The Mystical Order of the Golden Knights

[LilJennie]

This idea is one of Miki's; I just tried to keep up with her! She crawls pretty fast! -- Jennie

The Mystical Order of the Golden Knights

By: Miki Yamuri and Jennie Flint

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Sir Thomas of Wolfsbane Keep knelt tiredly beside a small stream that meandered through the destroyed hamlet and scooped himself out a cool refreshing drink. He stood and slowly eyed his surroundings.

The hamlet was not only in ruins, but was also still on fire. Off in the not so far distance, Sir Thomas could also see the hordes as they ravaged their way across the area. He also looked around to the only way out of this box canyon. The way from here to there was clear – good. Now to make an escape and tell Brookingham Towers the bad news. Someone had to know besides him and spread the word the war had taken a turn for the worse.

The war had been hard these last two years, ever since the Orcs and the Trolls combined forces. This unholy alliance was unheard of in all of humankind's memory. Orcs and Trolls had historically been blood enemies, killing one another on sight if possible. Now, they acted as if they were brothers and sisters, not mortal enemies.

As Sir Thomas carefully made his way through the flaming debris towards safety, he heard something. It sounded like a woman shushing a child. The roar of the massive fires all around him made it difficult to hear, but he managed to once again hear the sounds. This time he heard a baby’s soft cry before it was muffled to silence.

He found a small stone crypt beneath the foundation of a destroyed hut. The exit was blocked by the heavy debris of the hut where it had fallen in.

Sir Thomas called out, “Hello? Don’t be afraid. I’ll do my best to free you and get you to safety.”

A woman’s voice could be heard. “Thank the Maker, it’s a man.”

A child’s voice asked, “Can he get us outta here?”

Sir Thomas answered, “I’ll do my very best,” as he grabbed a large crest beam and tossed it out of the way. Sir Thomas was by no means a small man, nor did he lack in the muscle department. The women and children watched in amazement as he removed the heavy debris and cleared the exit.

Three women came out of the crypt followed by nine children and a very young woman with a baby in her arms. Sir Thomas put his finger to his lips indicating silence, then pointed off towards the tunnel leading out of the canyon.

The older woman understood immediately as she got the other women to help usher the children as quietly as possible toward the tunnel entrance. Of course, young children do not always do as they have been instructed – one of them picked up a piece of debris and tossed it haphazardly. It impacted one of the burning structures just at the right place, causing the well charred frame to collapse.

Immediately several less-distant Orcs and an equal number of Trolls turned at the sound of the collapsing structure and saw them. They advanced rapidly toward the fallen structure, waving their weapons and making loud guttural roars. Sir Thomas and the older women did their best to hurry the children along. By the time they had reached the opening, the horde was almost upon them.

Sir Thomas took the older woman by her arm and said sternly, “You and the others go now. On the other side of yon opening is what will look like a stick poking out of a hole next to the door. It is a lever that will collapse the tunnel behind you. By the time you get there, or if the horde is in the tunnel, pull the lever and seal the shaft. Don’t worry about me. If I’m not right behind you, I’ll find another way out. You and the children are more important.”

The oldest woman stood on her tip toes and gave Sir Thomas a kiss on his cheek before she and the rest hurried off down the tunnel to safety.

Sir Thomas turned and drew his formidable Elvin sword, Wolf’s Fang. The horde knew of this sword and now knew whom they faced, fear slowed their mad dash forward. This gave Sir Thomas a chance to look back and see that the others were through the door. The older woman was watching.

Sir Thomas smiled as he lunged forward, making huge bloody swaths through the beasts’ bodies with his legendary sword. The smell was horrid as he became covered in the nasty messy vitriol the Orcs and Trolls called blood.

Sir Thomas had taken out a great many of the ugly, smelly beasts. The piles of their bloody mangled bodies scattered haphazardly about bore gruesome testimony. He turned rapidly to slice another Orc, but instead he caught the business end of a large war axe right between his eyes. A flash of pain, an explosion of colors, then darkness.

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A voice in the darkness brought awareness. “Awaken, and arise.”

Sir Thomas realized two things immediately. One was that he was still somehow alive. His last memory before this ... didn’t seem to support the theory of his continuing survival. The second thing was that he had just heard a voice.

He sat up and swung his legs around to what he thought was the edge of the sleeping platform he was on. To his total astonishment, all that was visible within the bubble of light he saw around him were the cloudlike object he was sitting on, and what seemed to be some type of storge compartment. Sir Thomas could hear vague voices very faintly, sometimes catching enough of a snatch or two to realize that it was a discussion about him.

A bright white light appeared next to the storage compartment. An ethereal voice spoke softly, “From the time of your beginnings have you always striven for righteousness and justice. At the time of your fleshly ending, you gave the most honored of gifts, your life, so that others might live.”

Sir Thomas looked around. There wasn't much to see except for the bubble of light he and the other being stood in. If he looked closely, he could vaguely see the image of what looked like a woman within the white glow around her. He wasn’t sure, due to the opaqueness of her image and the brightness of the light.

Sir Thomas asked with obvious amazement in his tone, “So, if I died in that encounter … where am I now? Is this Heaven? Purgatory? Limbo?”

The image seemed to wave its arm towards the storage compartment, causing the front of it to become some type of mist and evaporate. Sir Thomas’ mouth fell open in shock as he saw that the contents were the most wonderfully and exquisitely constructed knight’s armor, made of what appeared to be pure gold.

“That’s impossible,” he said. “The Golden Knights … they’re just a legend …”

The image said softly, “From this day forward, you have been chosen to be one of the elite’s elite. You and other honored individuals like you will be returned to the earth to stand for all time as a guardian for right and the Light against the encroachment of darkness.”

The being vanished, leaving Sir Thomas with a strong urge to don the golden armor. His first thought was that it would be crushingly heavy, but it was actually very much lighter than the iron armor he had worn at times in the past. It amazed him. The Golden Knights were for real … and now, he was actually one of them ...

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“Grandma Sara, will you please tell us about the Golden Knights?” asked a little boy.

The older woman paused in writing arithmetic on the framed slate she held. “The Golden Knights …” she said. “Well, they’re a legend, just remember that. They’re not a history lesson. It’s said that long ago when the Dark Elves descended from a starless sky, the Golden Knights appeared to fight them, and they saved the land of Arahana. It’s a long story, but that’s the short version. Of course, history will tell us that there was never a land called Arahana, and nobody knows whether there are any such things as Dark Elves. But it’s a good story.”

“What about the Golden Knight who fought the evil king and saved the Princess of Brylendra?” asked a little girl.

“Or the boy who fell down the well and was saved by a Golden Knight?” asked the first little boy.

“Yes, there are a lot of stories about Golden Knights,” said Grandma Sara. “You seem to know them all already, though …”

“No! We like them better when you tell them!” said another boy.

The older woman chuckled. “Well, then, which one is your favorite?”

“Have you ever seen a Golden Knight?” asked the first little girl.

“No, I haven’t …” Grandma Sara paused. “Although … years ago there was a knight, a real-life one, who would’ve made a good one. But he wasn’t a Golden Knight, just a very strong and brave man. I used to live in a village called Lim. It was a short name, because it was a small village. Then one day the Orcs and Trolls came …”

An out-of-breath man in dusty clothing ran into the room. “We have to evacuate!” he shouted. “They’ve found us! Everyone, to the river!”

The children started shrieking, but Grandma Sara stood up. They quieted down, because when Grandma Sara got that look on her face, everything was going to be all right. “Children, form a line and follow me. We’re going on a boat.”

The children lined up and followed her out the shelter’s back door. There was a rumbling in the distance, but Grandma Sara kept talking. “I never even found out this knight’s name. But when the Orcs and Trolls saw him, they seemed to recognize him. Their bloodlust was tempered with fear. That was the first time I’ve ever seen fear in the eyes of a Troll. He cut down many of them and ordered us women and children to escape into a tunnel, and collapse it behind us.”

“Then what happened?” asked a boy. “Did he win?”

“I don’t know,” said Grandma Sara, leading them slowly and surely toward the river and its docks. “I never saw him again. But he was the bravest man I’ve ever met. It may be that he sacrificed his life for us that day. Or perhaps not. But since then I’ve tried to live my life knowing that someone truly worthy gave his life up for mine. I’ve tried to make the most difference I could in this world. It’s all any of us can do.”

The children’s parents were all happy to see them, and each of them gathered their kids around them and hurried them to the docks and into the waiting boats. Sara went with them. “Where are we going, Grandma Sara?” asked the first little girl, now in her mother’s arms as they climbed onto a boat.

“Down the river and to the sea,” Sara explained. “We can sail along the shoreline and search for untroubled lands. If there are any. The Orcs and Trolls seem to be everywhere these days. There doesn’t seem to be any escaping them.”

“Cast off! Cast off now!” said a panicked man, pointing into the distance. “There they are!” On the horizon had appeared a long black line of shapes … the shapes of enemies, monsters, each one with horribly nasty looking weapons.

“Everyone on the boats!” called Daniel Goatleg, the leader of the settlement. “Casting off in the count of thirty! Twenty-nine! Twenty-eight!”

The Orcs and Trolls were running their way, rampaging, with nothing to stop them. Would they make it? Even if they cast off now, the monsters could swarm into the river and attack the boats directly with their axes.

Then, from the sky, came a flash of golden light. There he stood like a statue or a dream, a Golden Knight just like the legends said. He didn’t face the villagers, but he drew his sword, set his golden shield, and faced the oncoming horde.

Sara had seen that blade before long ago. Its engravings and the shape of its hilt. That wolf’s tooth pommel. She remembered. She gasped. It was him!

The Golden Knight advanced on the onrushing horde, calmly, unafraid. The boats cast off and began to sail downstream. It looked as if the Knight was only protecting them from part of the advancing line of Orcs and Trolls … but then he swung his sword in a vast golden arc, and a semicircle of golden light cut forth into the entire advancing front line, and Orcs fell by the hundreds in huge mangled bloody piles. Even Trolls a hundred paces away were wounded. They growled and turned toward the Knight.

The ships were safe. But as the Knight grew more distant, Sara could see that he simply blocked their spears and arrows with his shield and cut with his sword again and again, and the Orcs and Trolls kept falling like fresh-cut wheat. Had he wiped out both entire armies?

As the boats continued downstream, Sara could have sworn that the battlefield consisted of only this Knight and many hundreds of slain foes. And then … there was another golden flash of light as the Knight seemingly returned to the skies. Sara and the villagers around her gasped.

“It was a Golden Knight!” shouted a small boy. “Just like the stories!”

“So they are real,” said one of the adults, awestruck. “Today we have been part of a legend.”

“Does this mean …” said another adult, “there’s hope against the Orc-Troll Alliance?”

Sara said in her still voice, “There’s always been hope, and there always will be. But maybe now … we know what the shape of that hope is.”

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“Well done, Sir Thomas!” cried another of the Knights as Sir Thomas strode from the Bridge of Sorties back to the Golden Keep.

Removing his helm as he walked, Sir Thomas met this other Knight, who had sallied forth to meet him. They clasped arms in a hearty handshake.

Sir Thomas said, “This time … I was able to both save them and walk away to fight another day. I thank the Light, Sir Kelvin.”

Sir Kelvin clapped him on the armored shoulder. “I rejoice to hear that you have saved lives this day,” said the gray-haired and gray-bearded knight. “Every blow we strike weakens the foe.”

“It is good,” Sir Thomas replied. “But we are no closer to learning why we are so busy. The Powers that Be have not chosen to reveal to us why today the Orcs and Trolls fight as brothers, when ever before they were at one another’s throats.”

“Indeed, that is a mystery,” said Sir Kelvin. “Perhaps we shall learn, in time.”

“Until we do,” replied Sir Thomas, “we may be up against a foe that even we cannot defeat, like a hydra, striking at one head of the serpent only to find it replaced by two more.”

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By the time the boats had reached the delta and the town on stilts, word had already reached there of the mighty battle, and who it was had fought it. Two full armies, one of Orcs, led by none other than the feared Iron Hammer, the other of Trolls led by the equally feared Blood Gromph, totally annihilated by a single lone figure.

The entire village was talking amazedly over it and spreading the word that there really are Golden Knights. It created even more of a sensation when Sara and her surviving village arrived and began telling their eyewitness accounts of the lone wolf brave knight and how he effortlessly destroyed both armies.

Sara couldn’t believe it. She knew who the Golden Knight was, although not his name, and this was the second time he had fought so she might live. She went over every inch of her memory of that very elaborate sword the knight carried. In her entire life, she had never seen a similar nor equal blade.

Even in the armor, now that she had time to think things over, the knight who had saved her and many of the adults around her years ago and the Golden Knight who had once again saved them a few hours ago had to be the same person. There was no doubt in her mind. She also nodded to herself – no one she knew deserved to be a Golden Knight more than this individual. She had to meet him somehow, to thank him for his selfless service.

Around her, her friends and comrades were talking about this village on stilts, which was called Sulaturong. “It’s got advantages if it’s attacked,” said Halford, who like Sara had survived two attacks by the Orc-Troll alliance. “One, the huts are made out of sun-dried mud and sit on a platform and pillars made of carved coral, all in the middle of a large and deep river. The Orcs and Trolls love to soften up their opposition with fire – but their fire arrows and oil pots are useless against this village. The materials are inherently fireproof.”

One of the village’s natives, Impo, replied, “And we can easily cut ourselves off from the mainland. The walkway from the mainland to the village platform is 70 feet long and easily taken down. The water beneath the village is almost 40 feet deep, and a large school of predatory fish lives in it. This actually makes the boat dock under the village a bit dangerous, but manageable. We know secrets, like plant extracts we can put on our skin to repel the fish. Attackers don’t know about that.”

“You built this place in the middle of a river full of man-eating fish?” asked Halford.

“No,” said Impo, “they weren’t here when the village was built, the elders say, or most of them weren’t. A lot of them were captured elsewhere and brought here, which attracted more of the same types. We toss food scraps into the open places in the platform, which keeps the fish around, in expectation of a free and easy meal. Of course, it also means anyone stupid enough to try and swim out to the boat dock under the village is in for a really nasty surprise.”

“I’m just so glad you’re being kind enough to take us in,” said Sara, “at least until we decide what to do next. For me this is the second village to be overrun by the hordes.” Sara and her village-mates and the children had been shown to several large and empty huts, which the elders had told them they could occupy for the time being.

Sara, of course, wasn’t actually the grandmother of all the kids; it was just that there were so many children who had lost their parents that all the adults in their group took care of all the children. They called every adult over a certain age their grandparents.

That evening, Sarah looked around the hut that she and several others were now living in. To her, the next thing on the agenda appeared to be make this empty shell a house, quite possibly, a home. First thing she did was build a fire in the fireplace. This showed everyone that their people had taken possession of the place.

Next thing was to unpack her cooking racks and a large slab of beast that she’d managed to salvage. She seasoned it and placed it on the spit to cook. As she set the rest of the large hut up, the wonderful aroma of the cooking beast filled the village.

The rest of the village began gathering foodstuffs and placing them in the large storage hut. Word had been arriving constantly of the massive Orc/Troll army that was rampaging across the plains that were on the other side of the nearby mountains, heading this way.

No one knew if a blockade on their village was possible, so they were taking no chances. Water was no issue, and food was easily captured from the river with the new netting systems they had created. In this way, they could return the predatory fish back to the river and keep the food creatures – whatever the carnivorous fish didn’t eat, at least.

News began to come in over the next few weeks that the hordes were getting closer, though they didn’t seem to be making a beeline for Sulaturong.

Impo told everyone, “They will have to cross the mountains to get here, but there’s a pass, so it can be done. Once they run out of targets on the other side, they’ll cross to this side.”

Soon the walkway to the mainland was disassembled and stored. It was better than just letting it be destroyed, since after the problem passed, they could quickly reassemble it instead of having to rebuild it.

They knew it wouldn’t be long before the huge horde arrived. An Orc smells horrid enough, but when you add that to the even more horrid odor of a Troll, the result was so horrendous, it metaphorically could kill. That horrible smell had arrived on the breeze long before any sounds and sent the men scurring to set up their bow and atlatl emplacements.

Faintly at first, then growing ever louder, the war cries and other roars with the accompanying sounds of the Orcish and Trollian battle wagons intermixed. The entire horizon was dark with the dust and shapes of the huge approaching army. As nightfall approached, the many torches of the approaching army looked to an observer as a huge fire snake meandering its way through the not so distant mountain pass.

That was when the watchmen noticed the large numbers of fleeing refugees. With dusk settling in, the large fires depicting the final fate of many of the villages could be seen off in the distance lighting the horizon. They now knew that none of the villages between them and the Mountains of Smoke were still there. More large fires could be seen igniting all along the path the army took as they quickly approached.

The village of Sulaturong sent boats to the shore to meet the refugees, and there were some who wanted to take refuge there, but most of them wanted to cross the river and keep fleeing, believing that the people of Sulaturong were crazy to stay and defend. They did warn them about the carnivorous fish, so the refugees ran downstream to cross somewhere else.

Finally, the leading edge of the hordes came within bow range of Sulaturong. Everyone took cover. Flaming arrows came down like rain, but they didn’t set fire to anything. That worked until the pots of flammable oil came in – then the arrows had something to ignite. But although there was flaming oil all around the villagers, it wasn’t burning the village, just making it a hazard to get around until it burned itself out.

The battlewagons couldn’t really approach the village, because they were so heavy they couldn’t float. A properly-organized army would have had pontoon bridge segments they could deploy, but these were Orcs and Trolls.

They started to swim out to the village’s pillars, but then they were attacked by the fish. Some had worried about whether the fish would want to eat Orcs and Trolls, because they were so disgusting, but apparently those fears weren’t founded – the Orcs howled in pain as they were devoured, or at least the first few were, before they realized what was happening and stopped getting into the water. The few Trolls who had tried to swim out got back out of the water and found themselves covered with bites, but apparently Troll-flesh was too tough.

Meanwhile, the villagers had been judiciously shooting any Orcs or Trolls who came within point-blank bow range, 70 foot shots were impossible to miss for the village archers. The ones on the shore were constantly being hit in the eyes or head and falling into the water, where they were quickly skeletonized by the fish.

“Two problems with this,” Impo said to Halford as they crouched in the forward defensive huts. “We only have so many arrows, and the fish can only eat so many Orcs.”

Without warning, the thick smoke in the sky parted. The full moon could be seen in the clear patch with a spattering of stars. The people at first thought a new star had appeared in the exposed evening sky as a bright golden light appeared in the heavens, followed by a bright flash of golden light between the river and the massive army.

Sara almost wet her panties as once again, the Golden Knight stood as a statue with his shield held high. Slowly, the Golden Knight drew one of the most ornate swords the villagers had ever seen. The markings, the wolf’s tooth pommel stone, and the fine wrappings of the pommel in black worked leather proved to Sara that this was once again the same individual come yet a third time to fight for her and her people.

This time, the Orcs and Trolls knew for a fact whom they faced once they saw the famous Elvin sword Wolf’s Fang and gave ground in fear, muttering about the sword. All the villagers looked on in awe as the knight fearlessly moved towards the horde, which retreated slowly at first, then more rapidly. All the villagers were cheering loudly once the horde began a full retreat in earnest.

One little boy came to Sara and tugged on her apron, “Gramma Sawa? Why comes he no killded enny of em?”

Sara stopped for a minute and thought about it. Yes, why didn’t he once again wipe out the horde? Then it dawned on her. “A Golden Knight stands for righteousness, honor, and justice. It is none of those to kill an enemy who is down and helpless or in full retreat.”

Sir Thomas turned and looked back at the village as the huge horde retreated as fast as they could move. His eyes fell on Sara, recognizing her even from this distance. His cheek tingled where she had given him a kiss so long ago. To this day, he had a very pale strawberry mark shaped just like a pair of lips on his cheek.

There was one Orc who did not retreat. Their general, whose name the villagers did not know, stood his ground and screamed at his retreating soldiers, “You cowards! He is one man! He has slain none of you! Stand and fight! Worthless worms!” But his troops ignored him, and the Trolls were running too, making it risky for an Orc to stop even if it wanted to. The Troll leader was himself running.

Finally the Orc general was the only one left, all the rest having kept going. He spat on the ground, drew his huge serrated and nasty looking black sword, and shouted, “Very well! They will not face you, but I will! You fall before the might of Untaghn, Fist of Terror! Whom will I be honored to slay today?”

The Golden Knight was silent. Sara had hoped to learn of his identity, but the knight did not give the Orc the satisfaction of an answer. He merely stood his ground, holding his sword at the ready, and replied, “You will not pass. Turn and go.”

“I have challenged, and I do not back down!” shouted Untaghn, marching toward the knight, brandishing his sword, curved and barbed. Once he was a few paces away, he again took a ready position and said, “This is your last chance to live.”

“Turn and go,” was all the knight said. The implication was that the alternative was death, brought about by the Orc’s own choice, Sara noted.

With a battle cry, Untaghn advanced and attacked. The knight easily blocked him, and with the Orc’s second swing, the knight swung his parry with such force that the Orc’s black blade shattered. He drew an axe, but when he attacked with it, the knight easily sliced its thick wooden handle clean through, and the head kept going and buried itself in the ground. He drew a morning star, thinking to entangle the sword with its chains, but the sword merely sheared through those chains.

Finally the Orc drew two short swords and fought at close range, furiously exchanging blows with the Golden Knight, thinking to strike at him with one sword when the other was blocked, but the Knight’s shield was as agile as his sword.

Finally, the the Orc charged, and the Knight found his opening and ran his enemy through, using the momentum of the charge to throw Untaghn past himself and into the river. A pool of blood and massive clouds of bubbles surrounded Untaghn as the fish finished him off.

The Knight then turned toward the village, saw Sara again, and raised his sword in salute before vanishing into the heavens in a beam of golden light.

“The hordes are far away now and still running,” said Halford, coming toward the group Sara was with, “and without a leader the Orcs won’t be back, at least. The Trolls’ leader is still running.”

Sara replied, “They all know that the appearance of that Knight with that sword means that no one who opposes him will live to see the next day. But, like us, none of them has any idea where the Golden Knights come from, or when they’ll next appear. I believe in them. I think they would save everyone if they could, but there are just too many Orcs and Trolls for them to be everywhere. I think this Knight, whoever he is, has chosen to protect … us.” She dared to believe that he may, just perhaps, have chosen to protect her.

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In a deep dark dank grotto lit only by the sputtering smoky sconces scattered about, many battle weary and scarred Orcs and Trolls mingled and told many stories of their previous battles and the Golden Encounter.

On a beautifully but grotesquely carved obsidian dais, there was suddenly a very large flash of fire accompanied by the horrible smell of brimstone. Within the flash of fire and brimstone also appeared a rather nasty looking demon, the Soul Reaver.

He raised his arms and said in one of those voices that made the walls tremble, “My warriors elite, I have come to give you aid in the coming battle. I have seen that the forces of light have employed an ancient and powerful enemy. Fear not, I will aid you to destroy them with this.” He waved his hand, and a table appeared, holding a bowl containing dozens of breakable glass vials, each filled with what looked like some sort of very noxious goo. “Upon his armor toss this. Do not engage or in any other way threaten him.”

One of the more haughty Trolls shouted, “He kill us afore usns got close nuff. He tookted down whole attacking armies by his self.”

The demon did one of those grotto shaking laughs, “The whole reason was they were attacking. The reason so many of you escaped the last time was you did not. He has honor – a flaw you do not share.”

The grotto became silent as the Orcs and Trolls looked at each other in total surprise. Many grunts and guttural voices discussed this idea, calling it “the no attack thing.” If that one statement was true, this war was about to make a change in direction.

The demon said once again in that voice, “Has it not ever been as I said once I got the two most powerful armies in this world to stop fighting each other?”

The Orcs raised their arms, fists, and weapons in a mighty roar. Of course, the Trolls were not going to be left out nor outdone by those puny Orcs, so they too began a loud and boisterous display of arms and weapons.

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“Are you sure?” asked Impo. “We would be happy to have you stay with us.”

“We cannot impose on your hospitality any longer than we already have,” said Sara. “Besides, the larger the village, the bigger a target. The enemy seems to prefer large slaughters. They won’t go out of their way to come back to Sulaturong.”

“But where will you go?”

“We’ve talked amongst ourselves,” said Halford. “We’re going farther south, away from the mountains, toward the sea. Maybe if we can find or even build ships, we can get away from the Orcs and Trolls.”

“Well, all I can say is that we all wish you the best,” said Impo. Behind him, the villagers of Sulaturong nodded. “It’s not a safe time to be traveling, but I guess it’s safer to travel during a break in the attacks than to be running for your life from them.”

“Yes,” said Sara, “but still, we have to be quick about it. On behalf of us all, we thank you for sheltering us during our time of need and pray that the gods reward you for your generosity.”

As the people of Sulaturong waved, the travelers returned to shore via the bridge, which had been set out once again for this purpose. They then turned right to follow the river south toward the sea.

Every adult carried at least one child, although the older children were able to walk as long as they could keep up. Sara was getting on in years, but she was still well spry enough to more than keep up a pretty decent pace.

By the time the sun went down, the village of Sulaturong was long gone over the horizon behind them. The river grew wider and wider, and the land grew more and more marshy. Sara judged that they would reach the sea in the next day, or two at the most. But for now they would have to make camp for the night.

Halford said, “We’ll scout around for a good dry spot to camp.”

Sara replied, “By ‘we,’ you mean the men, don’t you? I’m coming too. I’m one of the few who have been this way before in my life.”

“I … wouldn’t dare to leave you out, Miz Sara,” said Halford, so they chose a small group of six scouts including Sara to spread out and search for the best camping spot. The rest of the adults, including some thirty men and women, stayed to protect the dozen children.

Sara knew that they would have to move away from the river if they wanted to have any chance of finding a sufficiently large patch of non-marshy ground to pitch camp on. So she kept the river at her back and quietly made her way through the stands of scrubby trees and patches of reeds until some hills started to roll. Soon, she thought, she would come to a place that wasn’t on top of a hill – too exposed – but wasn’t too low either – too damp.

She came around a hill and saw a glimpse of a distant fire in the deepening evening light. It was just one single fire, so it wasn’t the enemy army. But who else would be out here? She steeled her nerves and crept closer, not wanting to reveal herself, in case it was foe, not friend.

Concealing herself in one of the small stands of trees, she stood still and listened, because it was too dark to see, but she was starting to hear voices.

“Why they no camp?” asked a gravely voice with a clearly tenuous grasp of language. “Why they stop?” Sara’s eyes widened in the darkness. That sounded like an Orc’s voice.

“Why you ask me? Me no know why humans do what they do,” came a similarly uncouth voice in response.

“They got scouts,” said a smaller, higher-pitched voice, perhaps a smaller Orc. “Like me! They looking for place to camp. They camp soon.”

“Hmp, lucky for them we got orders to just follow,” said the first voice.

“Yeah, Him say not attack nobody yet, just watch. Wait for humans to be in one big group. Then attack that. Gold guys probably come then.”

The smaller voice said, “You think those jars of goo really gonna work on gold guys?”

“Why you ask me?” said one of the others. “Ask Him. He say they gonna work. Gonna do … something. Do a thing to gold guys. Maybe it rust their armor.”

“Yeah, go ask Him,” said another one. “Me like to see you do it. You ask Him questions, then He gonna squish you good. You be gooey stain onna ground. Me laugh.”

“Ha, no way me gonna do that! He too scary. Me too little. That why me spy, not big warrior. But me bet you not ask Him questions neither! He bigger than you. Plus he got magics or … something.”

“That why we gonna win! He got magics. Big magics. We gonna beat gold guys. Will be world of Orcs then.”

Sara slowly backed out of the copse of trees, as silently as she could. She wasn’t near enough for them to see or smell her. She couldn’t see them either, and could hear them only distantly, although she surely could smell them and she’d heard enough. She retraced her steps until she could no longer see their fire and chose another way.

When she returned, the other scouts had already come back. “Miz Sara!” said Halford. “We were starting to get worried. Jimson found a spot not too far away – it’s rocky, but it’s dry.”

“Good, I vote for that,” said Sara. “Listen, I found Orcs.” The others gasped. “Just a small camp of them. They’re following us. I didn’t get close enough to see them, just enough to barely hear them talking. Something’s going on. They’ve got some kind of plan, but it’s not an Orc plan – they’ve got some kind of leader who isn’t an Orc, and probably isn’t a Troll either. They’re trying to wait until we, meaning humans, gather up into large numbers again so they can attack, because they’re trying to lure the Golden Knights out into the open. They have some kind of special plan ready. I wish we knew how to warn them.”

“What kind of plan?”

“One of them said something about jars of goo, or something. Maybe something alchemical?” Sara shrugged. “I don’t know much about alchemy and potions and mixtures. They just said that their leader gave these jars to them and says to wait until the Golden Knights are sure to come defend us, then … I guess throw the jars at the Knights? The good thing is that I don’t think they’ll attack tonight – they’ve been ordered not to. The bad news is that they’re following orders, and I don’t know whose.”

The others agreed. “Yeah, that’s bad,” said Halford. “But there’s nothing we can do about it right now except try to get some rest, and get up early to keep moving as soon as it’s light.” Jimson led them to the spot he’d found, and they started to set up camp.

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Sara found herself building a rather energetic fire. She had worries about the Orcs she had overheard. She saw Halford handing out rather finely crafted blades. Sara wasn’t one to mostly cower under a rock while others fought and insisted on a sword herself.

Halford wasn’t exactly gung ho over her being one of the warriors on the front lines, but as he looked around the small makeshift camp, there wasn’t much choice; anyone able-bodied, regardless of gender, could still wield a blade.

Sara had wandered down to a small place where a stream flowed sort of like a creek to gather water and a few of the plants that grew nearby. She knew many of the tubers were edible, and a few of the others made excellent medicinals. As she was gathering things, several of the children had arrived and were helping with the chore.

Sara heard something and stood as she turned. Three of the ugliest Trolls you could imagine stood there drooling. The breeze blew the wrong direction and carried their horrid smell off another direction, so Sara didn’t know they were there until she had heard them approaching. She looked back at the children, who as yet were oblivious to their mortal danger. A feeling she had no words to describe came over her as she looked back at the smelly trolls.

One grunted and farted at the same time then said, “Lookem. Meat an’ it fresh.”

The other two grunted their agreements as they began to brandish their spiked warclubs. Sara was fortunate that a thick limb had fallen into the water upstream and had drifted down almost to her. She bent and picked it up as she stood between the trolls and children.

She put her finger to her lips indicating silence, then pointed to a hollow place in the bank for the children to hide. Quickly, the children concealed themselves and remained silent.

She remembered her early childhood training as one of the Sisters of Light. She unbuttoned her skirt and allowed it to fall, leaving her in just her pantaloons as she drew the sword she had been given. Taking off her skirt also freed up her feet. She was more than able to fight with them if need be.

The first Troll was overconfident as he strode up to her and was just going to knock her in the head. Without any warnings, Sara was all over the Troll and after slicing and dicing for a bit was rapidly beating the severely sliced up Troll in the head with his own spiked war club.

With the grace an acrobat would envy, Sara did a back flip with a side spin on it. The heel of her boot caught one of the other trolls in the side of the head. The impact was great enough that the troll stumbled. It gave Sara just the time she needed to position her sword and attack. The horrid smell of Troll flesh and their fresh … whatever served them as blood permeated everywhere.

As large as the Trolls were, Sara still took out two of them rapidly, unfortunately the third got to her first. His war club slammed excruciatingly painfully into her chest several times before a major impact to her head brought merciful darkness.

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A voice in the darkness brought awareness. “Awaken, and arise.”

Sara was sort of surprised. Her last memories were not those of events she should have survived. She sat up only to realize that she was sitting on some sort of cloudlike object, not really solid looking. Sara looked around. There wasn’t much to see within the bubble of light she was in except for something like a storage compartment.

A bright white light appeared next to the storage compartment. From it, an ethereal voice said softly, “From the time of your beginnings have you always striven for righteousness and justice. At the time of your fleshly ending, you gave the most honored of gifts, your life, so that others might live.”

Sara asked with an obvious tone of incredulity, “Where am I? Who are you?”

The being waved one of its arms towards the container. The front of it evaporated like a mist. Sara’s eyes grew very large as she saw some of the most elegant golden armor made for a woman she had ever seen. That was also when Sara finally realized she was no longer an aged woman, but a young and vital one.

The image said softly, “From this day forward, you have been chosen to be one of the elite’s elite. You and other honored individuals like yourself will be returned to the earth to stand for all time as a guardian for right and the Light against the encroachment of darkness.”

The being vanished, leaving Sara totally astonished. She knew the Golden Knights were real – she’d seen one – but never had she imagined that she would ever be one herself. She stood and began putting on the armor, which looked like it should weigh tons. On the contrary, it was lighter than thistledown and very comfortable. It even sort of felt like it was making adjustments to better fit her. It fit skin tight, moved like it was part of her skin, left nothing to the imagination, and was made of a bright shiny golden metal of some type – but no gold was ever this light.

Earthly knights wore fabric padding beneath their armor, or else it would bruise and cut their skin. Not so with this material. There was a layer of soft fabric of some sort within, but the way it fit like it was made for her, it moved with her skin, working with her. Yet when she tapped on it with a fingernail, its exterior was hard as steel.

She looked for a door. She wanted to talk to someone, ask someone what was going on. The room she was in was not large, but its walls seemed to go upward forever, vanishing into brightness far above. But one of the walls changed into cloud as the wardrobe’s door had, and vanished, revealing an opening that led to a larger chamber. She exited and looked about her.

Like the previous room, there was no ceiling, just walls that stretched upward into a bright eternity, and those walls were a white marble punctuated with brilliantly-colored stained-glass windows. The floor seemed to be a marble tile, smooth as plate glass. There were others in golden armor walking from one place to another, as well as other individuals in white robes, also going about their unknown business serenely.

Sara was about to approach one of them to ask her questions when one gracefully drifted up to her and said, “You have questions, newfound Knight. Please ask them. I will endeavor to answer. My name is Aleithea.”

Her head was buzzing with so many questions that she couldn’t decide which to ask first. But she picked one that was bothering her. “The children,” she said. “What happened to the children I was trying to protect? I stopped two Trolls, but there was a third, the one that … killed me, I guess. Did anyone protect them from it?”

“Allow me to show you,” said Aleithea. “Please follow me to the Hall of Vision.” She turned, and Sara followed. Aleithea was dark-haired and cocoa-skinned, like the people of the far southern lands … did the Orcs and Trolls threaten them too? Another question that Sara wanted to know about.

As Sara followed the white-robed woman, she noticed that the walls were narrowing into more of a corridor, and the stained glass was changing, the individual pieces becoming smaller and finer, until they looked almost like paintings with light streaming through them from behind. Then, to her surprise, Aleithea stopped at a window that showed the moment Sara had … well … died.

“You appear astonished,” Aleithea said in her calm voice. “That is not surprising. Yes, this is the moment you departed the earthly realm. You may see what transpired next … or you may step into it and affect the moment.”

“I … want to protect the children,” she said. “Can I do that?”

“Of course,” said Aleithea. “You may wish to choose a weapon.” Her armor had included a sword scabbard, but when she reached for it she found that she was somehow holding a nebulous white mist. “It is waiting for you to give it form. What will you choose to fight the darkness?”

“I’m … not really trained in weapons,” Sara said. “I trained with the Sisters of Light when I was younger, but they didn’t use weapons.”

“Then perhaps a shield,” said Aleithea. The mist turned into a round shield made of the same golden material – very strong and tough, very light, and with a razor-sharp edge. Sara contemplated that because the shield was light, it would not have much stopping power, but her training, which she was starting to remember after years of disuse, had dealt with that issue. One did not stop stronger opponents’ blows; one sidestepped them, used them, and redirected them.

“Very well,” Sara said. She stared at the moment depicted before her. The children were hiding just there, in a hollow within the bank of the creek, and the Troll was gloating over her dead body, uncomfortably close. “I can just … walk in?”

“Yes,” said Aleithea. “When you have saved them, you may come back. I will be here. And I will bring someone you wish to meet.”

Sara steeled herself. “I am ready.” She walked into the painting … and found herself there, in that moment.

“Huh?” the Troll said, seeing her. “‘Nother Goldie? Me crush!”

It didn’t seem to recognize her, but then she realized that she was a lot younger and now wore a helm, which protected her head and concealed her face.

It raised its spiked club to bring it down on her in a swift blow, but she grasped it with her gauntlets and pulled it down and toward the Troll, making the club strike its foot, the spikes digging into its flesh. The momentum caused the Troll to pitch forward and roll head over heels, landing on its back, the club stuck deep. It howled in agony, then in fury. It tried to get up, but then found Sara’s shield at its neck.

Its edge was razor sharp. She pushed. The Troll’s head was soon separated from its body in a spray of smelly black they called blood.

She went to the hollow where the children were hiding. “The Trolls are no more,” she told them. “But sadly your guardian is too. Can you make it back to the others?”

“Gramma Sawa?” said one of the little ones. “Noooooo!” He came out and knelt by Sara’s mangled bloody corpse, crying. “Whyyyyy?”

Sara knew she couldn’t stay. But she took her helm off and said, “She has gone to the next place.”

The children recognized her even as a much younger individual and gathered around her in awe. “You … you became a Golden Knight?” asked one of the older children.

“But … how?” asked another one.

“I do not know,” Sara said. “It may be that it was because I died protecting you, without a thought of myself. But the powers that be have made it so. Now I must get you to safety, but there are others I must protect now too. I will never leave you unprotected.”

She led them back to where she knew the camp had been, and others gathered around as well to meet a real Golden Knight.

Halford was there. “What?” he said. “No! Did you …?”

“You have guessed,” Sara said. “Halford, you and the others will have to look after the children now. It seems that to become a Golden Knight one must die protecting others. There were Trolls. They’re dead now, and the children live. That was what I had to do. We may meet again.” Then there was a golden light, and she found herself stepping out of the painting. She was back in the Hall of Vision.

Before her stood Aleithea … and the knight with the elvin blade with the wolf’s tooth pommel-stone.

Aleithea smiled a knowing smile. With a gleam in her eye she said, “I have prayers to tend to. I will depart and leave the two of you to instruction.” With this, she gracefully glided away.

Sara was astounded as the man removed his helm. It was the same man that had saved them all.

Sir Thomas nodded and said, “Hello again. Please don’t get me wrong, but I had hoped to not meet you here.”

Sara replied, “I must admit I really wanted to meet the man who sacrificed himself for me that day. But perhaps not like this.”

The man smiled a beautiful smile as he removed one of his gauntlets. “My name is Sir Thomas, and yours?”

Sara took the man’s large and strong hand in hers. They shook hands. “My name is Sara. I never was trained with a sword.”

Sir Thomas replied as he led her off towards the practice grounds, “We shall fix that shortly.”

“There is something I must warn you about,” said Sara, “something I overheard the Orcs saying …”

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The watch in the northern tower of Castle Holmsgaard saw the large dark cloud of dust long before the huge advancing army of Trolls and Orcs were close enough that he could smell what they were.

But that didn’t mean he didn’t sound the battle alarm and began calling the fighters to their marks. The entire castle came to life like a disturbed anthill. The women who were caring for children were taken with their charges to a prearranged safe spot within a well fortified and hidden grotto. The many women of the Amazonian tribe stood on the battlement with their longbows and their hawk-feathered river-cane arrows while making the same preparations as the men.

All the many warriors along the castle battlement had no delusions of an easy battle. The size of the approaching army and the many siege engines they brought with them showed how helpless a situation the castle was in. Many of the folk hiding in the Keep’s safe grotto had already been displaced by this huge army at least once before, and it appeared this was going to be Castle Holmsgaard’s last battle, since it was outnumbered several thousand to one, from appearances.

The first round of trebuchet-tossed fire pots began to land. Since the battlement was made of granite, the fire had little effect. Castle Holmsgaard had faced fire pots before and had actually made a way to have water all along the battlement and huge barrels of sand. The fires were contained almost before they happened.

When the Orc / Troll army positioned more of their trebuchets on the northward hill, Castle Holmsgaard’s archers began shooting. Some of the arrows were aflame. Some had black powder rockets tied to them that gave them excessively more range; they had also packed a special place in the rocket to explode and scatter many pieces of debris. This acted like shrapnel, and one well placed arrow could severely injure or kill several at a time, not to mention set fire to the primarily wooden siege engines in many places at once. This was a plan thought up by a band of travelers from a far land, where this powder was well known. Fortunately the Orcs and Trolls did not know its secret.

The first wave of foot soldiers consisted of about half dozen Orcs and an equal number of Trolls. They had on some type of new armor. This gave the female Amazonian archers not a second’s pause, as they all gracefully stepped forward in perfect synch, drew, then fired in well ordered waves and graceful unison.

The sunlight dimmed as massive clouds of arrows sprang to flight amid the song the many longbows’ strings sang. Immediately, the severely wounded surviving Trolls and Orcs retreated back out of range and into the distant trees, leaving their comrades where they lay, looking like molting birds because so many feathered arrows had found their mark.

As the current wave of Amazonian archers stood at draw waiting for the next wave of attackers, seconds turned into long minutes with nothing happening. Gracefully, all the many Amazonian archers relaxed their draws and dropped their bow arms. The enemy was remaining out of range.

That was when the watch in the tower shouted loudly, “They are not attacking. It looks like they are setting up camp. Tell Hon our worst fears may have happened, and they are going to besiege.”

Several of the knights in armor had a short discussion while their pages ran off to tell Hon the bad news. The knights then walked to the portcullis and shouted, “Keeper, open the gates. We will do our best.”

The portcullis rose slowly. As soon as it was high enough that they could walk through, they did so and proceeded towards the hill over which the camp was built. None of the knights had any delusions. They all knew this was their final battle.

When they had almost reached the top of the hill, close enough that the sickening stench permeated everything, two bright golden flashes appeared. One was obviously male, while the other there was no doubt female. The male could be heard saying, “Draw your sword and stand ready. As I know you already know, do not attack until they attack.”

The woman drew her sword deftly and stood at the top of the hill with the male knight. Both raised their shields but took no other action. Several Orcs seemingly collected something from one of the crude carts they had made, then approached slowly. Their low, guttural, maniacal laughter could be heard as they slowly approached the knights.

The female's voice could be heard, “Return to your burrows. You shall not pass us this day.”

One of the seriously ugly and nasty smelling snaggle-toothed Orcs giggled in a base tone then said softly, “What is we no wanna pass? What is we wanna meet youns?”

The male knight and the female knight looked at each other briefly, then slightly, but not completely, lowered their defenses. “Approach slowly,” the male knight said. “Make no sudden move. It would surely be your last.”

The female knight tilted her head to one side as the Orcs seemed to be passing something among themselves. As if she knew it was coming, she flashed her shield in the path of the dark goo several of the Orcs tossed at them. On impact, her shield began to sublimate into something she had never seen before. She dropped the remnants of the shield and looked at the male knight.

The male knight said in an obviously angry tone, “This day, under a flag of parlay, you have shown an aggressive act.” He pointed at the rapidly vanishing shield, “You were warned …”

To the onlookers on the battlements of Castle Holmsgaard, what they witnessed could only be accounted as a miracle. First they saw not one, but two Golden Knights appear. They watched as the two of them fearlessly met with the orcs. What happened next was beyond belief as the two knights decimated one of the largest armies Castle Holmsgaard had ever seen.

A cloud of mist formed around Sara’s empty shield arm and formed itself into another golden shield. The Orcs who had thrown the glass vials of vitriol stopped grinning and stared in disbelief, then began to show a glint of fear in their eyes as Sara and Sir Thomas joined their shields – Sara, as it turned out, fought left-handed. When their shields touched, there was an immediate eruption of coruscating golden light.

Not a leaf did it touch on any of the trees that still withstood the army’s depredations, but every Orc and Troll was sent flying. This detonation of force killed the vast majority on impact, and most of the rest died when they struck trees, rocks, the ground, or each other. Those few who survived had many broken bones and could only crawl away.

The knights from the castle had been completely unharmed and looked at each other in disbelief for a moment before advancing to handle any further threats.

“They actually thought that an attack upon our armor would not count as an act of aggression,” Sir Thomas said. “What you overheard was apparently accurate and not merely some delusion those Orcs suffered from.”

“Yet it was not the Orcs’ plan, for Orcs do not fight like that,” Sara replied. “The plan came from someone more intelligent … than an Orc. But not intelligent to any great degree.”

“We should discuss this with those more knowledgeable,” said Sir Thomas. “There may be something beyond this. Answers, I hope, to some of the questions that have been hanging in the air.”

One of the knights from the castle approached them. “You … are Golden Knights,” he said. “The legends … they are true!”

“I assure you that we are real, and that we defend the defenseless,” said Sir Thomas. “I do not mean to alarm you, but there are many realms with many wars at any given time, and we may only intervene if the lower planes are involved. An ordinary conflict is one thing, but when the forces of Corruption and Shadow take an active hand, that in turn enables us to step in as well.”

The young knight replied, “The – the Infernal Realms? Then that means … I must notify Lord Hon at once! The word must be spread!” He ran toward the castle.

Sara and Sir Thomas looked at one another and returned to the Golden Halls in a flash of light. Aleithea met them as they appeared. “I understand that your intelligence turned out to be true,” she said. “Please follow me. Archon Umbriel wishes to speak with you.”

“Archon?” Sara asked Sir Thomas as they followed the white-robed woman through the marble halls of light.

“They’re closer to the powers that be,” Sir Thomas said. “They’re sort of their emissaries.”

Aleithea led them into a cloister, appearing to be outdoors, with trees, grass, flowers, and a fountain featuring a cherubic winged infant pouring water from an amphora. Next to it stood another figure with a white robe, its hood covering their head. They turned toward them and removed the hood, revealing an androgynous face with shining white eyes. “Greetings, Sir Thomas. Well met, Sara.” To Sara they said, “I am Archon Umbriel. Through visions I have seen your deeds. Yet my vision of the will behind the invading armies of your world is clouded. Thus we must discuss how best to discover the truth behind this war.”

“Well, it must be something infernal,” said Sir Thomas. “We can’t go anywhere in the mortal realms that isn’t threatened by the Lower Planes. The Hall of Vision simply refuses to let us through unless that’s so.”

“That is true,” said Umbriel. Their eyes had no visible irises or pupils, just light, and they had their head constantly aligned upward, as if seeing a light that no one else saw, but they did rotate their head toward whomever they spoke to. “But precisely who among the demons and devils is behind this, what their aims are, and how deep it goes – these details remain unknown, and yet they are of utmost importance. For the greater the power behind this thrust, the more likely that it will lead to direct conflict.”

Sara asked, “Direct conflict? Are you saying war between the upper and lower realms? Not merely wars in the mortal realms?”

“Indeed, you have not been among us for long, and yet you apprehend quickly,” said Umbriel. “Fortunate we were that you came to us, however unfortunate the circumstances. Yes, it has been eons since the armies of the Higher and Lower Planes faced one another directly upon the battlefield, but that may yet not happen, should it turn out to be merely some demonic warlord or baron of Hell behind this.”

“We’ll find them sooner or later, defeat them, send them back where they belong, and that’ll be the end of it,” said Sir Thomas.

“Indeed, that is of course the goal toward which we should strive,” Umbriel replied. “But in the case that one of the Powers of Darkness has brought this to pass … the Powers that Be may need to be involved, and if that were to occur, it could spiral into all-out war between the Celestial and the Infernal. That is not to be desired. War itself is bad enough, but it is meant to be an ephemeral thing, a mortal thing, relegated to the mortal realms.”

“I see,” said Sara. “Here, at least, is supposed to be a place where one can transcend the mortal. After one’s mortal life, one hopes for something better for the rest of eternity.”

“Precisely,” said Umbriel. “And we strive to provide it to those who have lived generous, honorable lives. We cannot allow the forces of Corruption to take that peace away from those whose actions in life earned them a reward. It would be unjust.”

“So,” said Sir Thomas, “we must make our plans to unmask just which demon or hellspawn is behind this unholy alliance between Orcs and Trolls.”

“And, if we can, send them packing,” Sara added. “I assume demons can’t be killed permanently.”

Umbriel replied, “That is correct. Their physical existence may be ended, but when this occurs, their essence returns to their home plane. They may again be reembodied in one of the mortal realms, but this process takes centuries as mortals measure time.”

“That works for me,” Sara said. “I want them out of my world.”

“Then let us speak of how this goal may be achieved,” said Archon Umbriel.

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Ravencrest Keep had fought many battles, but none as desperate as this. In the most ancient of legends of the Keep, it was said that the entire fortress was built by winged creatures. One of the things that made the fortress so impregnable had been the difficulty in getting into the main court without flying.

The huge army of Orcs and Trolls had come across some secret type of fire that just burned brighter and hotter the more anyone tried to put it out with water. They had no trouble getting their fire pots and large arbalest bolts in where they would do the most damage.

None of the warriors knew how to fight this magic fire that kept raining down on them from the attacking army’s trebuchets that seemed to burn water just as well as anything else that was flammable. For no reason other than because he had run out of water, which had proven only to make the fire worse, and pure frustration, one of the pages had dumped a bucket of sand on the fire threatening the arrow supplies. To everyone's shocked surprise, this extinguished the flames.

The rope suspension bridge across the gorge had already been set fire and destroyed. This didn’t slow the beasts or deter them in any wise. Somehow, they had managed to position several dozen arbalests intermixed with trebuchets.

The large bolts cast by the arbalests also had other things attached and were tossed into the main courtyard unopposed to explode and scatter oil followed by firepots filled with that magic substance water could not extinguish which was aided in ferocity by the oil. By this time, however, all had learned the lesson about sand. The magic fire was no longer an issue.

The constant pounding against the fortress walls by the catapults had begun to show as well. Various large places could easily be seen where the rock had failed and began to crumble, leaving large ragged holes in the upper wall. As those holes grew larger, the defenders began to worry. The only thing thus far keeping the fortress from falling were its formidable granite walls.

The fight had dragged on for so long that the archers were running out of arrows. Dozens had volunteered to go through the wiggle holes and attempt to retrieve some. Due to the extremely high mortality rate among those who attempted it, they had put a stop to that and started improvising combat slings out of the linens and leather. The idea to return some of the objects back at the enemy as projectiles worked well, since there was more than enough debris for ammo.

The Orcs and Trolls weren’t expecting this type of retaliation, so there were actually many of them who were knocked off the narrow pathways and ledges, falling down into the crags below. But their numbers were so great that this didn’t seem to be blunting their assault in any way. The defenders were worried.

Then there was a flash of golden light within the Keep. Sir Thomas looked around, saw the archers’ shortage of arrows and the catapults’ shortage of ammunition. Raising his sword to the heavens, he called upon the Celestial Arsenal, and suddenly vast numbers of golden arrows filled every quiver, and the baskets of boulders next to each catapult were filled with heavy golden stones that glowed dimly in the twilight air.

As the others cheered and began loading the catapults and firing arrows at the invaders, one of the defenders turned to Sir Thomas and said, “Oh! How can this be? A Golden Knight! I had thought you merely a legend!” He loaded another catapult stone and added, “But you have chosen to help us by giving us … artillery?”

“That is my task in this plan,” said Sir Thomas, “but I am not the only Golden Knight come to help you this day. I will ensure that you have unlimited arrows and stones to launch against the foe. You will be short on neither arrows nor catapult artillery any longer.”

“Oh! There are others of you involved! Thanks be to the Heavens!” said the soldier, loading more catapults as the teams fired them. Large amounts of sparking golden arrows filled the skys as huge golden boulders began to rain down on the attacking army.

This had not been what the Orcs and Trolls had expected. They had thought the Keep about to fall and were ready to approach the gates with their battering rams, now the rams lay unused upon the craggy approach, their wielders having fallen, impaled by many brightly gleaming golden arrows. And at these heights, falling had two meanings.

The archers paused. The enemy was suddenly nowhere in sight. The last they had seen was a distant Troll who had been hit in the face by a glittering golden boulder from one of the catapults and tumbled down the mountainside. They looked at each other and took deep breaths of the bracing mountain air. Was there a break in the assault? Could it be?

Farther down the trail, there was another flash of golden light, far enough behind the retreating Orcs and Trolls that they did not see it. Sara carefully followed the creatures without getting too close or too far away. If they turned, they would see her, but she didn’t give them any reason to turn. Her mission was to follow them to their leader, just as Sir Thomas’ had been to force them to retreat by aiding the defenders, preventing their strategy from working, a strategy so very unlike the usual hack-and-smash that Orcs and Trolls had relied on without variation in countless past battles. There would be no wholesale destruction of entire armies this time; they needed to find out precisely who commanded them, because that entity was no Orc or Troll.

Sir Thomas and the defenders stood vigilant back at the Keep, in case the attack was renewed, but Sara followed them down mountain trails and paths to a high-altitude plain, where stood a crudely-made black tent with a blood red pennon that blew in the biting mountain wind. The Orc and Troll leaders entered this tent as their armies stood all around, waiting for instructions.

Sara saw this from a distance. If only she could see what was going on inside the tent, or at least eavesdrop on the conversation that must even now be going on, but the legions of Orcs and Trolls stood between her and her objective.

She knew that they had that black vitriol that could dissolve the golden ethereal metal from which her armor was made, not to mention their new sticky flammable substance. And yet that tent held the answers that the Celestial Planes so badly needed.

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As Sara looked over the huge military encampment on the other side of the hill from a hidden location trying to formulate a plan to get her near enough to the central tent to hear what might be going on inside, a noise behind her caught her immediate attention.

She turned with the grace of a ballerina and drew her magical sword in a fluid motion that would make any master Samurai jealous. Standing within ten feet of her were a very large and ugly Troll, and an equally large and ugly Orc. Fortunately the breeze was blowing the opposite direction and carried their horrid stench away.

The Orc grinned his fangy toothy grin and said, “Whacha knos? A goldie here, an it lookin like it spyin on us.”

The Troll scratched himself in a rather private place then said, “What we gonna does bout that nassy thing?”

The Orc giggled in its horrible way, “Nuffins. We gonna go to tha commander n tells im a goldie here an needs ttention.”

The Troll looked at the Orc with an idiot’s expression, “Nuffins? Whacha means, nuffins?”

The Orc replied, “Members wha tha masser says? Dim’s totally helpless lessns wens aggressive again em or sompin dey defendin, udderwise, dim’s helpless.”

The Troll's stupid expression changed slightly as his eyebrows went up, “Yea, and we gotsa surprise fer goldie too don wes?”

The Orc and Troll slowly wandered past Sara while doing a horrible impression of giggling as they crested the hill and slowly entered camp. Sara was dumfounded. She had no compulsion to attack or do anything to deter them from going to the command tent and alerting the camp she was here. It was true, she was helpless if they were not being aggressive towards her or someone she was defending. She literally was unable to interfere in any manner. This seriously concerned her.

Within a very few short minutes, a large throng of Orcs and Trolls had gathered at the foot of the hill. None of them did anything in an aggressive manner as Sara saw them passing some kind of container among them.

One of the Orcs brought out a combat sling and fitted an object in its pouch. He spun it up over his head until it whistled then released it. The object flew straight and true and impacted on one of the banner poles snapping it in two. Sara tried to attack the Orc to no avail. Unless they were being aggressive, and what that Orc had just done may have been an aggressive act, but not towards her or anything she was defending.

From the tent came a loud and ethereal voice that caused the ground to tremble, “Is it not as I have told you? They are powerless if you do nothing towards them. Any action has to be all at once.”

Sara raised her shield and backed up a step, unsure exactly what was going on. She had never heard a voice like that before, and she knew the army below her was up to something as she watched all of them take a combat sling from the many assorted kinds of belts and place an object in its pouch.

The next thing she knew, something like a black swarm of insects rapidly approached. Sara defended with her shield. It dissolved, but she was able to summon another. This worked for the first couple of impacts, but each time, some of the substance splashed onto her armor, and it was beginning to make it through to her skin beneath, where it burned terribly.

Sara sat up with a screech, then looked around. She was in a small sphere of soft light lying on something more akin to a cloud than anything else.

Sir Thomas came up to her, sat on another cloudlike object nearby, and said softly, “It’s a lucky thing I came when I did. I’m not sure what that black vitriol is, but I did manage to get a sample for study. Managed to get you out of the armor before it killed you again, but sadly, you were still injured. I had to leave so I wouldn’t get injured by what ever the black goo is. Those large wounds it caused on your body have been cleaned and dressed. According to Healer Mendin, you’re healing well.”

“Can we – die? Again?” Sara asked him.

“I’m afraid so,” replied Sir Thomas, “and it’s not a pleasant experience, let me tell you, nor is it actually dying. The Ethereal energies that constitute your makeup are depleted and require regrouping and recharging. Puts you out of commission for a good long time, during which the forces of evil get to do whatever they want without any interference from you. Of course, other Knights can pick up the slack, but if too many of us are down for too long, who knows what they could get up to?”

“Did we get anything from that?” asked Sara. “Anything useful about who or what that voice was?”

“Unfortunately not,” said Sir Thomas. “All we have now is confirmation that there’s some kind of infernal influence here. This ‘master’ the Orcs and Trolls have is clearly some incarnate lower being, but which one? Even someone who recognizes them by voice wouldn’t necessarily help, either – they’ve taken on a humanoid body, and it’s different every time.”

“Then we’ll have to try something else,” said Sara. She tried to get up. It hurt to move. She winced and gritted her teeth.

“Steady there,” said Sir Thomas. “You’ll be fine soon enough, but for now you need to rest. The alchemists need time to study the black goo anyway.”

Sara sighed. “Well, at least I can still help plan the next strategy. They know we can only act in defense. That’s a problem.”

“It’s a strength, really,” Sir Thomas said, “but I know what you mean. If you’d simply transported back, you wouldn’t have been hurt – but I know you were trying to hold out so you could get a glimpse of their ‘master.’”

“I was so close …” Sara said with another sigh. “Does it not count as an attack if they’re preparing a massive attack?”

Sir Thomas nodded. “At the right moment it does. They don’t really understand us. They think we can’t attack until they do. They don’t understand that an aggressive gesture, surrounding someone, even a statement of violent intent is an attack. But violence is their way of life, so they don’t see that as aggression; they see it as normal. Do not let them trick you into thinking something they do isn’t violence.”

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In a setting beyond the imaginations of mortals, amid many devices and objects beyond fantasy, a group of individuals dressed in long sweeping white robes, were bent over a large … for a better description, a work bench.

One of the men, with a long white beard that curled upward at the end, said, “This stuff is not any kind of raw chemical or mixture.”

One of the others, who had been looking at a sample of the black goo under some type of device, stood and turned slightly. “From the looks of what I have seen, it’s some type of lower base demonic life form.”

The first robed man said, “What? You mean that black stuff is a life form? You mean it’s many tiny life forms? How many are in that sample?”

The other replied, “This sample is the same creature as in that beaker over there. It’s all one creature.”

One of the priestly looking types drifted gracefully up with a very old and very large book, which they placed on the table.

She said softly as she opened the book to a place near the back, “No one has seen this creature in many thousands of years.” She pointed to a picture of some type of oily goo dissolving a human knight. “It’s actually called ‘goo,’ interestingly enough, and it is one of the lowest of the low level demons.”

There was a tearing noise. Everyone turned; the white-bearded alchemist had opened what appeared to be a section of reality. Within were flames, nothing but raging inferno. He was obviously about to toss the flask into elemental fire.

“Stop!” came a deep voice of substance that rattled all in the room. “Do not put that in fire. Once it has been consumed, the remains will be smoke, which will travel on the whims of the wind and create many more.”

The white-bearded one in the long robe slammed the magical rift shut and said, “How do we destroy this thing?”

The priestly one smiled. “The only way in creation is to infuse it with purity and white light. The only catch is, you must have all of it at once. None can survive the treatment, or it will simply find ways to divide and create more of itself, like some type of microbial slime or something.”

Another of the long-robed individuals asked, “How is it possible for that thing to harm us? I thought Golden Knights were immune to the denizens of darkness.”

The priestly one patted the large open book. “It would behoove you to read this about Goo. It is the very base primal evil, second only to one greater evil. Contact with that much pure unadulterated evil is like acid on iron. It’s the massive concentration of evil that does the deed, not the creature.”

The white-bearded one said, “But if it is neutralized with pure good … does that not remove the same amount of good from the universe?”

Grimly, the priestly one nodded. “Yes,” she said. “That is unfortunate. But the universe will continue to create more good – and also more evil. The difference is that the evil is in a concentrated, dangerous form, which is luckily rare to find. The good need not be concentrated, as long as there is enough. The goodness generated by one good person’s heart in a minute will be replenished in the next minute, but concentrated evil like that takes ages to make, from countless souls of the selfish, the proud, the enraged, the greedy, and so on. And there’s a secret: those souls also contain good. They extract it and throw it away, just releasing it into the universe, while the evil is concentrated here, lowering the amount of evil everywhere else.”

“Sounds like a bit of a gambit on the part of the lower planes,” said the other long-robed one, scratching his bald head. “Take away evil from other places hoping you can make use of concentrated evil somewhere else.”

“No one said it was a smart idea,” said the priestly one. “But it is something they’ve done before – and have apparently done again.”

The long-bearded one said, “Well, for now, our Knights know they can and must block it with their shields, and when those shields are overwhelmed, they’re empowered to summon new ones. In the meantime, we’ll just have to get them to gather it all up. Maybe with a Transplanar Bridge connected to a Universal Solvent flask? Those things’ glass can withstand literally anything. Even Universal Solvent. Hence the name.”

“I like the idea of the flask,” said the other one with the long robe, “but to get the Goo in there, what about …”

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“The Archon’s got a new plan,” said Sir Thomas to Sara.

Sara turned. “Great, let me know when the meeting is.” She’d been resting and letting her injuries heal, but she’d been unable to stay idle, so she’d gone back to Ravencrest Keep to help their rebuilding effort. Lifting heavy stones would have worked against her healing, but she could help the cooks in the kitchen, who were perfectly willing to accept assistance once they got over her golden armor and aura of light. All the food she helped prepare had some kind of energizing and healing effect on all who partook of it, so that helped too.

“Actually I’ve been sent here to get you,” said Sir Thomas. “It’s now.”

She stopped, carrying a large kettle of boiling hot soup in one arm, apparently without feeling it. “Will this plan involve allowing another fortress to be besieged and allowing more people to die?” she asked. “I don’t like those plans.”

“I understand,” Sir Thomas said. “However, I don’t know what the plan is yet. The Archon’s going to tell us all at once.”

“It’s better than doing nothing,” said Sara, bringing the kettle to its destination and setting it gently down. “But let’s hope it’s better than feeding people.”

Sir Thomas felt a great deal of appreciation for Sara at that moment. She was determined that whatever she did, it would help people. That was why the Order had picked her. That sort of compassion was scarce in the cosmos. He could only hope that he could do as well. Maybe he was better with a sword, but Sara beat him in the compassion department any day.

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It was bitterly cold. Yourn hugged his thick bear skin cloak tighter to keep some of the teeth out of the biting wind. One of the other knights brought a flaming tree limb with him and set fire to one of the large pots. The warmth it provided was very welcome to all the nearly freezing men standing watch.

Just as the sky began to change colors indicating the coming dawn, and it had just barely gotten light enough to see without the aid of a fat torch, the voice from the watchtower was heard, saying, “Yo, all hear! Off in far yon distance just afore the forest ends, I espy the glow of campfires. Not light enough to see any smoke, but from what I can see, a rather large army lies encamped just inside the forest.”

One of the knights in the courtyard below in shiny silver armor led a group of horses up to his companions and said, “I know this is dangerous, but what I want is for several of you to stay back along the trail in case something goes wrong. It will leave at least one of you alive to tell what happened.”

The six brave knights left the portcullis. A moderate snow began to fall made worse by the icy cold wind. The lead knight positioned each of his companions along the road with explicit instructions to wait. If they saw the attacking army, they were to turn and head back to the fort to tell the tail. No questions.

Sir McDougal dismounted his battle steed and tied it loosely to a tree. If Orcs or Trolls attacked, the way the horse was tied off gave it the ability to free itself and do ... whatever it was of a mind to do.

As slowly and as silently as he could, always staying concealed in some kind of brush or behind a small hill, he approached what he now knew had to be a large encampment of Trolls and Orcs. The almost unbearable stench was proof enough.

Just as he got close enough that he could hear the guttural utterances, he heard a sound behind him and rolled over. His last memory was of a very large, ugly, and severely smelly Orc slamming him in the head with a spiked war club. A shooting pain, a shower of light spots, then darkness.

The Orc laughed in its guttural way as it gleefully and repeatedly beat the dead knight with his spiked war club. Suddenly, behind the Orc was a very bright light that left deep shadows out in front of him. The Orc turned rapidly only to find the blade, sharper than a razor’s edge, of a brightly gleaming round golden shield impacting his neck with great force. A huge splatter of black smelly Orcian blood spread everywhere as the Orc’s head tumbled off into the thick underbrush.

Sara wished the plan had called for her to intervene before poor Sir McDougal here had been killed, but the goal was the most important thing. These Orcs and Trolls had better patrol patterns than they normally did, and that was again probably because of the demon organizing them. Sara had brought up some ideas about that, but she agreed that the Golden Knights needed to know who the demon was before they could do anything to ruin his plans.

And that was why the Golden Knights would have to do something very unusual, something that would be reported.

Sara noticed with satisfaction that Sir McDougal’s followers had done as he’d asked. Four of them were already running back to the keep to spread the word. And the Orcs and Trolls, who usually attacked at night, were groaning and complaining as they awakened to fight in the sunlight.

Then, one after another, more golden flashes of light appeared, in a huge circle around the forest, more and more rapidly, until hundreds of Golden Knights surrounded the entire enemy encampment. They marched inward, their sheer numbers unprecedented. “Huh, look at alla Goldies,” said an Orc, before being cut down by one he hadn’t seen. Another Orc had the presence of mind to try to throw his allotted vial of Goo, but he was impaled before he could. The vial of Goo fell to the ground and shattered, where the plants immediately died in a three-foot circle around.

Sara moved inward with the circle of Golden Knights until it had gotten small enough that she could hang back and enact the next phase of the plan. She took a long cloak from her pack and put it on, concealing her armor, and sent her helmet and shield back to the Golden Hall; they vanished in a flash. And then she carefully watched and waited.

There! A smallish Orc dodged and twisted its way out of the melee, and ordinarily it would never have survived a Golden Knight onslaught of this sort, but they were clearly allowing it to survive. It wove from tree to tree, trying to avoid notice, and ran away once it thought it was out of sight of any Knight it could see.

But Sara watched it, and followed it. It was a scout, a spy, and it had orders to report in. Again, these were tactics that Orcs didn’t usually use, but clearly the demon was smarter than an Orc – not that that took much effort. Without the radiant golden armor making her so visible, she was able to shadow the scout until it left the forest, then she had to be more careful.

But she was able to look as nonchalant as possible whenever not under cover, and her cloak blended in with the soil and vegetation. She could not lose it. Back at the camp, the Golden Knights were exterminating every Orc and Troll they could find. The keep would be saved this time. Poor Sir McDougal had had to die – the enemy had to attack someone in order to prove their belligerent intent before the Knights were allowed to retaliate, but that someone did not have to be a Golden Knight. And now there would be no Orc or Troll army to discover her – unless there was one wherever this scout was leading her.

The scout led her to a valley that had been denuded of vegetation by a combination of burning and what appeared to be just plain evil. What plants weren’t ashes and cinders were simply dead and brown. Besides just being dormant for the winter, they looked blighted, twisted, and worse than dead. Sara considered that a sign that there was a massive concentration of Goo in this area, considering its ability to do that to the plants despite being inside glass vessels. Or, she considered, she might be wrong, and some other evil might have been wrought here – or perhaps it was merely the presence of a demon that had done this.

She chose a position of cover on the rim of the valley where she could not be seen or approached without her knowledge; from there she had a good view of the tent at the center of the camp and its opening.

She could wait here as long as she wanted to. She supposed it must be bitter cold, but something about being a Golden Knight made her really not feel changes in temperature very strongly.

And then the scout reached the large tent in the center, and several figures came out. That was when another feature of being a Golden Knight asserted itself. Her eyesight had never been very good in life. But now, she had the eyes of an eagle. She could see the faraway figures with perfect clarity. She saw the scout speaking and gesticulating to the others. She saw them looking at one another and at their leader as they listened. And she saw the leader.

No, he was no Orc or Troll, though clearly he was surrounded by the Orc and Troll officers. His skin was an inhuman ashen color, his eyes glowed a faint red, and his hair was an oily black, forming itself into hornlike peaks above his temples. His teeth were fanged. But his arms and legs were thick and strong, almost as thick as an Orc’s.

His hands had gnarled joints and long black nails. Sara watched unmoving, memorizing his appearance, until he went back inside the tent, followed by his minions. The scout stood outside the tent for a moment before wandering aimlessly around the camp. It appeared he had given his report and been given no instructions. But he wasn’t Sara’s problem.

She didn’t smell any Orcs or Trolls especially near her. Keeping low, she ducked behind the rocky outcropping she’d had to her back and returned to the Golden Hall.

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The artist made magic with her pencils, drawing exactly what Sara described, and a portrait of the demon emerged on the papyrus. “Would you say his nose was more pointed or flat?” she asked. “The bridge of his nose, did it protrude or recede smoothly? Did he have pronounced eye ridges?” And as Sara answered, the portrait grew more and more accurate to what Sara remembered.

Archon Umbriel and several Golden Knights watched with interest as the artist refined the portrait. “We may be able to relax,” said the Archon. “This is obviously Baron Helcazar, very minor nobility. The Golden Knights should be able to defeat him with the proper plan, not to say that it will be easy. So unless this is a plan not of his making and he has superiors involved who will require higher powers to defeat, this is not likely to escalate into a cosmic war.”

“I knew it!” said the newest Golden Knight, Sir McDougal. “I knew there was devilry at work! Never before have Orcs and Trolls worked together! And now there is proof!”

“Indeed so, Sir McDougal,” said Sir Thomas, clapping Sir McDougal on the shoulder. “And now … we will be unfettered to send this demon back to the lower planes … not forever, of course, but for many human lifetimes.”

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On a freezing cold mountaintop with heavy blowing snow stood a blacker-than-black tent with a red pinon fluttering in the wind. Within, the horrid intermixing of Orc, Troll, and brimstone stench permeated everything.

The inside of the tent was far larger than the apparent outside by a cavernous amount. No heat was required as the demon’s possessed human flesh radiated quite enough to make the inside sweltering. Of course, the Orcs and Trolls reveled in it.

The booming, majestically ephemeral voice of the demon rattled everything, “We have a real issue. Apparently some of you do not yet understand what ‘take no actions against’ means.” His fiery red eyes seemed to catch fire and burn as he stared around at the huge armies. The Orcs and Trolls became deathly silent. None of them wanted to make the demon angry. They feared strongly what had happened to the strongest leaders of both clans when they had attempted to overthrow him in the beginning before the Orcs and Trolls combined forces and became one of the mightiest armies in this world.

One of the Orcs spoke up timidly, “Buh massah, noffin we done ceptian tossa goos onta em. Dey no attackeded usns but runded like scaredy cats.”

The demon responded, “Was it not as I had told you? Anything you do must be done at one time. If not, the Golden Knight will retaliate severely. I do not need to remind you of what happened to two of our armies because they would not listen.”

Throughout the large cavernous interior of the tent, a medium sized noise arose as the Orcs and Trolls told each other of their fresh encounters with “goldie.”

The demon waved his hand. This time the large basket that appeared had the same fragile glass tubes in it, but this time the goo within was slime green and had a strange glow about it.

“Behold,” said the demon in that voice of his, “I give to you a far better collection of goo than this world has knowledge of. This time, do not toss or make any kind of threating moves or say anything that might or could be taken as a threat of violence. All that you need do is open the container. Leave it on the ground, plant it like a seed, stick it in a tree, or in a bucket, for all the difference it will make. I promise, no matter how good you thought the black goo was, this is far better.”

The Orcs and Trolls began cheering and making all their guttural sounds as the Trolls’ leader and the Orcs’ new leader collected the vials and placed them in leather pouches. Each pouch was then given to each member with instructions on how to lay the trap.

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“They still don’t understand how we operate, do they?” asked Sara as they walked the Golden Halls. “The Orcs, the Trolls – not even this demon baron.”

Sir Thomas shook his head. “No, it seems not,” he said. “To me, at least, our rules of engagement seem quite simple. We can interfere only in worlds where the forces of evil themselves have taken a hand. We can act to defend the defenseless or the vastly outnumbered. We do not attack enemies who are down, helpless, or retreating. And we may fight in self-defense.”

“Yet that last rule is the only one they seem to actually understand,” said Sara.

“You may have it there,” Sir Thomas replied. “They do not understand the concept of fighting for anyone other than themselves. Orcs, Trolls, and demons simply don’t think that way. They can understand fighting to defend themselves – any of them would do the same if attacked – but to defend another? That is a foreign concept to them.”

Sara looked around. “This Golden Hall – is it … somewhere? Is it a plane unto itself, or does it exist in a world?”

“Ah, there hasn’t been a chance to really show you,” Sir Thomas said. “Here, come this way.” He led her to a pair of huge wooden doors, braced and framed with gold. They were open, and outside lay achingly beautiful countryside, with green grass and colorful flowers, and trees gently blowing in the breeze. A cobblestone path led away from the Halls over the hills in the distance. Everything seemed suffused with a golden light that shone from the refulgent sky above, but its source wasn’t immediately obvious.

“Where are we?” Sara asked, looking around and taking it all in.

“One of the Elysian planes,” Sir Thomas said. “Home not only to the forces of Light but also to those whose deeds in life helped others, taken as a whole. We are among those. Perhaps we were not perfection itself, but we tried to do the best we could for those around us.”

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Not only was it still way below freezing when the wind came whipping along the battlements, a heavy snow had begun to fall obscuring everything beyond the edge of the wall. It had brought a great uptick in morale when it was reported that Golden Knights had actually been sighted, although being snowblind did have a dampening effect on the spirits of the defenders and civilians alike.

All the freezing defenders could hear was the far-off clamor of what sounded like huge machines of war being moved. The wind-driven heavy snow obscured whatever created that noise as it seemed to slowly approach.

Several of the defenders placed a large amount of dark hydrocarbon liquid into an extremely large basin. They had enough of the hydrocarbon stored to be able to do this over a dozen times and keep it going for over a week, continuously if necessary. They created it by using animal and human wastes, and they were fairly confident they wouldn’t run out any time soon.

They checked the slide gate to make sure it would work and not hang up. They made sure the special torches were lit. The idea was simple and had been well planned. The basin held a huge amount of flammable liquids. Beyond the slide gate and special torches below the stone sluice, many trenches had been dug and lined with stone so as to aid the flow.

Just between two locations after the slide gate were the places referred to as the ignition points. There, the special torches were located so the liquid would be ignited as it passed and fell through the stone sluice to the trench network below. Each of the trenches wound around in such a way that anyone approaching the battlements would be either blocked by the huge conflagration, or burned by it.

One of the men had been at a previous battle in which the Orcs had used some strange chemical that seemed to burn water. He had managed to find and capture a large barrel of it. This was the secret weapon they were going to put in the ordnance for the catapults. They would use their own weapon against them.

The only issue was that they could hear them out there and their machines of war, but they couldn’t see them. Shortly, the strong wind brought more than the heavy snow as the horrible stench of Orcs and Trolls began inundating the large fort. Everyone prepared; they knew it wouldn’t be long.

Time passed. The horrid stench got no better, but the wind died and the snow lightened up. Visibility became better, but still none of the watches could see anything, although they could hear them plainly enough.

What they couldn’t see were many of the Trolls and Orcs placing something all around and scattering something like large seeds in other places. They followed their master’s exact instructions. This time, they intended to see a Golden Knight get theirs.

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“Baron Helcazar’s fell army continues its assault on Ravencrest Keep,” said Archon Umbriel, with a view through a window similar to those in the Hall of Vision behind them and to one side. The assembled Golden Knights stood around, watching. The window showed a view of the keep, on its rocky crag, with the Orc and Troll armies approaching as they could on the narrow ledges and trails that formed the road to the Keep, or what passed for a road, at least. The weather was clearly foul, as the snow frequently obscured the view, but from this otherwise-impossible angle, they could see occasional glimpses of what the attackers were doing. They appeared to be digging holes and putting something in them.

“Are those Nethermaw Seeds?” asked one ancient Archon. “I haven’t seen those since the Chaos Campaigns at the dawn of all time.”

“Indeed,” said Archon Umbriel. “Their plan is clearly to prevent another rout by the Golden Knights. Baron Helcazar is providing them with yet another weapon from the infernal arsenal. Of course, they seem to have brought siege engines with them, as if they intend to besiege the Keep. This is not likely their plan, as approach to the Keep with siege engines is difficult enough, but if they must also steer such large conveyances clear of their traps, it may well be impossible. Therefore the siege is not the plan. The plan is to entrap us.”

“What happens if we just don’t show up?” asked Sara. “If they can’t get their siege engines into place, and they don’t dare walk the battlefield themselves, the Keep isn’t really in that much danger. I mean, they can’t attack it.”

“Indeed, the field is now perilous for any side of the conflict,” said the Archon. “But Baron Helcazar has doubtless prepared his generals with a plan for precisely where to place the traps. He is relying on their memory and precision, things that Orcs and especially Trolls have never had a talent for. Doing nothing at this time may be a viable strategy.”

“What if …” said Sir Thomas, making another suggestion.

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“Report,” said the Orc general.

The scout saluted clumsily, as military discipline was new to these Orcs. “Sir! Bat … uh … ‘talion capns say alla thingies buried. Say they put ‘em just like map showded. Is all same as plan.”

“That good,” said the general. “Now … we attack!”

“No!” said Baron Helcazar. “Now we make it look like we’re going to attack. Fire some rocks at the Keep with the catapults and trebuchets. Don’t move in. The Golden Knights will show up when they think we’re attacking. And they’ll be in for a surprise. Just do not move troops over that battlefield.”

“Uh, yeah,” said the scout. “No attack. Sure. That weird thing to say. No attack. No … attack. Huh.”

“Get outta here an’ take orders to capns!” roared the General at the scout, who jumped, sprang into action, and scurried out of the tent.

The Troll general came in out of the snow. “Wish me could see. Dunno what happenins up dere.”

“That why we have scouts, dummy,” said the Orc general. “They go looks n tells us.”

“What you call me?” the Troll demanded, bristling.

“Now, now, no infighting,” said Baron Helcazar. “Save your belligerence for the Golden Knights. They have stymied your plans for too long. Both your people’s plans.”

“Yeah!” the Orc general said. “Sty-mied. Sick of it!”

“No more sty-mee,” said the Troll leader. “No more goldies.”

“And if we follow my plan, that will happen. They’ll fall into my trap, and that will be that. They’ll think twice about intervening in future. They’ll –” He paused. “What was that?”

There was a sound of shouting and a clang of weapons outside the tent. The Orc and Troll leaders rushed outside and couldn’t see much at first, with all the snow. But then a flash of golden light pierced through the snow – a nearby supply tent was going up in flames. There were guttural shouts of surprise that were briefly cut off. The Orc and Troll leaders roared, drew their weapons, and charged out into the snow.

“No! Stop –” began Baron Helcazar, but it was too late. They had already run off. He emerged into the snow and shouted, “You can’t do this! It’s against your own rules!”

“It’s called a relief tactic,” Sara’s voice through the snow and wind. “You’re besieging Ravencrest Keep, and we’re just raising the siege by attacking the attacker. It’s a legitimate response to siege warfare.” She’d just learned that, but he didn’t need to know that. “Your camp was almost entirely undefended. Oh, and your supply lines are cut. All the way down the mountain, your supply wagons are now in ravines. Your food’s on fire, and no more is coming.” Golden glows came from more directions as Knights set fire to more and more tents.

“I can fix that,” said Baron Helcazar. He drew a wicked-looking sword with a black blade, engraved with nasty-looking symbols. “I can fix you, too.” He looked around through the snow for the Golden Knight whose voice he had heard. Then he realized that the tent he had just emerged from was also rapidly going up in flames. Normally an inferno was home, but right now it was quite inconvenient.

Then a sudden change of wind gave the Baron a glimpse of his surroundings – literally. He could see a closing circle of Golden knights around him, shields raised and swords drawn, pointed his way. “Bah!” he said, and vanished, leaving behind a column of oily smoke. Sara, Sir Thomas, and the other Knights present jabbed at the air in case he’d just become invisible, but nothing was there.

“No stench of brimstone,” said Sir Thomas. “He’s still in this world. But he’s abandoned this army.”

“How long before the Orcs and Trolls get tired of his plans failing?” asked Sara.

“Unfortunately they’ve had too many successes for a few failures to dampen their enthusiasm, but we’ll just keep up the pressure, and their support for him will collapse.”

“What about the actual army?” Sara asked.

“That’s next.” The two of them vanished in beams of golden light and reappeared farther up the mountain.

Orc runners had made it to the battalion captains, and Orc and Troll leaders alike were trying to call their troops back to defend their camp. But many of them weren’t careful about which way they retreated. They stepped in their own traps …

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In their mad, blind chaotic dash back to what they thought was the shortest route to safety, they neglected to heed their locations, situational awareness being a talent they didn’t usually possess, which turned out to be the very last mistake they ever made.

No sooner had the disorderly retreat of most of the two armies of Trolls and Orcs crossed a third of the way into the seeded battlefield traps, than a creature not released in the mortal realms since the dawn of all time sprouted. Black demon plants with multiple maws that could swallow houses and poison dripping leaves that also acted like arms coupled with thick grabbing vines erupted beneath many soldiers, swallowing them into a swirling pit of purple-gray vapor that was either inside them or … somewhere else a whole lot worse. They then reared up and remained in place, snapping and grabbing at anything that came near. Their leaves and runners glistened with vile poison.

All around the now totally confused and disoriented Orcs and Trolls sprouted many of the strange creatures, blocking any hope of retreat. A loud cry of first surprise, then utter pain-induced terror filled the air … then another and another until the only proof there had been a large retreating army of Orcs and Trolls, were the scattered weapons and armor remnants. Even the leather and cloth items had vanished.

The Archons gathered around their viewing window with wide-eyed incredulity. Only the most ancient had ever witnessed such a creature as the one that seemingly grew from the ground and devoured any and all around it before once again vanishing back from whence it came. “Nethermaw Seeds,” said one of the elder Archons. “Haven’t seen them for ages.”

The Golden Knights stopped and watched and wondered how close such an attack could have been on one of their advancing squads.

Sara said softly, “Now, that’s something out of my worst nightmare.”

One of the other Golden Knights removed his helm and said, “As long as I have been a knight of this order, never have I ever seen nor come up against something like that. Not even close.”

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In a very large underground cavern lit only by sputtering smelly oil sconces, many hundreds and thousands of Orcs and Trolls intermingled had gathered to hear what their master, Baron Helcazar, had to say.

Baron Helcazar was furious, as the many instances of hellfire and lightning he tossed around showed. So far, the gathered creatures had managed to remain uninjured.

Baron Helcazar raged, “How in the ginky winkin hades cloak of infernal damnation did you idiots manage to forget your own traps? Don’t you realize how many we lost in your ignorance?”

“Buh Massah …” said one unfortunate Orc.

That Orc was struck by a pain bolt for his troubles. “Don’t you ‘but Master’ me! Now we have to throw together a new army! And now the Golden Knights will be expecting Nethermaw Seeds! Do you have any idea who I owe now for those things?”

“Uh, yer boss demon?” asked a Troll, who also got a pain bolt. “Aaaagh!”

“No, fool! Those grow in only one place in all the nether planes. I can’t get more of them, because now I owe souls to the demon who controls them.” Baron Helcazar growled. “I’ll have to make deals elsewhere if I want some different tricks. Luckily there’s still plenty of Goo.”

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From the battlements of Ravencrest Keep, although the horrid weather had cleared up a great deal, it was still poor, and visibility was bad at best. What they did manage to see once the weather started to clear, was the many Trolls and Orcs seemingly panicked over something and scattered, scrambling blindly in retreat.

From the very ground beneath their feet sprouted creatures surely born in the darkest pits of Arralu. In total disbelieving shock, the defenders watched as most of one of the largest armies they had ever seen was literally ripped bodily apart and rapidly devoured.

Just seeing the creatures as they suddenly sprouted, was enough to send a major chill of fear through all the defenders. Seeing them vanish back was even worse. No one had ever seen anything like that and hoped the farmland there was reclaimable somehow.

News came in rapidly, as pages and forward scouts returned with their reports. There was a great deal of cheering and merrymaking at the news that the Golden Knights had routed the entire Orc/Troll force to a man and even captured their command tents.

As the sun set on yet another failed attempt to take the fortress, a lone Orc did something totally usual for his kind: he thought, planned, and reasoned. He wasn’t very sure about those weird seed things the master had given them. Once the field was seeded, however, it could be put to other purposes.

For the very first time in history, an Orc realized the the wisdom of the directions the master had given. It now understood what had gone wrong. It was them and their lack of ... whatever … smarts? Now Trank Hammer understood the simplicity of the instructions, and now he also understood the reason for the master’s severe anger.

From his current hidden location, he could clearly see one lone knight off by themselves. They were also in just the perfect location for a surprise. This particular Orc even had the common sense to realize how horribly he smelled and had actually cleaned his clothes and all armor; he’d even taken a bath with lye soap to make sure.

He was fortunate; the breeze had slightly changed direction and was blowing the other way. Trank Hammer moved with a stealth uncommon among his brethren, and managed to get into place without the Golden Knight seeing, hearing, or smelling him … this was good.

The Knight approached Trank Hammer’s hiding spot. Just as the Knight reached the perfect spot, Trank Hammer jumped out and roared aggressively. Darn, he realized he was stupid; he forgot to have some kind of weapon. He spied several large stones at his feet. He quickly picked up two and tossed them at the Knight.

The Knight blocked both stones with his shield, then drew his mighty sword. Trank Hammer quickly dove over one of the near by large boulders and rolled several times before crouching in a ball and springing 90 degrees from the direction he had arrived. This put Trank Hammer behind a large well overgrown rock.

The knight flew over the top of the rock after the Orc and did a flip that would make any acrobat proud to land solidly on his feet. The Knight proceeded forward another 12 feet before he stopped and turned.

Without warning, three large snapping creatures rose from around the Knight. Massively thick poison dripping tentacles entwined around his body and limbs and acid dripping leaves wrapped the knight up immobilizing him. Soon, all that was left of the Knight was his glittering armor and a hugely bright shining white light that slowly dissipated. What was left of the of the many creatures that had attacked the Knight gradually crumbled to dust.

Trank Hammer now knew of the devastation caused when the creatures killed a Knight. The Nethermaw Seeds might be able to kill a Golden Knight, but doing so had killed them in a 20 foot circle, so great care must be taken, or the trap could be foiled by attrition. He scratched his head and thought about this.

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“No! Seamas the Vindicator!” said Archon Umbriel. The Knights nearby in the Golden Hall looked toward the Archon. “He has fallen. I had thought the battle over, but of course there were still many Nethermaw Seeds upon the battlefield. He was careless about where his feet fell.”

“Should we form a team to eliminate the remaining Seeds near Ravencrest Keep?” asked one of the Knights.

“No,” Archon Umbriel stated. “Instead we should show the people of the Keep how to detect and remove them themselves, that over time they may reclaim their own lands from the danger. For we must focus our efforts on discovering Baron Helcazar’s latest hiding place and banishing him from the mortal realms. He will not attack Ravencrest Keep again but rather somewhere else in the same world. We must summon the Knights to mourn Seamas and build our strategy.”

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Trank Hammer carefully picked his way through the seeded battlefield toward what remained of the army’s camp. There were suddenly many golden flashes of light in the distance in all directions. He knew that meant that the Golden Knights who had remained had all returned to wherever they had come from. But he paid them no mind. He regrouped with the rest of the Orcs, and whatever Trolls remained.

“So we got no camp anymore,” he said to the others. “It cold up here. First thing, we got to make a new camp. Right?” The others seemed to agree. “So we look for stuff that left. Bring all here. We survive.” The other Orcs and Trolls grunted and began to do as Trank said. Trank began to think again. Maybe … they were better off without a demon overlord.

They soon had a makeshift camp built for the night and discussed what to do next … inasmuch as Orcs and Trolls thought about the future. But Trank Hammer was now different than other Orcs and had a plan. “Tomorrow we go toward Plains of Gujad,” he said. “No get there tomorrow. Take days. But we go there, find more Orcs ‘n Trolls.”

“Master gone,” one Troll said. “He leave us?”

“Yup, he leave us,” said Trank Hammer. “Demons just use us, throw us away. We make new army. Hate shifty demon. We find demon ‘n kill him. Then we in charge again, not him.”

“Yeah! Kill demon!” said another Orc. “He leave us to die!” The shouting increased. Trank Hammer smiled. He would make a much better leader than that untrustworthy demon, he thought positively to himself.

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Word spread among the Orcs of the Master’s abandonment in the heat of battle in the face of the Golden Knights. It was one thing to run after what Trank Hammer had seen happen to a Golden Knight, but quite another to run in the face of an unwinnable battle, which is what the disgusting demon had done – he’d abandoned the entire army, which was subsequently wiped out almost to an Orc or Troll.

Many Orcs gathered in their secret grotto. They had built a huge bonfire and made lots of hot water at the behest of their new overlord, Trank Hammer.

Trank Hammer stood on the raised shelf against one side of the large grotto and shouted, “We no had no kinna troubles wif goldies tills that demon comed along n call himself Master.”

One of the battle scarred Orcs raised his fist as he shouted, “An we no ever hadda puts up wifs thems dumb Trolls nuvers.”

A loud round of rumbly grumbly Orc sounds filled the grotto for a minute as many of them began discussing a possible way to rid themselves of the Master.

Trank Hammer banged his war hammer on the wall making huge booming noises. The voices died away until all that could be heard was the crackling of the large bonfire, the boiling of the water, and a far off echoing drip sound.

Once the cavern was reasonably quiet, Trank Hammer said, “Is we free? Or is we bonded slave owneded bya demon?”

The cavern shook with the roaring sound of thousands of Orc shouting “FREE!!!!”

Another of the gathered Orcs said, “Nuver prollums is wiffa iggorant Trolls. They lovesa Master an no wanna join wif us.”

Trank Hammer laughed a full deep booming laugh, “Good. Now we gota reason ta kills Trolls again. They stupid enny ways and I know how we ken knock em where it gonna hurt.”

A huge roar echoed through the cave as many thousands of Orcs raised their hands and shook their many and sorted weapons. The din was thunderous, causing Trank Hammer to smile. He was positive, now that he was officially Clan Warlord, things were going to change … and fast.

He looked around at the large skin map hung on the wall. Making maps in this way was never something Orcs had done before, but Trank Hammer had shown them how such a thing made it so much easier to find a place the next time. This particular map showed the location of the Trolls’ most secret hideaway.

Trank Hammer turned and shouted with passion, “Who wifs me?” he pointed to the Troll enclave’s location on the map. “Keepa squad small sos they no gets cited. When we inna middles of em … POW!!!!”

A huge enthusiastic roar filled the cavern.

Trank Hammer smiled to himself as all of his new clan had volunteered. He had something Orcs generally were unable to have … he had an idea … for attacking the Troll enclave.

He said loudly, “Listyen muh breveren. We rids usns of them Troll but good. This hows we gonna done it too …”

After long and lengthy explanations, Trank hammer informed the rest of the Clan about something no Orc had ever worried over … hygiene. He explained he understood no one realized it, but they had an oder that would stop a charging beast that could be smelled for miles.

He showed them it wasn’t so bad to take a nice hot bath filled with sweet oils and saponin suds. When the female Orc chose to join in, bath time became common place and a whole lot of fun.

Their secret Grotto was given a make over as well. Trank Hammer was determined to make his clan the best as an example for the rest. The cleanliness and the smells of the exotic oils now filled the huge cavern … instead of a stink that could blister a rock.

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“Sir Thomas?” asked Sara, approaching him in the Golden Hall. “Might I have a word?”

“For you, always,” said the Knight. “What’s on your mind?”

“Well, perhaps we can’t intervene unless the forces of evil are attacking somebody, but we can still watch,” said Sara, walking with him back to the Hall of Vision. “I looked in on the Orcs and Trolls after the battle at Ravencrest Keep, and I followed the handful of survivors … well … I don’t know what to make of this.”

She showed him the Orc army amassing, with no Trolls in sight. “I don’t know what direction they’re going with this,” Sara said. “They’re in the Plains of Gujad, and the Orc-Troll army has been raiding everything within a hundred miles of there. There’s nothing left to raid. But there they are. And where are the Trolls? And if I don’t miss my guess, that demon isn’t there.”

“Peculiar,” Sir Thomas said, looking on in similar confusion. “If he were there, he’d have that huge black tent he likes to use, but there’s nothing like that. Yet Baron Helcazar didn’t leave the mortal plane. He wasn’t actually physically defeated, and we wouldn’t be able to visit our home realm at all if he’d relocated to the infernal realms permanently. Where’d he go?”

The two of them discussed various possible scenarios, and other Golden Knights came by to look, but without more to go on, they couldn’t come to any conclusions. They would just have to wait and see …

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Trank Hammer lay on his stomach and peered over the edge of the small cliff. He could plainly see the two guards standing near the wooden gateway into the the Trolls’ enclave. Trank Hammer made sure each of the volunteers with him had one of the leather seed pouches and knew what to do with the contents.

In small groups, so as to arouse as little attention as possible, the Orcs approached the guards, who did little in reaction except to nod to them as they passed. After all, Trolls were supposed to be their allies. Not after today they wouldn’t be, thought Trank Hammer … that is, if any Trolls survived.

Once inside, the Orcs now understood what their new Warlord had told them about hygiene, as the horrid stink of the Trolls permeated every thing.

The first group of Orcs quickly dispersed into the huge cavern and began to leave uncapped glass vials of some sort of glowing green as fast as possible so they didn’t have to endure the horrid stench any longer than necessary.

Several of the Trolls did notice the Orcs wandering around the enclave haphazardly, but being as stupid as they were, and the fact Orcs were friends now … the Trolls really didn't have the brain capacity to worry over what they were seeing.

As the Troll guard’s limp dead body slipped from Trank Hammer’s hands, he worried that one of the other guards would notice one was missing. Hiding the body was easy with all the major drop-offs and cliffs within the grotto, though. That one Troll had just a tad bit too much smarts – he had noticed the leather pouch and what was in it, so Trank Hammer had stopped the guard from reporting what he’d seen.

Trank Hammer casually wandered all around the upper warrior level, depositing vials as he went. They were small and mostly went unnoticed. Those that were seen because of their soft green glow were dismissed as one of the toadstool mushrooms that grew in abundance.

The Orcs had finished their seeding expedition and retreated to the top of the small cliff to watch. The sun was setting, and they knew all the Troll warriors would gather to hear any instruction the demon might have.

Trank Hammer laughed to himself as he thought of what was about to happen.

Within a large grotto lit by many smelly, smoky, sputtering wall sconces, thousands of Trolls and some of the more stupid Orcs had gathered to hear what the Master’s orders were.

On a beautifully but grotesquely carved obsidian dais a large ball of intense fire and heat accompanied by an even more horrid smell of brimstone appeared. From the heart of this fireball stepped Baron Helcazar.

Just as the Trolls began their celebratory shouts, creatures from the deepest blackest pits of Arralu appeared. Black demon plants with gaping jaws, sharp teeth, thick tentacles, and nasty acid poison dripping from their leaves and jaws sprang up in great abundance.

Baron Helcazar didn’t have a chance to react as six of those cursed things sprouted around him. He felt their powerful tentacles grab him and begin to pull his corporeal body painfully apart and devour it alive. Next thing the demon knew, he was in the deepest most shameful pits of hell being mocked severely by his brethren.

“Ha! Helcazar bit it again. What was it this time, spirit mice? Ducks of Light?”

“Wonder how long he’s gonna stay a Baron before he’s stripped of all rank.”

“Speaking of rank, what’s that I smell? Trolls? Was he using Troll minions? Aren’t they incredibly stupid? You’d have to be almost as stupid as a Troll to use them, ha ha!”

“Hey Helcazar, you’re already back? I thought you just left! Oh well, guess it’s another millennium here with your best friends in all the realms.”

Helcazar silently fumed.

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“What? They’re not going to …” Sara said, watching via the Hall of Vision. “That … makes no sense. That Orc there, their leader … he’s coming up with actual battle strategies. Look at this trap he’s setting …”

“Something’s off about this,” said Sir Thomas. “We have to tell the Archon.”

“There is no need,” said Archon Umbriel, slowly gliding up beside them. “A most unusual thing has occurred … a true Orc Warlord has arisen, the first on this world in thousands of their years.”

Then the attack occurred, and they watched as the Nethermaw Seeds erupted and tore Baron Helcazar’s mortal body to pieces along with many Trolls.

“What?” Sara exclaimed in astonishment. “He actually did it. This Orc actually rebelled against the demon and won.”

“Fascinating,” said the Archon. “He has eliminated Baron Helcazar, and made enemies of what few of the Trolls are left. Can it be that simple? Has an end truly been brought to the infernal incursion upon that realm?”

“One way to find out,” said Sir Thomas, using a different viewing portal to view Ravencrest Keep and stepping through onto its battlements under the pale moonlight. He looked around; nothing had stopped him from coming here. In a flash of golden light he returned to the Hall of Vision.

“One thing and one thing only can that mean,” said the Archon. “There is still an infernal presence in that realm. It may merely be the Nethermaw Seeds and Goo, but it may also be something deeper. Golden Knights, I advise that you take of the blessed water, and begin to cleanse the land of these unclean presences. When they are gone, then we shall see.”

Agreeing, Sir Thomas said, “Follow me, Sara; I’ll show you where we can get holy water.”

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It didn’t take long for word to get around among the small remainder of Trolls what had happened. The huge army was now nothing more than a rag tag bunch of battle scarred Trolls.

“Orcs no friends no more!” said the new Troll leader when the very few survivors told their tales. “They fight us! Well, we fight them back then!”

The Trolls were confused at first, but not for long; when the plan is to fight, it isn’t hard for a Troll to wrap its mind around that plan. So the Trolls began girding for war … which they were already prepared for, so it didn’t take long. Being as simple minded as they were, they neglected to realize how few of them remained.

Meanwhile, at Ravencrest Keep, Sara and Sir Thomas were helping the Keep’s defenders clear the battlefield of the demonspawn. Sir Thomas swept a long pole with a vial of holy water fastened to the end slowly back and forth ahead of him, then took a step forward and swept back again. “See, all we have to do is present them with a target, and sooner or later one will – oh, there we go!” The ground erupted forth beneath the holy water, and the nasty demonic plant creature leapt upward to devour all above it. But it snatched up the vial of holy water in its jaws, chewing it and breaking it open. Suddenly it burst into black flames and writhed upon the ground, boiling away into black smoke.

“Well, all right,” said Sir Thomas, “we’ll need another pole and another vial, but we’ve got more. We keep doing this until we can sweep the battlefield without that happening.” Soon a line of minesweepers was slowly advancing across the battlefield.

At the same time, another group of Golden Knights was doing the same at the former campsite in the Plains of Gujad. The Orcs under their new Warlord had moved on and left, but the Knights had to make sure there was no further infernal presence left behind. They swept the area for Nethermaw Seeds, and once there was no further sign of them … the Golden Knights still stood there. “There must still be a demonic presence in this realm,” one of them said. “Or else we’d have been forced back to the Golden Hall just now.”

Messengers went back and forth. Sara asked Sir Thomas, “So this means … what? Is Baron Helcazar back?”

“Not after what happened to him,” he replied. “His mortal body was destroyed. He’s banished from this plane for centuries, at least. It means there’s a demonic presence somewhere. Well, we know there’s still Goo around. We’ll have to purify that. Once that’s done, though … it would mean that there was still something infernal left somewhere. But demons don’t wait long. Sooner or later their plot will hatch forth.”

“You don’t think that Orc Warlord is the demonic presence, do you?” wondered Sara. “Maybe he’s smart because he’s possessed.”

“Maybe,” said Sir Thomas, “but I don’t know. It seems too obvious. Maybe he is, but maybe not. Let’s see what the Archon thinks.”

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Trank Hammer stood next to his personal hand-carved obsidian basin. Wearing just his pants, he bent over and took a large handful of the warm sweet smelling water to splash his face. He was in the middle of a very pleasant washcloth cleansing of his face when a hugely bright golden flash of light caused him to jump over the table the basin was on and assume a fighting stance.

Trank Hammer was agog at the brightly shining creature, who stood before him in long flowing white elegant robes. The only individuals he had ever seen glow with that type of white or golden light had been the Golden Knights themselves. Trank Hammer was positive this was his last few moments in the land of the living.

The being moved gracefully and appeared to be floating more than walking. It came to a clear table across from Trank Hammer and placed a golden scroll on its surface before turning and saying in one of those ethereal voices, “You have done well, small creature. You have achieved something we of the higher orders were just starting to contemplate.” It waved its hand towards the scroll. “I am here to inform you that such deeds as banishing great darkness from the realm are greatly rewarded. We have been witness to your final solution for purifying the land and bringing this horrible war to an end.” Without warning the creature advanced on Trank Hammer and placed one of its hands on his forehead. “From this day forward all who meet and know of you shall know you are the Mighty Warlord Trank Hammer, the Demon Slayer. To you and your Demon Slayer clan, all the Great Western Valley is given to you and your people for all time.”

The being vanished in a very bright flash of white light as Trank Hammer slumped to his knees. A massive wave of something washed through him intensely several times. Each time it did, his perceptions became ever more clear and his eyes opened to the reality of things.

Mankind was not the enemy. Trolls were, by their violent and nasty nature. However, it didn’t mean they had to go out and hunt down Trolls. It did mean, though, that if the Trolls started anything … Trank Hammer looked over to a very large wooden box full of softly glowing green glass capsules.

He now fully understood mankind’s viciousness towards all the Orc clans of the past. Wasn’t it the same as when the Trolls used to attack one of the Orc encampments? Hadn’t the Orcs reacted just as viciously? Yes … of course the Orcs had. Perhaps there could be some kind of parlay with the humans and ... in some fantasy, a treaty, so both clans could live in peace?

Trank Hammer picked up the golden scroll and took the finely jewel-encrusted gold retaining ring from the rolled scroll. He opened it … his eyes grew very large. He held in his hands a Celestial guarantee to hundreds of thousands of acres of the most verdant valley known for his clan, which all would now know as … Clan Demon Slayer.

That was when Trank Hammer noticed the banner that had mysteriously appeared hung to his wall. It was a bright blue border with large red filigreed letters on a white background that said “Clan Demon Slayer” in Orcish.

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“So, it has finally come to pass,” said Archon Umbriel.

Sara asked, “What do you mean? What has finally come to pass? The Orcs have finally lost their Orc minds?”

“Quite the contrary,” the Archon stated. “An Orc Warlord has arisen with enough intelligence to realize that warfare need not be a way of life.”

“So … the Orcs are going to be peaceful now?” Sara asked, skeptically. “I’m sorry, but I’ll believe that when I see it.”

The Archon replied, “My daughter, your view of the Orcs is understandable, an edifice built on a foundation of great sorrow and personal loss. But you are correct in the sense that not all Orcs will be peaceful. This Warlord’s name is Trank Hammer, and he rules one clan only – the clan he himself has founded, which is to be called the Demon Slayer clan. He and his clan have been granted land by Celestial decree, so long as they do not revert to their old Orcish ways of pillaging peaceful settlements.”

“But … Orcs love warfare,” said Sir Thomas. “I can’t believe other Orcs would support him.”

“Time will tell,” said Archon Umbriel. “For now, they support him because they were also enraged by Baron Helcazar’s abandonment and felt great hostility toward him. Whether Orcs will continue to accept a leader whose plans are peaceful remains to be seen. I expect that they may find themselves at odds with the Trolls, or other Orcs, and conflict with them is probably inevitable, sadly, though that might help to sate the Demon Slayer clan’s thirst for violence. And, furthermore, there must still be a demonic influence somewhere in that mortal realm.”

Sara replied, “Or else we wouldn’t be able to go there.”

“Precisely, my child.”

“I wonder where it is?” Sara wondered. “All the Nethermaw Seeds we’ve found have been neutralized, and we’re making progress cleaning up the Goo.”

Sir Thomas said, “Well, maybe that’s it. Both the Seeds and the Goo are actual demons. Once they’re banished from that realm entirely, maybe that’ll be that. Then it’ll just be normal Orc and Troll activity. Or … sort of normal, anyway.”

“Clan Demon Slayer, if it is to live up to its name, must root out all demonic influences,” said the Archon. “Perhaps it is time for the Golden Knights to peacefully approach Orcs.”

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“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” said Sara. She and Sir Thomas were walking toward Clan Demon Slayer’s encampment, which was in a valley west of the Plains of Gujad.

“Same here,” Sir Thomas replied. “It seems somehow unreal. But remember, this is only one Orc clan of many, and a new one at that. Every other Orc clan is … just like all the rest.”

They paused within sight of the encampment’s edges and stopped. “Do you speak Orcish?” asked Sara.

“One of the benefits of being a Golden Knight is that we can speak and understand any mortal language,” replied Sir Thomas.

“Ohh,” said Sara, as they were spotted by some Orcs in the camp, at which point there was suddenly a big commotion; Orcs were putting on their armor and readying their weapons, even though Sara and Sir Thomas were merely standing there in their armor, wielding no weapons.

Soon a squadron of armed Orcs approached them. “What you want?” asked the band’s apparent captain, in Orcish.

“We are unarmed,” Sir Thomas announced loudly, also in Orcish. “We are only here to talk.”

“Oh yeah?” the Orc captain replied. “What you goldies wanna talk about?”

Sir Thomas said, “We hear you’re called Clan Demon Slayer now. We want to know if you really plan to slay demons.”

“Is in name!” said the Orc captain. “You call us liars?”

“Not at all,” said Sir Thomas. “We’re here to tell you that we Golden Knights cannot come to a world free of demonic influence. If you got rid of anything from the infernal planes, you wouldn’t see us again. We only fight demons and their minions.”

“No minions of no demon!” the Orc captain shouted, standing up straight and slapping himself on the chest. “We FREE. No slaves to demon master.”

“Hearing that brings me great joy,” said Sir Thomas. “Yet we are still here. There must be demons somewhere in this realm. Will you help us find them?”

“We talk to Warlord,” said the Orc captain. “You stay here. No funny stuff.” He talked to one of his soldiers, who ran off into the camp.

Sara said quietly, “Maybe we’ll get to meet this Trank Hammer.”

“I hope so.”

“I just noticed something,” said Sara. “This is an Orc camp – and yet it doesn’t smell like a sun-roasted garbage heap.”

“You’re right,” Sir Thomas replied. “Normally the odor would knock goats unconscious at this distance. Have they discovered hygiene?”

Then an Orc arrived who looked like no other Orc they’d ever seen. True, his skin was a greenish-brown, and his head was bald, and his lower jaw protruded with tusks, but he was clean and wore a gleaming steel cuirass with faulds and tassets and a blue cloak. He spoke to the captain briefly before stepping forward. “I am Warlord Trank Hammer, Demon Slayer,” he said, and whatever spell was translating for the Golden Knights rendered his Orcish in their minds into a much more educated dialect. “Tell me why you have come here.”

Sir Thomas spoke again. “We are emissaries from the Golden Knights, and we ask for your help in eradicating demonic influences from this world. As you may know, we Golden Knights can only come to realms afflicted with the meddlings of infernal beings. We fight only demons and their minions, and the fact that we are here at all is proof that there are still demons somewhere in this world. Do you have any information about where they might be?”

Trank Hammer thought. “We drove Baron Helcazar away.” He spat on the ground after saying the demon’s name, as did every Orc in the squadron behind him. “Curse his name. But … I don’t know whether he’s gone forever. And I don’t know what he might have summoned when we couldn’t see him.”

“From what I’ve heard, his mortal body was destroyed, and he won’t be able to return here for centuries, assuming he even wants to. But if I may, there are types of demons called Goo, and Nethermaw Seeds,” said Sir Thomas. “We saw his army using them. But these are not merely demonic weapons – they are actually demons themselves. Do you know whether he left behind any reserves of these? If so, they must be purified from this realm, or they will spread.”

“Spread?” asked Trank Hammer, clearly not liking the sound of that. “How does one go about … purifying such things?”

“Do you know where any of these are?” asked Sir Thomas. “If you can show us where, we can purify them. It involves holy water, and the proper rituals – invocation of the powers of Light.”

“And if they are not purified – what will happen?” asked Trank Hammer.

“I’ve been told that isn’t something we want to see,” replied Sir Thomas. “They will spread. There will be more and more Goo and Nethermaws, faster and faster, until this entire world is overrun with them, and it will become another of the infernal realms – there will be one fewer mortal realm. It has happened in the past, unfortunately, though fortunately, it was long ago. I have not seen it happen myself.”

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The news about the new Orc warlord Trank Hammer the Demon Slayer and his Demon Slayer clan spread rapidly through the other Orc clans. Many of the leaders didn’t cotton well to the new order of Demon Slayers until the women took a big interest in the bathing and other chores to make things clean.

More rapidly than most of the Golden Order could believe, observational research proved that Trank Hammer was making a huge difference within Orcdom. Several of the Orc clans had bathed well and covered themselves with a perfume one of their brand new breed of herbal chemists just came up with. They’d had herbalists before, but they’d always focused on poisons and war paints.

The saponin soap was wonderful too in how sudsy it was, how well it cleaned the grime away, and the fact that any scent desired could be added as it was being mixed. The end result was that every Orc female that had been exposed to it immediately began following the hygiene practices laid down by Trank Hammer.

Of course they were not bashful about inviting their men in with them, insuring bath time not only something extremely pleasant, it was done at least once a day, plus it was a whole lot of fun. The side consequences of how many of the females were now getting pregnant only aided the Orc clans by replacing the many who had been killed in the now-ended war with the humans.

Trank Hammer the Demon Slayer had sent a post via pigeon to Ravencrest Keep, asking for a peace parlay with the current leader, Lord Falkone.

“Maybe it’s some kind of joke, or perhaps the prelude to an attack,” Lord Falkone called out to his soldiers, who lined the battlements on the Keep’s walls, except for a small honor guard of knights who were coming with him. Everyone knew he had reason to be suspicious. As long as mankind could remember, Orcs had always been stinky, mindless, berserkers.

“The time approaches, Milord,” said one of the knights, looking at the angle of the sun.

“They’re here!” shouted the lookout on the highest tower. Lord Falkone peered through the portcullis and soon saw movement in the distance. To his total surprised shock, at the exact time the note had said, three Orcs arrived at the crest of the hill.

It was immediately noted that there was a major difference.

“Something’s odd,” called one of the soldiers on the wall. “The breeze is blowing towards us, but we don’t smell anything.”

“You’re right,” said the soldier next to him. “They’re Orcs. The odor should be nauseating by now.”

“Milord,” said one of the knights, “They carry no weapons, only armor, and they bear a clan banner, along with the customary white banner of parlay.” At Lord Falkone’s orders the soldiers raised the portcullis.

One of the soldiers on the wall said, “Usually their standards are made of bones and skins – sometimes human ones – but this is cloth, some kind of canvas, I think.”

“And look,” said one of the older soldiers of the garrison, who could read a bit of Orcian, squinting at the banner with its white center and dark blue border with its ornate inscription. “That banner – it says Clan Demon Slayer. In real fancy letters too.“

“Huh,” said another soldier.

“Don’t believe me? Clan Demon Slayer, that’s what it says right there, you young whippersnapper! Why, I oughtta show you how we disciplined –”

“Look, Lord Falkone and the knights are approaching,” said another. The soldiers watched from the walls.

“They’re talking … the Orcs aren’t attacking! Maybe it really isn’t a trick?”

“I tell ya, even if it ain’t a trick, it’s just this clan, not the rest.”

“Yeah, even if this works out, we gotta make peace treaties with the rest of the Orc clans too.”

“That’s gonna be hard, because some of ‘em hate the rest and anybody who’s friends with ‘em.”

“They’re going into the tent they set up now.” The soldiers on the walls of the Keep couldn’t see what was going on in there. Lord Falkone had had that tent set up for the negotiations. Given the Orcs’ history with humans, his Lordship wasn’t going to let them into the Keep straight away. Maybe he would someday, if the Orcs proved their honorable intent over time.

Within the tent, Lord Falkone met with more surprises. Three chairs had been prepared for the Orcs, out of courtesy, though no human had ever observed an Orc sitting on furniture, as they preferred to smash it. But … “After you, Warlord,” said Lord Falkone. “You are the guests, and therefore you sit first.”

“Ah, of course,” said Trank Hammer in a heavily accented but grammatically correct version of the common tongue of the humans of the region. “As guests we follow your traditions.” The three Orcs sat, all at once. Then Lord Falkone sat, then his knights.

“So, you have come here under a banner of parlay,” said Lord Falkone. “Please, speak your piece.”

“We of Clan Demon Slayer wish to announce a … cessation of hostilities with the humans of Ravencrest Keep and its lands,” said Trank Hammer. He gestured at one of his lieutenants, who took out a rolled-up map, drawn in ink on hide, showing that part of the world. “Our territory is here, the Western Plains. We are not directly neighbors. But we visit you anyway, to tell you this. We will visit other humans, all who will listen. Clan Demon Slayer plans to do just that … slay demons. Not humans anymore. Unless those humans attack us first. But then … only those humans. We will defend our own.”

“As would anyone,” Lord Falkone replied. “You do not ask any terms in return?”

“No,” Trank Hammer said. “We know that Orcs and humans do not have the most … peaceful history. But we mean to fight demons. And if we are fighting humans too, we cannot do that. Unless there are humans possessed by demons. That is different.”

“We would not want that either, of course,” said Lord Falkone. “Though we would prefer to have the demon exorcized.”

“We wish one day to learn of this … how to remove demons from the possessed,” said Trank Hammer. “But one thing at a time. For now, we wish to sign a … what is the word? A cease-fire. We will not attack. But understand, of course. We can speak only for our clan. Other Orc clans, we cannot say what they want or what they will do. Clan Demon Slayer – if we sign this treaty, we will honor our word or die. Death before dishonor.”

“Of course,” replied Lord Falkone. “Although you must understand, my people will find this difficult to accept. We must take this one step at a time. However, we can certainly promise not to encroach on Clan Demon Slayer territory, now that we are aware of where it is. We must speak of the exact location of the boundary, so we may stay outside it. And we can promise to honor the banner of parlay in future, as we have honored it today.”

“This is good,” said Trank Hammer. “It is a start. We do not ask to be brothers with humans. But we ask to not fight. Clan Demon Slayer, for one, will not attack your lands, your people, or your walls. Let us speak of the … details, is that the word?”

“It is,” said Lord Falkone, and within a few hours, an equitable cease-fire agreement was signed between Lord Falkone of Ravencrest Keep and Warlord Trank Hammer of Clan Demon Slayer. He even signed it in his strong Orcian calligraphy, as far as that went, and sealed it with the official Demon Slayer clan signet, showing a demon skull split with an axe.

The sun was sinking in the west, and Trank Hammer and his lieutenants had left, marching back to their territory with a copy of the agreement. Lord Falkone returned to the Keep with his knights and his own copy.

“We’ve seen strange days recently,” he said to his soldiers, “but this is the strangest so far. Now, if they bear a Clan Demon Slayer banner or other livery, we are honor-bound not to attack unless they attack first. Orcs of any other stripe – there is no agreement with them. Deal with them as we always have. But check their clan signs first.”

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“First Ravencrest Keep, then the returned people of Brookingham Towers,” said Sir Thomas. “This is passing strange, but it appears that this Trank Hammer and his Demon Slayer Clan intend to do what they say.”

“And yet none of us know where the demons are,” said Sara.

“No, but we have been searching, and this clan of Orcs has as well,” Sir Thomas replied. “Sooner or later, we will find where they are and eradicate them once more from the world we call home.”

Sara looked sad. “That would mean … we could never return.”

“Indeed,” Sir Thomas said. “Not as Golden Knights. There may be other ways. The Powers that Be are not unreasonable.”

“We can … take vacations?” asked Sara.

“Stranger things happen every day,” Sir Thomas said, looking again at the window in the Hall of Vision where they stood, which showed an image of Trank Hammer and his men walking home with yet another non-aggression pact in hand.

“In the meantime, I have learned of a renowned wise woman of the South,” said Sara. “It is said that she knows a spell of demon finding. This ritual can tell us where to search further.”

“I had not thought of that!” said Sir Thomas. “Of course, the Orcs and Trolls never made it to the South-lands. Perhaps this wise woman can direct us to the demons so we can slay them.”

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All of Orcdom opened their eyes for the first time in centuries with the realization Clan Demon Slayer had not only told the truth regarding the foolishness of the war they had been waging all these centuries against the humans, but also how truly ignorant Trolls were. Being aligned with Trolls tainted every Orc.

One other thing that really lit the fires of motivation was the fact Clan Demon Slayer made it more than clear they were a free Clan and slave to no demon or Troll.

If it were possible to have the eyesight of a falcon and view the land from the air, the state of each of the Orc encampments began a radical change. Gone were the many rotting piles of trophy body parts. No longer were the ornamental hangings made from parts of their slain enemies, but were made from finely crafted woods and a new style of metalworking that Orcs were just starting to explore. All banners began to be made from a thick cloth, not the untanned hides of their slain enemies.

One thing that became noticeable immediately by all was that the smell the world had known for centuries as Orc … vanished.

Trank Hammer the Demon Slayer entered the camp of the mighty warlord Adar, Father of all Orcdom. The three Orcs with him were all dressed in blue and white over their polished armor, and of course they carried the banner of Clan Demon Slayer, which now had incorporated within its design the flaming skull of a demon being split by a war axe.

As Trank Hammer and his followers moved toward the great lodge house for a meeting with the mightiest of Orcs, Adar, the road to the lodge began to be lined by many. A low buzz of awe could be heard round about as they passed. It surprised Trank Hammer that his clan had become this well known this quickly.

One of the Orcs with Trank Hammer came close and said in a low voice, “Have you noticed? All the war trophy piles and bundles are gone.”

Another said, “Yeah, and from what my nose is telling me, they have all started bathing, as we now do.”

Trank Hammer stopped for an instant and took a good look around. A smile came across his tusked face as he saw the place looked absolutely clean. The women were now even dressed in rather nice apparel, as were many others that had gathered along the avenue. It tickled him that his breed were now starting to make the transition from beasts … to a real people.

The entourage arrived at the main lodge. The two guards bowed respectfully as they opened the twin doors. There were many gathered in an orderly fashion, all dressed in very nice, but definitely not Orc attire.

Along the thick blood-red carpeted path many stood at strict attention. Their armor was shiny and clean. Also, it wasn’t a ragtag collection but a very well crafted complete set, including the ceremonial halberds.

At the end of the trail, many candelabra were lit that well illuminated the throne upon which sat the mightiest of all Orcs, Adar. Trank Hammer and his group were led by the honor guard to a large square of thick gold carpet within the blood-red carpet that lined the large room.

Amid gasps of surprise, the Father of all Orcdom rose from his throne, shrugged off the thick elegantly furred royal cape, walked to Trank Hammer, and knelt in supplication at his feet.

Adar said with reverance in his tone, “Adar, Father of all Orcdom, bows at the mighty Demon Slayer’s feet.” By this time an audible murmur had begun in the large crowd. “I see the wisdom long forgotten by the Orc population within the decrees and actions made by Clan Demon Slayer and request if not admission to the Demon Slayer Clan, then the right to bear the Demon Slayer signet on all my banners weapons and armor. We too … are free.”

The cheering adulation of the crowd filled the lodge house with a mighty roar that shook it to its very foundation.

Trank Hammer thought swiftly. Was his goal to rule the Orc people, or to unite it? “Adar, mightiest of us all,” he said, knowing full well that many others were listening, “you do me the greatest honor I could have imagined. But we must speak, for I am not here to take your throne from you, but to work together with you to raise all Orcs as one, so that the Orc nation may take its place among the great nations of this world. Perhaps I am a leader, but you are the greatest this generation has seen, and we will need leaders if we are to rise. So I beg of you, Adar, Father of all Orcdom, to rise and do me one more honor, to help me, that we may together help all Orc kind, to march forward into a mighty and civilized future.”

Adar looked baffled, but stood up. “Trank Hammer, of Clan Demon Slayer, you know that this is not how things have been done in the past,” he said, “for you were within your rights to strike off my head and take your place as Grand Warlord of all Orcdom. But we look upon something we have never seen in our lifetimes, a future of true power.” He paused and addressed the people nearby. “Most do not know this, but long ago, hundreds of generations ago, the Orc people built mighty cities, told epic tales, sang soul-rending tragic sagas, and were among the greatest people of this world. The oldest of our records speak of this. We, Orcs, once accomplished that. I ask you, all Orcs within the sound of my voice, can we do it again?”

Of course, only those nearby could hear, but as those who heard told those farther away what had just been said, And as the message rippled outward through the assembled throng, waves roared back. “YES!” “YES!” “YES!” The clamor was deafening.

Adar turned back to Trank Hammer. “Let us speak, then, of how we may begin this journey toward glory that may rival and even surpass that of ages past. Warlord Trank Hammer, please do me the honor of accompanying me to our new negotiating table.”

“I will, Warlord Adar,” said Trank Hammer. Followed by their honor guards, they entered a newly-built building, and shortly after, messengers went out to the Warlords of all the clans, except for one, that they were summoned to this place to bring forth a new age for the Orcs of this world. There was still one clan allied with the Trolls, which was beginning to disgust and anger the rest of the Orcs, and make them wonder whether Clan Fireheart still allied itself with demons.

The leaders of the Orc clans began the process of reviving their great civilization of ages long past by taking the titles not of Warlord but of Thane, and they began work on a fair and equitable way to choose a King to lead all Orcs, one who would be peacefully chosen at regular intervals to ensure there would always be leadership that all Orcs would support. As they worked on the details, the Golden Knights watched in utter amazement, those who weren’t in the South-lands speaking to the wise-woman Sara had found.

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Yula was a venerable Human with many colors of beads braided into her long gray hair. She walked with a staff that was also decorated with beads and carved with runes of wisdom. When Sara and Sir Thomas arrived at her humble hut along with several other Golden Knights, she stared at them through the hut’s door and said, “But … but you are dead! The dead have no place among the living!”

Sara nodded. It was difficult to accept, but she replied, “It is true. My body in this world died in battle. The body I now live in was made on one of the higher planes of the afterlife, but it is not made of such stuff as mortal bodies are, and the same is true of all Golden Knights.”

“Oh! You are Golden Knights!” replied Yula. “This is an honor, then.” She stepped fully out of her hut. “That would explain the golden armor and such.”

“A few of us are recently-made Golden Knights,” Sir Thomas said. “The ones from this world are from the North-lands, because that’s where the war has been. It hasn’t touched the South-lands much, has it?”

“Thanks be to those such as yourselves,” Yula replied. “But you are here for a reason, I don’t doubt.” She sat down on a carved and polished tree stump that she often used as a chair. She recalled when it had been a great tree before it had been struck by lightning and killed, long before she’d built her hut next to it.

“I’m sure there are a few such as yourself in the North-lands.” said Sara. “If demons there live, they’ve fled and are in hiding, and we can’t find them. But the fact is that there are demons still in this world.”

“Ah, yes,” said Yula, “because you can still come here. And you want me to help you find them so you can destroy them, or at least destroy their presence here in this world.”

Sir Thomas replied, “Yes, because until relatively recently there were no demons in this world. And then there were, and we’re not sure how that came about.”

“Well, here’s the problem,” Yula said. “I know a ritual that will show me all demons in the lands I’ve ever traveled to. And I’ve traveled a lot in my life. But, and this is the real problem, only in the South-lands. And wherever I found demons, I battled them, or others did. Or we did it together. There aren’t any.”

Sara sighed. “So you can’t use your ritual to find demons in the North-lands,” she said.

“No, I can’t,” said Yula, her brow furrowing. “But there’s still something I can help you do.”

Sara asked, “What’s that?”

“If you can find someone, an apprentice wizard or wise-woman, even maybe an herbalist or sage, and bring them to me,” said Yula, “I can teach them how to perform the ritual. Then they can go home to the North-lands and do it there. But … it has to be somebody alive.”

“So we have to find someone with the talent,” said Sara, looking at the others. “Thank you, Yula. We’ll be back when we do.”

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Searching the northern lands for a special person was difficult under normal conditions. Looking for one across a land that had been this severely devastated by a long hard war made it seem impossible, since most all had either been killed or fled before the Troll / Orc armies.

The destroyed, crumbling, and sometimes still smoldering ruins left grim testament to the severity and intensity of the war. Add to that grim scene the many rotting unburied bodies they had come across, and it all made it extremely hard to keep their minds on the search.

Sir Thomas and Sara entered the crumbling ruins of what appeared to be a very ornate type of structure. Once they had gotten past all the fallen debris and charcoal, they came to what used to be a hidden door, now revealed because of the fire that had burned this building.

It took barely any effort for Sir Thomas to bodily rip the thick charred door from its frame. Sara and Sir Thomas’ eyes grew large at the very artfully and extremely ornate room beyond the entrance, somehow preserved from the fire. They entered and looked around carefully so as not to disturb anything.

As they approached something that looked like a very beautifully sculpted fountain seemingly carved from a single crystal that looked remarkably like diamond, burst into life. A wonderful spray of mist filtered down, creating a beautiful rainbow of colors.

Within the rainbow of colors the fountain spray was making, Sara noticed the face of a young woman, who somehow came out of the fountain and stood before the two Knights. She appeared to be dressed in the very spray and foam of the fountain.

She curtsied gracefully and spoke in a soft voice, “Welcome to the Oracle of the Fountain. I must say, not many have come to me for advice in a great while. I welcome you and will endeavor to answer any of your questions to the best of my ability.”

Sara looked at Sir Thomas and said, “Her.” She pointed at the oracle. “She has the ability in great abundance. If anyone can find a demon, it’s her.”

“Find a demon?” asked the Oracle. “Of course. I see that you are Golden Knights. Do you truly wish to find and slay them? I see that if you do, you will never return home in your golden armor.”

They looked at each other. Sara said, “That matters not. The demons must be purged from this world. It is not theirs, nor will it ever be, if we have anything to say about it.”

“So be it, then,” said the woman. “But although I am a diviner and can answer questions about the future, I am unsure whether I can lead you to demons.”

Sir Thomas replied, “We know of a wise-woman of the South-lands who can teach you a ritual that could show you, and us, where we must go.” They explained to her about Yula.

“I see,” said the woman. “Very well. I have been seeing visions of learning a new kind of ritual. Now I know why. But I must prepare for a journey. I must leave my place of power for a time.” She seemed to fade back into the fountain.

“She seems to mostly be a seer,” said Sir Thomas. “That, and her use of water-based magic, probably explains why her sanctum remains intact.”

“And why she remains alive,” Sara added. “She knew when to hide and when to defend her home. But I do not see any other survivors here.”

“They all fled,” said the woman, now dressed in a gray robe, carrying a staff and a pack. “I warned them of the attack days in advance, and although in other times some may not have believed, news had come of Orc and Troll attacks on other towns, so it wasn’t hard to convince the people that the enemy was coming. They evacuated. They tried to convince me to leave with them, but I couldn’t leave my home. I simply … kept them out. My home became as water, flowing around them, and they never even saw it.”

“That sound like a powerful spell,” said Sara.

“I was exhausted. I had to rest for several days afterward. They moved on, though, luckily.” She sighed. “My name is Gelinda.”

“Well met, Gelinda,” said Sara. She turned to Sir Thomas. “Can we take her to Yula … our way?”

“She cannot go to the Golden Hall,” he said, “because only we can travel that way. Our bodies are made of the material of the Elysian Planes, but she is mortal. However … I did get permission to borrow a pair of these.” He opened his pack and took out a pair of golden sandals.

“All right, how do those work?” Sara asked.

“I see,” said Gelinda. “They are from the Golden Hall. You can take them with you. But you will leave one of them with me, and I can use it to come to its mate.”

“Yes, exactly,” Sir Thomas said, holding the right sandal out to Gelinda, who accepted it with her left hand. “If you put it on and wait until the count of fifty, we will bring the left sandal to the vicinity of Yula’s home. Then, you simply … take one step.”

“Very well,” Gelilnda said. “I will see you shortly.”

“We will be ready,” said Sara, and she and Sir Thomas vanished in a beam of golden light.

They were in the Hall of Vision. “Now to get to Yula’s hut before she attempts to take a step,” Sir Thomas said.

“What happens if she tries to come while we’re here?” asked Sara.

“I don’t want to find out,” said Sir Thomas, focusing on Yula’s hut as the window shifted and changed. “Maybe nothing happens. Maybe something horrible happens. But I doubt it brings her here intact.”

“No! I don’t want to harm her.” Sara helped him focus, and the window cleared. They were looking at Yula’s hut, in the grassy plans of the South-lands. They stepped through.

Setting the left golden sandal on the ground, Sir Thomas said, “We are in time. No one can count to fifty that quickly.” They waited.

Gelinda suddenly appeared, her left foot precisely on the left sandal. “You know, some people habitually step forth with their left foot, and some with their right,” she said. “Somehow you knew I was a right-footer. Perhaps I am not the only one who is a seer.”

“Maybe it was a lucky guess,” said Sir Thomas. “It would be as the flip of a coin, would it not?”

“Right-footers are usually left-handers,” said Gelinda, holding up her left hand. “I am both. Your odds were not as good as that.”

“I know not what this means,” said Sir Thomas. “But that is the hut of Yula.”

“Yes, of course,” Gelinda said. “Here we must go.”

The three of them went around to the front of the hut, finding Yula sitting on her stump. “Ah, good,” she said. “You have found a sage of the North-lands.”

“Never have I been this far from home,” said Gelinda. “But I believe I am destined to be here and to learn from you.”

“If we are to rid this world of demons, we must do this,” said Yula.

“Forgive me, but my own sandals are much more comfortable,” said Gelinda, holding the golden ones out for Sir Thomas, who took them and put them in his pack for now.

“We will be nearby, if you need us,” said Sara. The two Golden Knights went a distance away and stood beneath a tree. They watched as Yula drew signs on the ground with her staff, placed objects, danced, and seemed to be speaking words they couldn’t hear from as far away as they were.

“I notice that we can stand for a long time and never tire,” said Sara.

“Yes, the bodies of Elysium aren’t made the same way as mortal bodies,” said Sir Thomas. “You may not have noticed, but we do not sleep.”

“Wait, that’s true,” said Sara in astonishment. “I haven’t slept once since becoming a Golden Knight.”

“Evil never sleeps, and so neither do we,” said Sir Thomas. They watched as Gelida now drew the signs under Yula’s guidance.

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The sun hung low in the west when Gelida came to them and said, “Yula and I believe that I am now ready. Will we travel the same way?”

“Unless it is distasteful to you in some way,” said Sir Thomas, giving her the right slipper again.

“It is an unusual way to travel, but I don’t object,” Gelida said with a smile, her wavy dark hair blowing in the slight breeze.

“I am not sure where to begin the search,” Sara said.

Sir Thomas said, “Perhaps the best place to begin would be the last known location of Baron Helcazar. The Plains of Gujad.”

“I heard that they were the site of a great massacre, and that the Orc and Troll army was centered there,” said Gelida. “But now I am seeing that there will be no one there but us, so lead on.”

Once again Sir Thomas and Sara vanished and used the Hall of Vision to transport themselves to the Plains. The tattered remnants of the demon camp lay about them, vultures picking at the few remaining scraps on the bones of the dead. “Let’s … go away from the camp a bit,” said Sara.

So they walked past where the camp’s palisade had once been and set down the golden sandal. Gelinda suddenly appeared.

“Ugh,” she said. “Thank you for not bringing me here right in the middle of that.”

“I’m sorry we have to bring you here at all,” said Sara. “Unfortunately we do.”

“This is a good starting place,” she said. “I will try the ritual. I have lived here, years ago, before it was a battlefield. My village was to the east.” She handed the sandal to Sir Thomas. “Let’s see what we will see.”

Gelida chose a spot and started the ritual as Sara and Sir Thomas stood out of her way. As Yula had, she first cast a protective circle around her space, drawing signs in the dust with her staff, then drew the ritual symbols within the circle, placing objects at points among the signs. She sang a song as she worked, almost dancing as she drew. When she was done, she ended her dance in the center of the circle, where she had prepared a spot to stand in. There, she closed her eyes and held on to her staff for support.

“Be ready,” Sir Thomas whispered to Sara. “Something may not want to be found.” For some time Gelinda stood there, barely breathing. Sara felt anxious, as if part of her expected an attack. She readied her shield to protect Gelinda, against she knew not what.

And then it came, a darkening in the already dark sky to the north. Sara started to run, not crossing Gelinda’s ritual circle but moving to stand north of it, shield at the ready. Then she saw it, shrieking through the sky wreathed in shadow against the stars. What it was she didn’t know, but she leapt into the air, raised her shield, and deflected it into the ground, where she swiftly impaled it with her golden sword as she came down.

The thing was all black spines and hooks and needles, writhing and smoking in contact with the golden metal. It shrieked horribly, like the sound of a rusted metal gate that wouldn’t stop opening, and tried to stab at her with its blades and points, but she held it pinned fast, and soon it perished, boiling away into noxious vapor. “What was that?” she asked Sir Thomas, who had rushed over to help, just in case she’d needed backup.

“I can only guess,” he replied. “Clearly something evil. A retributive summoning of some kind. They don’t want us looking for them.”

Sara and Sir Thomas both knew, this was just the tip of a huge mess. They were still in the realm of flesh, and the same urgent necessity still remained.

Gelida slowly opened her eyes. “I have seen …” she began.

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“I can’t believe Gelida ever came here,” said Sir Thomas. The two of them hiked through the snow, entering a canyon that grew deeper and deeper as the sharp walls rose to either side of them. The walls were at first coated with ice, but as it deepened it became clearer that they were of a black rock.

“She was a lot more adventurous when she was younger, she told me,” said Sara. “In the years before the Orc-Troll alliance she came here with a band of warriors, a few barbarians, a priest, some others. She helped out with her mystical abilities.” They went deeper and deeper, and the crack in the earth seemed as if it would keep going forever, to the very center, as the sky receded farther and farther above.

“The Rift of Frozen Fire was said to be a wound in the earth, made by an enormous sword wielded by one of the gods,” said Sir Thomas. “Which god depended on whom one asked. But it’s really just what’s left of an old fire-mountain that went out.” The two of them were just dressed in their golden armor, as usual. The cold didn’t bother them, since they weren’t technically alive anymore – not in this realm, at least.

“Gelida called it an extinct volcano,” Sara said. “It’s going to be a long time before the learned people of the North-lands recover their knowledge.” The crack finally went below ground and opened into a jagged cavern that was lit from deep within and below with a reddish glow. “She said it was deep within a fissure lit with the light of molten stone.”

Sir Thomas said, “She also said it was huge. The Archon said it could have come through with Baron Helcazar. The Orcs summoned him with a ritual they found in their ancient lore, after coming to this cave in search of power. But they didn’t do the ritual correctly; they didn’t cast the protective circle, so an extra demon came through, and it’s been growing ever since. That’s their best guess about how it happened, anyway.”

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After descending into the crevice for a bit, it opened into a huge underground cavern filled with boiling, exploding lava, large showering lava falls, accompanied by many large rock cauldrons of super hot boiling mineral water.

As far as the two of them could see, and with their enhanced vision no less, that was all they could see. The heat must have been truly horrendous as they watched an unfortunate rock formation give up the fight and crumble away into the boiling miasma of lava surrounding it in huge frothy splashes.

Sara pointed, “Whoever or whatever it is, is off in that direction. From the best I can tell, it’s lying on its back under a large pool of lava.”

Sir Thomas nodded as he raised his shield. He advanced slowly while Sara took a slightly different approach in a flanking maneuver in that direction. The large open space they entered through the crags was filled with lava, lava falls, and lava fountains.

Sir Thomas stopped suddenly and put up a hand. Sara stopped and whispered, “You see something I missed?”

Sir Thomas replied, “No, it’s how many just arrived. The stench should be here shortly.”

As Sara’s heightened senses registered the huge increase in evil concentration amid the horrid smell of sulfur dioxide filling the air, the awareness that whatever the creature used to be … it was now many. The worst thing they could think of was happening right in front of them as they sent out a call for help.

It was so strange to sense too. It was like a spark had landed in some type of oil and spread. It only spread so far and there was a large quantity of the evil left that gathered itself together into a mass to start the process over again. The newly spawned evil began attempting the same thing.

Sir Thomas’ only hope as he raised his shield and drew his sword, was that reinforcements arrived very very soon. He and Sara advanced bravely as they called upon the Holy Cleansing of Light.

Like black insects it arose in a huge, boiling, cloud. Sara and Sir Thomas remembered Goo very well, although they had not heard of this great a concentration in a single place before.

Sara said, “We’ve lost. I remember. Our armor will dissolve away.”

Sir Thomas shouted, “I am a Golden Knight. This day ye shall not pass …” Then he made a graceful tumbling jump to the forefront of the the onrushing cloud. He went to a knee and slammed his Wolf’s Bane sword into the rock floor.

To Sara’s total astonishment, an extremely bright flash of pure white light exploded from around Sir Thomas, taking a huge amount of the goo out of the picture. Enough so the rest shied away slightly and appeared to be regrouping or something.

Sara smiled as she too did a leap to make any Samurai Master proud right to the forefront of where the goo had chosen to attempt to regroup. She shouted as she slammed the tip of her sword into the rock floor in front of her, “This day the Golden Knights say ‘not here.’”

Massively, the purest white light exploded brightly, purifying a large quantity of Goo that was left. Its remains fell as ash as a black mist evaporated away. Unfortunately, more had spawned and rose from the lava depths like a thick black cloud of insects.

Sir Thomas had extricated his sword from the rock in front of him and held out his arm, summoning a shield, which was coalescing onto his arm from golden light, but his eyes were on the mass of Goo ahead of them. They had made two dents in it – two large dents, but still, he could tell that the rest was like a sea. Its only limits were the dimensions of the cavern, and the molten rock that burned it. It flowed outward from the cavern beyond, and the rate at which it was flowing told them that there was a vast amount of Goo in there.

Pulling her own sword out of the rock, Sara asked, “This can’t be right, can it? It can’t be this easy for the infernal realms to take mortal realms and add them to their own. All they’d have to do is infest a world with Goo and wait. If it were that easy, there’d be no mortal realms left by now.”

Sir Thomas replied, “It isn’t that easy, because there are people like us. Here, strike my shield.” He held his shield up. Sara swung her sword and hit the shield, which rang like a bell and exploded, and there was another burst of golden light that radiated outward, pushing the oncoming rush of Goo back again. It gave them a moment.

Sara said, “It can …?” and began summoning one of the circular shields she preferred. It coalesced in her hands out of golden light, and then she wound up and threw it beyond the oncoming sea of Goo at one of the stalactites that hung down from the ceiling, far above. It struck the rock and exploded – and a spherical explosion of light expanded outward from that point, destroying Goo twice as far away.

“Good thinking!” said Sir Thomas. “Can we push it back to that opening over there? It seems to be coming out from there.” They both threw summoned shields again, striking the mass of Goo from above. They had to do it yet another time, but soon they had driven it back to the opening to the next cavern.

There were flashes of golden light behind them, and the sound of more armored feet from farther back. “You’ve done it!” shouted another Golden Knight. “You’ve cleared it from this cavern. It was preventing us from entering this cave directly from the Hall of Vision. We had to travel to the cave entrance and run from there. The first Knights who tried that are only just now arriving.” Sara and Sir Thomas turned to see five more Knights, and a dozen more were running into the cave where they’d entered, coming to join them.

“This stuff can cancel our armor,” said Sara, “but it’s also really vulnerable to the energy our armor and shields are made from.”

They looked at each other. “It’s the energy of our souls,” one said, “but with rest, we can recover it.”

“If we plan, we can make it count,” said Sir Thomas.

“See how it’s pouring from that opening?” asked Sara, pointing to the Goo that emanated from the next cavern. “If the two of us clear to that opening again, can we set up a firing sequence to keep pushing it further back? If we can enter that cavern, we can clear it. Then we can see if there’s more.”

Armed with this plan, they pushed forward into the next cavern, forming shields to use as flying bombs of Light. The next cavern had multiple entrances, and Goo had oozed into other caverns in those directions, but more and more Knights were appearing to help. “Be sure to cleanse above!” called out Sir Thomas. “We don’t want it dropping on us!” One cavern after another was cleansed.

Finally they stood in the chamber where the summoning had occurred. The Orcs had simply left the sigils in place, so the portal had stayed open, a coruscating red-tinged border around a twisting black maw. “Does anyone know how to close this?” asked Sara. A cleric appeared with some kind of special glowing silver ink and some sort of large quill pen.

“Please keep it at bay, Knights,” said the cleric. “I must draw the protective circle before we can close it.”

Whenever a glob of Goo emerged, one of the Knights would strike it down by another burst of golden light. Meanwhile, the cleric carefully drew an unbroken circle on the rocky ground that glowed with a white light, then a second circle, and between the two started drawing sigils in a divine script.

“Now we close it!” said the cleric, and reached into the circle with a staff he’d brought, scratching out the sigils the Orcs had drawn and chanting all the while. The opening started to become jerky and unstable, convulsing, until finally it tore itself into pieces that were unable to cross the white circles, igniting into silver fire when they touched it.

The Golden Knights cheered when they saw it, and the cleric bowed simply, then vanished back to the Golden Hall. “That’s it, right?” asked Sara. “That means we’ll go back to the Hall and won’t be able to come back, right?”

“It should have happened already,” Sir Thomas said. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

“Why are we still here?” asked another Knight.

“There must be another demonic influence in this world,” said another.

“I … guess we go back to Gelida,” said Sara. “We’ll have to find it and banish it too.”

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Trank Hammer sat and stared at his large chest of demon seeds. He really didn’t want to get rid of them after what he saw them do to a Golden Knight and to a bona fide demon. Once all the smoke cleared, figuratively speaking, and he had managed to talk with a Golden Knight about demons, he really didn’t want something like that out in the wild. He did notice that several of the small glass vials now had more than one green glowing thing in it.

Trank Hammer wasn’t going to wait any longer. He could see with his own eyes the stupid things were actually multiplying in the vials he had stored them in. The scary thing was, there were many thousands of the ampules, and many of them had multiple green glowing things in it. They were going to break free if he didn’t do something, and he didn’t like to speculate about what would happen then. Time to discard this or neutralize it if possible.

With enough suddenness that Trank Hammer was startled, two golden flashes appeared behind him. He turned and saw Sara and Sir Thomas. A large smile crossed his tusked face as he said with relief, “Just the persons I was wanting to find.”

Sir Thomas and Sara looked at each other before Sara said, “Ok, we’re here. But we’re also on a mission.”

Trank picked up his huge chest and set it at Sir Thomas’ feet, “And I’m positive you’re here about these. I really need to dispose of them, and soon.” He bent over and picked up one of the vials. Within were 6 glowing green seeds, “These things are multiplying, and I have to do something before they get out. Do you know what to do about these?”

Sir Thomas asked, “When we were here once before I asked you if any of the seeds were left. but you never really said.”

Trank Hammer replied apologetically, “I’m sorry about that. But, you see … I hadn’t yet come to the point where I was comfortable around you. Remember, Golden Knights had always killed us in great numbers up to that point.”

“Understandable, I’m afraid,” Sir Thomas said, nodding once, as he took the large chest from Trank Hammer and proceeded out the door of the large lodge house with Sara following.

Once they were outdoors, Sir Thomas said, “We will need a bit of holy water – actually a lot, enough to drown this whole chest. And we’ll need it soon – the multiplying is getting to the critical point.”

Trank Hammer and several curious Orcs came out to watch what would happen next.

Sara said as she vanished in a bright golden flash, “Be back in a second.”

It was a few minutes, but she was back soon, one of a number of Knights carrying a large circular metal tub full of water. “We all took this tub up to the Spring of Purity and filled it, then lugged it back to the Hall without spilling too much,” said Sara as they all set it down. “Then Archon Umbriel blessed it … anyway, here we are.”

“Thank you all,” said Sir Thomas. He set the chest in the tub, where there was enough water to submerge it, and opened its lid.

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Once the lid to the chest had been opened and the holy water had entered, an amazing, extremely energetic explosion of light spread out like a huge wave all around. Above the tub appeared a large glowing cloud. Huge arcs of very bright white lightning flashed from it to the tub repeatedly as something almost hidden from site by the bright light boiled and squirmed away into something resembling smoke that also was consumed in the huge miasma.

Sara, Sir Thomas, and the two other Golden Knights who had aided Sara with the huge tub of holy water appeared in the Hall of Vision. Serenely standing there, apparently awaiting their arrival, was Archon Umbriel with a huge smile on their face.

The Archon said, “Welcome back, Knights, and congratulations on a job very well done. That mortal realm has once again been snatched from the hands of darkness.” As he turned and began to gracefully glide off, he said seemingly to Sara, “If you were to put in for a leave of absence, I believe it likely that your request would be granted. I know many children who miss their grandmother Sara.”

Sir Thomas and Sara watched the Archon as they left with big eyes. Sir Thomas said, “Well , Sara, to answer your question, it would appear we are giving time away when there is no more need – at least, for now.”

“So … how does one request a leave of absence around here?” asked Sara. “Is there some kind of scroll that I have to get an official seal on, or …?”

Sir Thomas suddenly found himself in a very dignified royal outfit. His Golden Knight armor had been transformed. He looked at Sara; she was dressed in an extremely beautiful gown worthy of an Elven princess.

Sir Thomas held out his hand and said, “Come, I think there are some children who would love to hear tales of the Golden Knights.”

Sara smiled as she took his proffered hand. Suddenly, the Hall of Vision was once again empty except for one lone Archon, who stood serenely and watched one of the viewing windows. It showed Sara and Sir Thomas as the entered the encampment of the survivors of Sara’s old village. Even though she appeared many years younger now, the children knew her and approached with many joyous screeches. “Gramma Sawa! Gramma Sawa!”

“Oh, children, I’ve missed you so much. You’ve gotten bigger!” Sara called them by their names. Some of the villagers approached her, including a few women carrying babies she hadn’t met yet. Halford was there as well.

“Sarah …? Is that you?” asked Halford, looking disbelieving.

“It is, Halford,” Sara said. “I suppose it’s possible that I look a bit younger than I did before. Oh, and you all remember Sir Thomas Wolfsbane, from the keep that used to protect the old village.”

Sir Thomas bowed. “I only wish I could have done a better job of that,” he said.

“We all know you were vastly outnumbered,” said Halford. “We barely escaped with our lives. And … some of us didn’t. Including … you, I’m guessing.”

“What?” asked one of the older children. “Is he a ghost?”

Sara looked at that child, sat down, and said, “No, Michael, he isn’t. But sometimes, if you do your best, if you try to help people, and if you fight the good fight, against impossible odds, the Powers that Be might just give you a second chance.”

Halford said, “You’re … not back for good, are you?”

“I’m afraid not,” said Sara. “But … the war is over, and just for now, the forces of darkness have no foothold in this world. If we wanted to, we could all go back and rebuild our old village.”

“And I could go back and rebuild my old keep,” Sir Thomas said. “Maybe I could find some knights and warriors to protect the village again. After all, maybe most of the Orcs are going civilized, but not all of them are, and then there are the Trolls.”

“How long can you stay?” Halford asked.

Sara thought. “I’m not really sure how long I have,” she said. “But then, who among us knows that? It’s just that in my case, when I go, I’ll know it’s because I’m needed to fight evil somewhere.”

“I knew it!” said Michael. “You got picked to be a Golden Knight! Where do you live? What’s it like?”

“Well,” said Sara, looking at the sunset and glancing at the adults standing around, “it looks like it’s probably bedtime soon for most of you little ones, but maybe there’s time for one story …”

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