To say that the wind that blew over the Ardivike arctic flats was harsh, dry and bitterly cold would be making a massive understatement.  This was and had been for as long as history could tell, the coldest place in all of the Rothalen Empire, if not all of New-Gaea.  The wind could cut through the thickest hide coat, and chill even the most well adapted animal and plant life.  The few breeds of horse that could stand the cold couldn't for very long and even the ice from the region was said to never melt.  Even in the stillness of this clear night, where the wind came and went, the cold chilled to the bone.  If hell was cold, this place would certainly be it, and to a certain half-blood, it was the last place in New-Gaea he wanted to be, ever.

     It’s too damn cold, Trevian of Narifet thought to himself for the third time that night as he stood for a moment along his patrol route on the walls of Nals’ Trite.  When he first arrived here the lord of the outpost had told him that he would get used to the weather eventually.  Trevian didn’t care what the lord had said; if you asked him, the old coot had his brain frozen a long time ago by the Ardivikian winter.  So had everyone else in this god-forsaken tundra wasteland.  The entire Ardivike region was a giant ice cube...  if you asked him.  But no one was asking.  No one ever asked Trevian what he thought anymore and it was rather starting to annoy him.

     Trevian had felt incredibly maligned about being placed at Nals’ Trite ever since his arrival.  He was being shoved out of sight when he was assigned to the distant arctic outpost, and he knew it.  Trevian had been in the service of the human kings of the Rothalen Empire for a little more than 100 years; his180th birthday had been during the last moon cycle.  Over the generations the lords that surrounded the king grew more and more arrogant and worrisome to Trevian.  The amount of bigotry and the notions of superiority in not only the ranks of the army and hall of the lords; but also in the empire’s people, worried Trevian.  He was beginning to wonder if his purpose for being among humans was unattainable, or if in truth it was he whom had failed.  He had seen the possibility for trust and goodness in the heart of man, yet he saw it in all too few hearts.  His place within the royal court had originally been one of power, dignity and most importantly, respect.  In the beginning, the king and his lords had not just needed his help and advice, they had wanted it.  Yet now it only seemed that after they had made use of his help, then discarded him like a spent rag.  For now Trevian was here, in what was probably the most desolate outpost in the entire of the Rothalen empire, only allowed his place on the royal council due to his connection to the old kingdom and the pacts that had been signed by him and dead kings.  That, Trevian thought, and the fact that half the court is petrified of what might happen if they truly crossed me; afraid of what I might be capable of.
  
“And damn well they should be,” Trevian muttered to himself as he shook off the snow that had begun to collect on his shoulders and continued along his patrol route.  Trevian actually had begun to hope that someone besides the Rothalen Empire would be fool enough to want this dead, rocky landscape so there would be a real reason for being here.  As much as he hated to admit it, Trevian was also itching for a fight.  The dragon blood in him called for the tribal brawls of his elder species; these urges were imprinted in him by an instinct so powerful it was still not tamed by millennia of civilized thought.  It would not be so bad if he could have a truly good spar from time to time, but most of the warlords had become lax in these peaceful times.  The rest, with whom Trevian was on better terms, were usually on the move overseeing troops and other outposts.  The last person he could have truly called a warrior was a woman known by most as ‘Kira of the Unseen Blade’ for her skill and speed with a sword.  Trevian shook his head at that.  Kira Theois had once been a prominent member of the Rothalen Empire, part of the Sa-Fira flats royal family and heir to their seat in the court of Niza.  She had discarded such titles when she left the lands the empire controlled at least 10 years ago, sickened by its decay.  She had left on unfriendly terms as well, and now her name brought silence to most conversations with those of high stature.
  
     Trevian had begun to agree with her over the last 10 years.  The strength of the empires legions was mostly a matter of numbers; they were not the most skillful or well trained soldiers Trevian had fought with by a long shot.  Not like the Knights Paladin of centuries past, whom had made up half of the legions at the empire’s start, thousands of years ago.  Now that they were as scarce as white cherry blossoms in Trevian’s homeland, the Paladins were only used to defend important cities and the royal families.  An individual legionnaire no longer stood above the soldiers of other forces.  How long would their numbers matter?
  
     The people of the Hi-Lec Isles were the only group to successfully secede from the empire, thanks to their Archmage.  Now they continued to advance their technology beyond the surrounding empire.  Those who called themselves the ‘Remar’, whom were banished from the Hi-Lec Isles had too surpassed the technology that the Rothalen possessed.  The difference between the two seemed to be that the Remar had forsaken magic completely, where as the Hilans had intertwined magic with science.  Trevian had heard rumors of a new force on the horizon as well, the Nizom, a machine like race that sources told the empire had been created by the Remar as slaves, but had broken away and evolved through their own methods.

     Finally, the biggest possible threat was the only other empire in the known world possibly older than the Rothalen’s. Luckily  though the people of the Owatoka Empire were incredibly isolationist.  These people wanted nothing to do with the outside world, which was good.  Otherwise Trevian was sure there would be an eternal power struggle between the two.  Trevian knew one of their number closely;  as his father’s relatives were spread around the world, they knew many a great man, but this was one of the few Trevian called a true friend and ally.  The man’s name was O-Ren Ikiba, a name Trevian would never forget, as he was one of the greatest and most powerful men Trevian had ever had the privilege of meeting.
  
     Trevian did not have long to become lost in thought about his meeting long ago with Ikiba.  There was a flash in the distance, so bright it turned the night into day for an instant.  The flash nearly blinded Trevian; he had to shut his eyes quickly and turn away from the sun-like radiance.  Trevian had little time to blink the glowing dots from his vision before an earth-shattering boom followed the flash.  Trevian felt his eardrums almost pop as the very stones beneath him vibrated.
  
     “Get down! Get Down!” yelled Trevian as he hit the stone floor of the walkway, warning the others on duty to drop to the floor as well, beneath the protective barrier of stone that rose above the floor.  For the thunderclap boom that resounded across the open tundra had faded and been replaced by a low but growing humming sound, like a nest of angry insects.

     The sound grew in intensity from the hum of insects, to the growl of the wolf, to the blast of a cannon, until it sounded like one of his dragon brethren flew roaring directly above him.  It was at about that point that the shock wave hit the reinforced stone wall.  Trevian heard a thump that caused the 35-foot high, 15-foot deep wall to visibly move.  The stones ground against themselves, causing mortar dust to seep up into Trevian’s eyes and nose as he felt the wall began to give against the shock wave.
  
     Then, as quickly as it came, the shock wave was gone, leaving a strange, eerie silence.  Trevian blinked the dust out of his eyes as he took his hands of his ears.  As he got up he had to cough the mortar dust from his lungs as well as brush it from his clothes.  He took a deep breath and let his dragon senses flood his consciousness with information; his sense of scent becoming a far more detailed and vital source of information about the world around him.  He not only smelled the dirt and dust that had just been sent into the air, but he also smelled charred stone, freshly vaporized water, burnt grass and unfortunately, fried human flesh and bone.  Apparently not everyone had heard him or heeded his warning.  There was also a hot, muggy taste to the air as well, curtsey of the melted snow and grit.  Dirt and scorch marks covered the side of the wall that had taken the brunt of what Trevian was now sure had been a massive explosion.  It had to have been, especially with all the sulfur and black powder that the air now brought to Trevian’s nose.
  
     The harsh, bitterly cold winds that normally dominated the Ardivike wasteland had been stilled by the gale force caused by the explosion and had just come back meekly.  It was as if the wind itself had been wounded by this blast.
There was a plume of black smoke on the horizon as Trevian gazed out across the flats.  He noticed that the snow was melted all the way down to the now dry ground within 100 feet of the column of smoke.  The snow that was left was blown in a rippled, wave like pattern that reminded Trevian of the sand dunes of the Sunahi desert south of his homeland.  Trevian did not like the feeling he got from this situation.  The hair on the back of his neck was on end, something that his father had taught him never to disregard, and it wasn’t the explosion that had caused it.  True, it had shaken him up a little, but it felt like his body was trying to warn him of something more, that he needed to be ready to fight or run.

     Trevian tried to shake the feeling as he pulled out a collapsible telescope and extended it, pointing it toward the cloud of smoke.  Trevian could only estimate the depth of the smoke, and he saw no signs of life, nor any cause for the explosion.  After a short time Trevian thought he saw movement within the smoke.  
He was unsure if his eyes were simply playing tricks on him so he closed them and focused his hearing, hearing far beyond that of a human.  He blocked out the wind, the braying of the frightening animals and hustle of the soldier of the now alive fortress.  He began to hear a faint, rhythmic thump.  As he focused harder, he began to hear a clanking as well.  The clanking was an all too familiar sound to Trevian, it was the sound of shifting and meshing armor as a mass of soldiers marched.  The soldiers’ heavy breathing snapped Trevian out of his concentration.  Trevian opened his eyes just as the first line of legions of soldiers broke through the edge of the black smoke.
  
     These creatures were covered in jagged black armor that shone with a magical, evil sheen.  They marched in relentless tandem like so many wheels and cogs in a clock; they seemed to work more like one being than thousands of separate entities.  Behind the waves and waves of soldiers came large cumbersome machines.  They were behemoth golems; giant things with interworking parts like any living thing, yet made of metal and stone instead of flesh and bone.
  
     “War machines!” Trevian called out before he raised his arm and cried out, “TO ARMS!”

     As Trevian rushed along the walls, shouting orders to his troops as they rushed to their positions all he could think of was one of the last stories of the Old Kingdom that his father had told him.
  
     “A long time ago, there was a Great War.  In fact it was the greatest, most all-encompassing war of all time in all of New-Gaea’s written and unwritten history.  An invasion of a legion of fearless beings that came from nothing, their entry into this world scarred the very planet itself, their presence wounded nature and in turn Gaea herself abhorred them.  They were merciless, tireless and without remorse.  They were finally forced back by the armies of the planet and the warriors patroned by Gaea herself.  The victory had a cost though; half of the world’s people did not survive the war.  No force that strong has ever been seen again, but beware my son, one day they will return.  They were too bloodthirsty and persistent not to.  It will up to the generation at hand to drive them away again.  Pray that we will always be strong enough to do so.”

    Now they were here, in this godforsaken wasteland of all places.

     Of course from a military stand point Trevian had to admit it made sense strategically to appear here.  If they attacked the center of empire first and succeeded, they would undoubtedly take heavy casualties and alert the entire empire to their presence.  Starting here they had the advantages of surprise, technology, numbers, and man to man strength.  They could move in quickly, wipe the outpost out and proceed on without a single soul to tell of the coming threat.  Trevian was not about to resign to that however; the outpost may well be felled, but he would hinder this force long enough to stall them and make sure that word got to the empire.


* * * * *

     Within 20 minutes a rider was readied.  The approaching army had kept a steady pace and was just outside longbow range as the rider and his roc took flight.  Moments after the bird-like creature was in the air it and its rider were torn to shreds by a drake-like machine, which was then promptly harpooned out of the sky by one of the three ballistas.  It plummeted to the ground where it lay twitching for a few moments before it became still.

“So much for that idea,” Trevian muttered to himself, shaking his head as he turned to three majors, the top ranking military leaders stationed at the outpost next to Trevian.  Trevian stood out among the rest of the military men in more than a few ways.  First of all, he looked as if he were but a young man of 20 or 21 years, where most of enlisted officers in the military were not under 30.  Of course Trevian was older than an other person at the outpost, but looks always matter quite a bit, especially amongst a bunch of men and women that made judgements upon physical appearance.

Trevian’s dress was also quite different from the others.  He wore only minimal armor at first glance, shielded only by light, thin plates like that of most archers or roc riders.  His armor however, hid as much as its wearer’s appearance did.  It was made of a mixture of mithril and dragon scales, making the inch or so of metal between his body and the end of another’s blade worth much more than three suits of full plate.  Only the highest-ranking officers and lords wore the same set of plate and mail.  Trevian’s armor glistened of pale silver with accents of polished opal.  The armor shimmered even now in the dimming light of dusk.

Trevian’s complexion was not similar to any living at the outpost.  His skin was the slight rust color of a deep tan.  His dark skin only served to further accent his cream colored, shaggy, ruffled hair.  There were multiple piercings in his ears, with archaic pendants hanging from many, and a small chain ran from the top piercing to the bottom piercing on his left ear.  Lastly, his storm-blue eyes flashed with cunning and leadership, daring someone to question him.

“Is this going to be it then?” One of the officers asked as he gave a last look over the map that had been laid over a large oak table.
Another major spoke, “They have already moved up this far in such little time.  Even if we were to move into a full retreat, they would catch up to us in a matter of hours; attempting to brave the pass through the mountains would be suicide.  By the time they caught us there would be no way to mount a defense; they would simply rip through our flank and make their way to the head of the group.  Only those on the fastest mounts would escape, and that is assuming the enemy does not have cavalry hiding within their ranks.”  The major pointed to a narrow, winding trail that lead directly towards the empire, winding along a mountain as it went south.

“Then the only option we have is the one we have not spoken of,” said the last major, breaking the silence.  “We fight to an honorable death and take as many of them with us as we can.”
At this the men around the table shifted their weight in another awkward silence as they tightened their grips on their respective weapons.  It was Trevian who broke the silence as he motioned to the two remaining trebuchets that had survived the blast.  “We can have our remaining trebuchets fire right after the first volley of arrows and with each one after that, until that last short bow volley.  Right before our cavalry slams into their front line.  Hopefully we can cause their formation to break enough to allow our infantry to flood their center and break their phalanx’s form.  If that works it may cause enough confusion to even the playing field somewhat so these monsters don’t come out of this unscathed.”

“What of you my lord?” asked a soldier tentatively from near the table of officers.  “Could you not slip away in the battle? I know our roc riders can barely match those drake machines, but surely you can escape.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” Trevian said with a smile to the young man in armor.  “I am not as stable as people are told when my dragon blood gets the better of me.  Maybe that’s what it is right now that keeps me from trying to escape, the need to face my enemy.  Although I would like to think it is my duty as your officer that keeps me here.  Besides, as the commanding officer of this outpost, I cannot, on my honor, leave you to your fate, for your fate is the same as mine.”

The planning was brought to a end by a shout from the leading wall, “Front lines within firing range!” came the call that Trevian both feared and waited for.
“To your men,” Trevian said as he brought his fist to his breastplate with a clack, something that the three majors mimicked as they turned and made their way to their respective groups of soldiers.  Trevian ran to the wall, took the stone steps in four strides, and ran along the wall, calling out for all the archers to ready their longbows, both those on the wall as well as those lined up on the ground behind the wall.

Trevian stopped next to one of the ballistas and grabbed his own bow, much larger and heavier than the others, made to require more strength to fire.
“Notch!” Trevian said loudly as he and the soldiers around him all drew their arrows from their quivers and fitted them against their bows in one fluid motion.
“Draw!” Trevian said as he drew his own bow, watching the advancing horde.  Trevian began measuring the distance in his mind.  Close… just a bit more Trevian though to himself, NOW!
At the same moment he let out a shout of, “LET FLY!” The command sounded like it was backed by the roar of a dragon and echoed by the sound of many tensed bows releasing in unison.  The cloud of arrows fired from those on the ground below passed just inches from those on the wall, making a whistling song to Trevian’s ears; a song death to these invaders.

“Notch!” Trevian cried again as he let his bow fall to the ground and the payloads slung from the trebuchets sailed to crush the oncoming infantry in their paths.  Trevian reached for his belt and grabbed the telescope, flicked it into its fully extended position and brought it to his eye, looking to see what effect the rain of wood, steel and stone would have as the second volley of arrows flew past his head.

     He was not kept waiting for long as the arrows came down on the black soldiers in a flurry.  Nearly all the arrows hit some mark thanks to how tightly these things marched.  Yet Trevian did not have time to savor the victory as most of the enemies struck by arrows did not even stagger.  Only those struck in the head by the most skilled marksmen had fallen dead, forgotten in an instant by their cutthroat brethren.  The attack had done nothing to slow the advance; in fact, their pace had quickened towards the walls of Nals’ Trite.

* * * * *

They were out of arrows, they were out of boulders for the trebuchets to hurl, and the ballistas had downed many more drake engines and war machines than he had hoped for.  The mood was tense and as the massive army continued toward the wall it seemed that it was not only unabated, but more eager than before.  It was as if the blood of their own made them even more determined to spill every last drop of the same from the defenders of Nals’ Trite; no matter the cost.

The enemy army was close enough that Trevian had given the order for the cavalry to be made ready.  As it was done Trevian gripped the handles of his swords.  He wore three in total.  
The first sword was a gift from his mother and his favorite.  A short scimitar-like sword forged from the teeth, horns, claws and bones of dragons.  It was a masterwork of the ancient dragons, capable of cleaving a horse or a stone block with little difficulty.
    Trevian’s second weapon was a krisa-katana, a samurai’s short sword, as long as his bone scimitar and its blade just as keen.  It was a gift from O-Ren Ikiba during their first meeting.  Ikiba had said it was a family heirloom, not given lightly.
The last of Trevian’s arsenal was slung across his back.  What looked like a short sword with a large handle and double guard. Trevian’s father was the source of the strong enchantment on the sword.  The blade itself was of incredible quality, even before the magic made it never dull and sharper than almost any blade Trevian had crossed.  Another unique thing about the sword was that although while sheathed, the blade was only a foot in length it was not as it appeared.  With a thought, the wielder could cause the blade to extend to its full length, to the size of an enormous claymore sized sword.

     Once Trevian and his men were mounted he moved to the front gate and stopped in front of the soldiers that would be fighting this; their last fight.  Trevian spoke to them in draconic:
“You, my loyal friends, honor me with your courage.  May you live to see this war’s end, knowing that you have earned an eternal place at my table.”
“But if you should perish in battle know you have earned your place in heaven; by fighting back hell on earth!”

     The speech gave rise to a great cheer from all his men.  Even those who did know the tongue of dragons knew the speech itself.  It was the pact that both dragons and human swore to in the only war the two races had ever fought together in.  Trevian now realized just what they must have faced.
Now the first battle of the new war against this horde would be started with the same words that ended the last.