Chapter VII Holy lands
3rd Era, 845, 18th of Last Nightingale
Kingdom of Al-Rhuidean
Lands of Baron Balin Cantillon, Town of Sal-Morag, estate
Balin Cantillon
From the balcony in his estate Balin could see the deserts outside the small town he owned. Several hundred acres of land belonged to him and when the King granted him the hold it was mostly dried up farmlands, but now he had brought more than enough water from the wells he constructed to turn the area into perfect farmlands. Well, near perfect anyway. There was a wonderful wine garden on the hills to the west.
The 28 year old Cantillon heir wiped his forehead and scratched his short black hair. His hair was trimmed and well taken care of. His beard, on the other hand, was another matter entirely. His ebony black beard was thick and long and strains strayed in different direction. It hadn’t been shaved for a long time. Years. It appeared to be at least a month since it was trimmed.
Outside his estate he saw the common people that lived under his protection. Humans, a handful of Orcs and Naegi.
“Baron,” an old growl was heard from behind.
Balin turned to look at his Steward. An old Warg.
Warg was a sentient wolf race that walked on two legs like any elf or human. This Warg specifically had been steward of the holding long before Balin was granted it and he fully believed in the same gods as the humans, elves and dwarves did. Three generations had gone by since the Kingdom of Al-Rhuidean was established around the holy city and many Wargs, Orcs and Naegi had been converted from their savage believes to the true faith.
“The farmers say they have managed to increase the harvest this year by a fifth of the normal amount,” the old Warg Steward told him.
It was almost harvest time. Vegetables, potatoes, wheat and more was grown within his hold.
“That sound excellent,” Balin said positively.
The Warg gave him a half tooth-filled smile.
“Very much so, Baron,” he agreed. “Also we received a messenger from the city of Aba-Janah. Lord Reginald and his Templars will soon cross your lands and wish for us to prepare grounds for the men to rest and rooms and a warm meal for the officers.”
“When will they be here?”
“Three days.”
“Hmm. can you make the preparations?”
The Warg nodded.
“Yes Baron. I will take care of it.”
Balin turned back to the balcony view and stroked his beard.
The Steward departed.
“A glass of water,” Balin said.
From the corner of the room a little Naegi girl jumped into motion. She had the traditional Naegi traits her species was famous for. Glowing eyes, in her case yellow, blue skin and small white horns on her forehead. She quickly poured water into a cup and ran over with the tray to Balin.
He looked right and accepted the cup from the eager seven year old. Her glowing yellow eyes was excited and filled with an eagerness befitting a small child. He returned her big smile. She had dark blue hair.
“Thank you.”
“Lord,” she replied in an adorable voice and walked back with the tray to the table with the water jug.
She placed the tray on the small table, just beside a beautiful painted vase. On the wall sat a large painting of a mountain pass with a great battle.
She had an accent when speaking, but it was good enough to understand. Balin thought she was very good at understanding Sepheran since it wasn’t her first language, and she was only seven. Actually it was damn impressive.
Balin looked over his shoulder and saw the girl-Laila-staring big-eyes at the large battle painting. It was four meters wide and two meters in height.
“Impressive, huh,” he commented.
Laila snapped around and looked at him.
He offered a smile.
“Do you know who painted it?”
She shook her head.
“Lord.”
The cute child didn’t know a lot of words. She understood perfectly but she couldn’t speak very well. She had learned that, Lord, was a title and a proper way to address him, so she constantly used it when talking to him.
Balin stepped over and gestured to the painting when he stopped behind Laila. She turned around and looked up at it.
“This was painted by the son of Bear of War. He gave this to me as a gift when we negotiated peace with his tribe.” He put a hand on Laila’s dark blue haired head. “This is the Great Battle of Viola Pass. It is named after an Orc Priestess that fell in love with the daughter of Bear of War’s ancestor. While the Orc pack refused the marriage, the Warg tribe had no problem with it and sent diplomats to the Orcs. For two months they negotiated back and forth and finally the Warg Warlord got tired of it and marched on the Orc pack with 500 warriors. At the Viola Pass they were ambushed by 6,000 Orcs,
Not a single Warg survived, but they also took almost every single Orc with them. Bear of War never told me how the war ended, if the lovers united or not.”
On the painting there was a mountain side of each side and there was a handful of Warg warriors in the center. Around them was an uncountable mass of Orcs that was swarming towards them like a hungry green tide. The Wargs weapons was covered in blood and blood dripped from their teeth. It was a grim painting, but had a certain beauty to it.
He ruffed Laila’s hair up and she giggled.
“Lord.”
Balin returned to staring out over the tanned wooden balcony.
His eyes followed a Templar riding towards his estate. He was he a hurry to get here, which meant it was important. He decided to go down and see what was going on. On his way out of the room leading the balcony he handed the girl-named Laila-the empty water cup. She happily took it and put it back next to get jug and walked after him with the tray in case he was thirsty later.
He was coming down the stairs when he saw his Steward and Templar Captain Quinn coming towards him.
Quinn wore the standard armor of a Templar. The same armor that Balin wore into battle. It was made up of steel plates with red and white sleeveless robes worn over them. The robes had a blue star on them, the symbol of the faith. Gauntlets and boots was made out of steel and under Quinn’s arm was a great helm.
“My lord,” Quinn said.
“What is it? What happened?” Balin asked them both. His eyebrows furrowed deeply. Something was wrong. He was certain of it.
“A messenger just arrived,” the Steward explained. “He says a band of Wargs are attacking pilgrims going to Al-Rhuidean.”
“Do we know where they are?”
“Yes my lord,” Quinn confirmed. “They are slaughtering everyone along the road between Aba-Janah to Al-Rhuidean.”
“We must act quickly, mount up the Templars. I will meet them at the stables when I have put on my armor.” Balin was quick to action and made his way to his personal armory.
“I shall have your meal prepared upon your return,” his Steward assured.
Laila followed with the tray. She was very good at balancing it while jogging after her Baron.
She jogged up to be at his side.
“Lord?” She asked and raised the tray.
He glanced at her and shook his head.
“No. I have no need for your services until I return.”
He walked inside the armory, a place where she was not allowed. She sadly waited outside and looked down at the ground. She stood there until he came out a few minutes later. He now were his full Templar armor. His Great Helm was firmly placed over his head.
He noticed Laila still standing there. When she started following him he told her, “Go to the servant’s quarters and rest until I return.”
“Lord,” she said and sadly turned to go to the servant’s quarters.
She looked after him until he rounded a corner.
He walked out of his estate’s main house and to the stables. A horse was already prepared and Captain Quinn had saddled up with fifty Templars.
“Are we ready, Quinn?” Balin asked.
“Aye my lord,” Quinn confirmed.
Balin looked at the armored Templars. The men loyal to him that constantly put their lives on the live without any doubt in their noble hearts. Every time he looked upon them he remembered why he led his men into battle in person, on the frontlines. To sweat and bleed with them. His father told him-many years ago-that a man must be willing to do the things he asked his men to do. No one should follow a man who does not dare to do what he commands others to do.
He took the lead as they rode through the town’s dirt street. People looked up at them as they rode by. Children was curious and wanted to see the Templars and some pushed passed their parents so they could see better. They saw their Baron lead a band of brave Templars on a swift spring out of their town. Some elders could gather that there had been an attack against pilgrims in or near Baron Balin’s lands.
Laila
Laila looked out a window and tried to see Balin leave. Unfortunately the window wasn’t in the right place for her to see him, and she couldn’t separate him from the other Templars in that armor either.
She so badly wanted to go with him. She wanted to see the man she had heard so much about. All the stories she had heard humans talk about. All the stories about the Cantillon House. She loved listening on Knights telling stories about House Cantillon and a great Kingdom somewhere else. Somewhere she had never seen before. It was the best part of any day. Stories about Balin and his family.
“Laila,” she heard her name called.
She turned around startled and saw an older Naegi man. One of the estates servants. He addressed her in their own language.
“What are you doing?” He berated in Naegizi.
“N-nothing!” She burst out anxiously in the same tongue.
He crossed his arms and furrowed his dark blue eyebrows.
“What is your task? Have you forgotten?”
She swiftly shook her head.
“N-no…give Lord good things to drink,” she said, mumbling. “…he left.”
The man raised an eyebrow.
“Fine. But don’t just stand around. Go bring somebody water.”
Laila didn’t hesitant to take the tray and ran away from the old man.
Balin Cantillon
He left his horse with a group of horses and walked across the sand, his steel boots pushed down into the sand and created footsteps in the sand. Because of the breeze the footsteps half disappeared after his boots moved on to create another set of prints in the sand. He walked passed a dead brown furred Warg. The warrior had a giant long axe with a steel blade and a long handle made out of bone, wood and put together with small portions of steel. He laid on his back and with a large bleeding wound in his back. His unprotected back had been pierced. The most likely suspect was a spear, given the wounds appearance.
He stepped passed a dead High elf with her shoulder ripped apart by hungry teeth. The poor woman had wide open dead eyes while she bathed in her own blood. With bodies everywhere in the sand field it was almost difficult to avoid stepping on a dead corpse. There was at least thirty human and elf pilgrims with horses and abandoned wagons. All of it was spread out with over a dozen wolf-man, as they were called. Three of his own men laid of this sandy field.
Balin bent down and took a knee next to two men dealing with a wounded man. The poor man groaned in pain and the groans was getting to the point of muffled screams as he tried pulling himself together and hold the pain back. But with a large gash in his left leg and the leg barely stuck to his body. A bastard Warg had cut through his armor and flesh, almost cutting the bone in two.
“Sir Saemon, hurry!” Balin called out. He turned back to his wounded Templar brother. He looked at the two men with him beside the injured Templar. “Hold him down.”
When he had seen the man he knew he would never walk again. A steel or wooden leg might save him from being a complete cripple. They couldn’t move him with this half-cut off leg either.
He put a wooden stick in the man’s mouth.
“Bite down hard. This will be painful brother.”
The Templar looked at him with a pained expression and cried out, “Just do it! Cut the forsaken thing off, I can take it milord!”
Saemon reached them and gripped a long two handed axe. He gripped it hard with his gauntlets and readied to cut his Templar brother’s smashed leg off. Before he did, Balin forced the stick into the man’s mouth. The next moment Saemon brought the axe down and the man’s muffled scream echoed as much as it could. Blood spattered on Balin’s gauntlets and the robe over his armor.
“Lady Jaleesa, where are you?” Balin called out.
“Here milord!” A young women replied.
She ran through the sand with light footsteps and kneeled between Balin and another Templar. Balin looked to her. She put her light blue hands over the man’s now cut off leg and started whispering in her native language. A bright light lit from her hands and the man’s limb stopped bleeding and he stopped screaming as the pain ceased.
“Well done Lady Jaleesa. Let’s get the wounded back to the Sal-Morag, Quinn.”
“Yes milord,” the Captain confirmed.
“I do what I can,” the Naegi healer breathed out.
When he got up Balin put a gauntleted hand on her shoulder.
“Help the wounded up on horses,” he called to his men.
He returned to his horse. The battle had been an utter success. Three dead and nine injured. The poor pilgrims had been avenged.
A Templar on horseback held the Banner of House Cantillon high into the sky.865Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDldeyKRYHv
