Manorborn: The Battles Between

Chapter 1

But, Ashel's council was considered wise and true, so Lord Malvix did as he had always done and followed the advice of his long-time friend and trusted counselor.

"Hold!"

Lord Malvix's stentorian voice carried through the air and, as one, the army stopped and stood at attention.

A beautiful plain lay before them; green with grass and dotted with bright flowers that waved in the soft breeze that gently blew through the flora. A small river cut through the land, and the rush of its waters sang softly as it flowed over rock and stone.

But Malvix did not take note of this. Indeed, it barely registered on his senses.

His eyes were on the opposite side of the field, his focus on the mass that stood across from him.

There stood his enemy.

The Derga were a people of the plains, a people of muscled limbs, swift legs, and mighty endurance. Their shaggy heads bore curved horns, and their wide nostrils flared as they breathed in deeply, soft snorts and rumbles came from the gathered mass. They were armed with large bore muskets, heavy crossbows, broad-bladed spears, and great bladed axes they could wield with deadly efficiency in their three-fingered hands. Their dress was short tunics, leather wrappings from hoof to calf, and strong metal cuirass and breastplate. They had no tanks, for they were not as advanced in mechanical development as those they faced, but as their grim faces gazed at the soldiers before them, more than one of Lord Malvix's warriors felt their knees shake, and more than one throat swallowed deeply in an attempt to calm shaking nerves, so fearsome did the Derga appear to them.

Their leader was not mounted. Indeed, no mount could bear him.

He stood head and shoulders above the tallest of Malvix's warriors, and though the Lord of Kervath was mounted on a horse, the chief could have looked him in the eyes.

He wore studded gold bands on his massively muscled arms, with matching bracers on his forearms. His cuirass was of silvered steel, as was the mighty axe he bore, and his horns were dipped in gold that shimmered in the sunlight. As he looked at his foe, his long ears twitched and his nostrils flared from deep breaths that snorted and puffed as he sought to keep himself calm.

At his side was a burly Derga who bore no arms, but only a staff of office, and a gold-trimmed green sash across his chest that marked his office of councilor to Vroth, Chief of the Derga, the mightiest of minotaurs.

"As you said, Brith, Malvix, and his army are come with mind to destory us."

Brith bowed his head, a hand on his chest.

"I am sorry, Great Chief, I know you considered Lord Malvix a friend. It is a sad day when those we care about turn upon us. I wish this were not so."

The councilor raised his head and gestured around them as he spoke further.

'But look around you, Chief Vroth. You have amassed a great army to face our enemy. More than a thousand Derga stand armed and ready for you to lead them into battle. You need but give the word, and your people will charge down upon the interlopers to drive them out of our land forever."

"But at what cost," Vroth shook his shaggy head sadly, his face mournful. "How many must die to make our lands secure?"

A sad groan, a hefting of his axe, and the great minotaur looked to his councilor.

"And all for what reason? A mere two weeks past, Malvix and I were sitting down to a meal together, pledging our alliance and our companionship to one another for the next score of years and more. Yet now he comes to war upon us."