them suffer the end of time. Andarin tore his eyes away from the plains below, bereft of structures, trees, grain, cattle, anything that the orcs could use. He descended a set of steps into the citadel, his white cloak billowing around him.
'Lord Andarin, how bad is it?' Autarch Ralin said. Deep creases had etched themselves on the autarch's face in the recent weeks, more of his hair had dulled and become grey, and purple rings clung to his eyes at all times.
'No sign yet but the enemy is out there. The most recent report placed the horde at Tabitha's Crossing, Your Exaltedness,' Andarin said. He stood opposite the autarch, an enormous model of Hastos and the surrounding plains between them. Other lords and military men joined them.
'That's a two day march from here!' Lord Varron's eyes widened. He was a bear of a man with a ruddy complexion and Andarin was surprised to sense fear in the man. Though what man facing down extinction wouldn't feel the serpent of fear coil in his belly?
'Recall all the remaining scouts if we can,' Autarch Ralin ordered. He leaned over the model of Hastos, his knuckles pressing hard into the citadel's northern farmland, now little more than a field of ash. 'Give the men a chance to say goodbye to all they hold dear, followed by a hearty meal and a good rest. No drunkenness, a man should face death sober.' He glanced around the map table, 'You all too. See to your wives, your children, kiss them for it may be the last time a man shows his love for his wife.'
The assembled lords nodded and dispersed with only the clank of steel as their chorus.
Lord Andarin sat by a roaring fire, his wife, Rhii, beside him. The pair stared into the flames raging within the intricate marble fireplace, his father's portrait hung on the chimney breast looming over the couple. Father would have had a plan to deal with the horde from the south-east, Andarin thought.
Rhii gripped his hand and rested her head on his shoulder, 'You don't have to face this in silence, my love.' The light of the fire made her skin radiant, her eyes glow. 'I've armed all the servants, even I have a sword at my bedside should it come to that. I imagine every woman in Hastos has armed her household, I hear a few have snuck into the army.'
'I've heard that too, along with boys and girls too young to raise a sword. In any other time we'd root them out but...' Lord Andarin bit his lip, staring into the flames.
'The fate of man rests on a single battle.'
Andarin turned to his wife and smiled, 'Precisely. It all comes to this. Our Final Battle.' He kissed Rhii feeling the warmth of the fire on her cheeks. He did not stop, did not want it to stop. Rhii kissed him back and they showed each other their love.
As Autarch Ralin had ordered no solider had drank wine, beer, or spirit in anticipation of the coming battle. Lord Castoris swore by a good stiff drink the morning of a battle, “Too loosen the spirits and free up the sword hand,' he'd say but even he had avoided the bottle and become dour because of it, or perhaps the looming orcs were reason enough. 'They come from the south-east then?' Ralin circled the map table.
'All reports say so, Your Excellency,' Lord Andarin said. The direction of attack was crucial for the first few hours, after that it became less relevant as the enemy line inevitably wrapped around Hastos due to sheer numbers.
'The outer walls will be held until the last possible moment. Breach units have been organised every tenth of a mile along the wall with double units for the gates. If two gates are breached carry out a fighting retreat to the inner walls. If the worst happens retreat to the Bastion, the underground tunnels will be filled with the people who cannot fight, everyone else will have a sword or mace and be ready to fight to the last in those tunnels. I pray to the Gods who have forsaken us it does not come to that.'
'Do we have any idea on how many orcs there are?' Lord Varron growled. He tugged at his curled beard, ensnaring his own fingers then sliding them out of the rings.
'To quote one of my scouts; “The earth was awash with stink all the way to the horizon, and from the north to the south”,' Lord Andarin recalled.
'I see,' Lord Varron stared glassy eyed at the model citadel.
'I don't believe it,' Poneptus folded his arms across his barrel chest. 'There's no way an army that size can march. There's not enough food, let alone drinking water. It's not possible.' He shook his head as if each shake would kill an orc.
'I can only recall what the scouts said but I trust my men. If they say the orcs covered the land in all directions, I believe them,' Lord Andarin said.
'How do we kill that many? How?' Lord Galen voiced his disbelief but at least six other Lords muttered agreement with him.
'We have our methods, you know as well as I do, Galen Shend. You all need to remember, this is the Citadel of Hastos! For thousands of years this city has stood against the worst monsters in all the world, the largest armies, the fiercest of foes. Our ancestors repelled dragons when other cities were reduced to glass and ash, ruins that still mare the world, our ancestors gave the Great King of the Yellow Sea his first defeat which ushered in his demise, our ancestors fought off the imperial ambitions of at least seven emperors. Hastos stands at world's end because it is the last refuge and I will not be the Autarch who loses it,' Ralin's words grew more ferocious with each syllable until he was snarling the words with indignant rage. He grimaced, 'We know what we must do. We have known this battle would take place, we have known since the first sightings of these sanguine skinned fiends. When the first city fell all those years ago I knew this day would come and so I made us prepare. For years we laboured by the sweat of our brow, prayed to the Gods till our voices gave out, and trained every man, woman, and child who could hold a sword to do so, then we trained them in the bow and spear for good measure. Our granaries and cellars have food for a years long siege, we have ten arrows for every orc out there, maybe more, every single person has a chain mail vest. There is nothing more we can do, the end is here, my lords, and we are prepared to face it,' Autarch Ralin's voice grew sombre.
Lord Andarin stood upon the battlements facing the south-east as he did everyday from morning to night imagining the horde descending upon Hastos. How he would repel them. Wondering what siege craft the orcs would muster. Attempting to find the words he say to his men when the time came, when the shadow loomed over the Last Citadel and the world would see the end of man. Would the elves of the east or the dwarves of the north care? No, Andarin thought, for the last of their kinds fled many years ago unwilling to face the plague that approaches. It seemed the orcs had been born with a hatred of man and man alone.
The archers along the battlement stood resolute as the white sun began to cast the long shadows of dusk along the plains below. Igniters were already setting the torches aflame that covered the land like a pincushion. Andarin left the Tower of the Shrew and headed towards the Tower of the Fox all the while his eyes never veered from the horizon.
'It's today isn't it, m'lord?' an archer said.
Andarin halted his march along the top of Hastos's walls to find a man younger than himself, his hand was shaking, his other gripped his longbow until his knuckles were white. 'Likely today, yes.'
The archer nodded, his lip quivering.
'You've trained for this, likely for most of your life,' Andarin made a guess of his age.
The archer nodded, 'I have, m'lord,' he managed to say.
'Then you know what to do,' Andarin placed his hand on the man's shoulder, the leather armour creaking.
The archer turned his head, the feathers sprouting from his helm dancing, 'I do, m'lord.' He clenched his jaw. 'It's just...'
Andarin waited to see if the man would finish his sentence. He didn't but his eyes glazed over. 'Each man along this wall has a job he has trained to do for his whole life. Like the links in your mail vest, each is needed to complete the job, each is vital to the one next to it. Without you, or him, or I, the defence fails and man is snuffed out. Our ancestors fade into nothing and our Gods wither, our children perish and our grandchildren never see the light of day, forever trapped in the Crypts deep beneath the earth. We are the last defence and we have trained our entire lives for it,' he squeezed the man's shoulder, saw his back straighten, and continued on. The men he passed stood firmer, squarer, their eyes more determined.
Andarin reached the Tower of the Fox. The braziers burned. Arrows filled pots along the wall. A nest of rocks had been gathered for the catapult. Archers spied out from the slits, ready and daring. He climbed up the ladder to the roof. Countless stones were piled against the merlons, three men leaned against the wall staring out at the horizon. 'Any sighting?' the lord asked.
The three men flinched and stood to attention, 'No, m'lord.'
'Pity,' Andarin said. 'I'd rather fight in the day.'
'Me too, m'lord,' the soldier stared into the middle distance.
'Carry on, I only came to observe the horizon,' Lord Andarin said, joining the trio at the wall. The torch field burned bright in the shadow of the citadel, the Igniters had moved on to the next field. Scanning the horizon from left to right he saw nothing. No birds. No cattle. No wild fox or deer. Nothing. The forests had been torn down for arrow shafts, ramparts, palisades, and various supports for the gates of the city. More trees had been felled for firewood for the stores and for the blacksmiths. Andarin hoped to see the day when the forests returned but that required victory, and survival.
'M'lord, may I ask a question?' the youngest of the catapult trio said.
'You may.'
'Where did the orcs come from? What do they look like? Mam says they are brutish and twice as tall as a man with tusks and red flesh, that they were born of malice and hate but that can't be true, can it?' the two older men side-eyed the younger one.
'The orcs came from the desert. It is thought the people of the desert were the first victims, though it is so long ago and so far away that no one really knows. In the deep sands where men cannot travel, where the winds never cease, and the landscape is ever-changing, a god died. From its rotting corpse the orcs were born, thick with the blood and gore of their god. That and its rage. An orc has a head, two arms, two legs, five digits on each hand, but that is were similarities with man end. An orc is monster of infinite hate, wishing only to kill you and eat your flesh. If they enter a blood frenzy I pray you are far from it. At Calahancia I fought an orc twice my height, though they are not all so gigantic. We do not know what became of their corpse god, I only pray it no longer spits forth its adhering fiends. We do know the orc hates man uniquely, but we do not know why, it is speculated we killed their god and ushered them forth but I don't believe it,' Lord Andarin had lost his focus on the horizon, staring at nothing.
All three men were watching him, listening. 'What else, m'lord?' the oldest said.
'They bleed... and they die,' Andarin finished. He stepped back and turned toward the ladder, ready to move on to the Tower of the Kestrel.
'M'lord... look,' the older of the men said, pointing to the horizon.
Andarin was halfway down the ladder and clambered back up.
'It's them...' the soldier's voice was faint.
Andarin rushed to the wall and saw the shifting shadow of orcs marching.
'They do not have organisation. No siege craft have been spotted,' Lord Andarin said.
'Yet,' Lord Poneptus added. All the Lords of Hastos stood around the map table in the central hall of the Bastion. Autarch Ralin paced around the outer ring of them all.
Andarin placed a model of an orc on the map to mark where the attack would begin. 'Here, the eastern wall will be first and hardest hit. I have archers on the rooftops of the tallest buildings to assist those on the walls. Catapults and ballistas are well supported and the Tower of the Chimera has two of each.' That tower sat at the corner of the east and south walls, higher and wider than the regular towers. 'The gate is secured and murderholes have been constructed. If they try for the gate they will pay for it.'
'Very good,' Autarch Ralin interjected. 'But what do you need?'
'Commanders, Your Exaltedness. Lords to direct the men in smaller units. We need to be agile and respond to the worst threats with haste,' Lord Andarin said. A cluster of lords murmured their agreement.
'Very well, Lords Castoris, Hove, and Kifarin, assist Lord Andarin on the east wall. What of the south?' the Autarch continued his encirclement.
'My focus is on the gatehouse, it's the weakest of the four and even after bricking it up I have my reservations,' Lord Galen said. 'Lords Maramon and Yugaron along with my sons, have the battlements under control, equipped with catapults with flammable ammunition, Your Exaltedness.'
'Very good,' the Autarch proclaimed. 'How do you plan on holding the gatehouse? Or, should I ask, for how long?'
'As long as she will hold. I have men reinforcing her still even now. A thousand men with long spears can hold any breach for many hours, potentially a full turn of the sun, Your Exaltedness.'
'Bold words but I trust them,' Autarch Ralin said.
'Thank you, Your Exaltedness.'
'Now what of the north and west? They will inevitably be attacked too, though the west has the advantage of the cliffside,' Ralin said.
'We have plans for that, Your Exaltedness. My men and I believe we can drive them over the cliff and down into the valley,' Lord Essen said.
'How?'
'A sortie, Your Exaltedness.'
'Are you insane?' the Autarch retraced his steps to stand behind Lord Essen.
'No, Your Exaltedness. If I lead a charge of heavy cavalry out before the orcs reach the gate we can split the enemy then use that to send out the heavy spearmen and in the pincer drive them towards the edge,' the young lord made it sound simple.
'You'll be overrun from the north and south before you even engage. You do not appreciate the sheer number of orcs, lad,' Lord Tenso, veteran of a dozen battles with the orcs, said. His beard was grey and spilled over his breastplate, few men had seen so many battles, fewer still had survived. Andarin had seen one other battle against the orcs and that was more than over half the Lords in the room.
The other lords were silent.
Autarch Ralin stepped into the ring of lords, parting them like bread. 'Stick to defence, Lord Essen, if a crack in their number appears then perhaps your idea could work, but I cannot sacrifice the heavy cavalry like that, we need them inside the walls harassing the enemy when, if, he makes it inside.'
'Very well, Your Exaltedness,' Lord Essen bowed his head, his fellow lords assigned to the west wall bowing also.
Autarch Ralin narrowed his eyes and held Essen in his gaze. The tension grew over as time flowed by but then he broke the stare and asked, 'I hope the north have prepared more sensibly?'
'We are, Your Exaltedness. Double archers near the east wall to assist Lord Andarin as required. Catapults and ballista too. The gatehouse is sturdy, the gate itself sealed within a portcullis on the inside and a secondary gate on the inside,' Lord Wellen said.
'A sound strategy. Lord Essen you will remain within the walls like everyone else. We cannot risk exposing one flank for a wild charge. Return to your posts and prepare to face the enemy,' Autarch Ralin growled. 'The gates of the Bastion will remain open for your retreat. Pray to the gods for a strong sword arm and true aim. Pray for heavenly wrath. Pray that they have not forsaken us,' Ralin's words hung in the air like a threat.
Thank you for reading, stay tuned for Part 2 tomorrow!
If you enjoy my work please consider becoming a Paid Subscriber.
This is shaping up to be epic.