Chapter 3: Land of stone.
Seven months before Lucina's arrival
Minerva spurred left, dodging a hail of arrows that had come her way. Gerome directed Minerva upwards as he surveyed the battle that raged beneath him. Thousands fought in a ruined city, the buildings were a dull grey and decayed, but Gerome could tell that it was once a pearl of white and silver. The city was split by a great river, and upon a bridge had the two forces clashed. The bridge was large, made from the same white stones as the other buildings, and upon it were built many stone buildings and dwellings, which were now in ruins. A section of the bridge appeared to be destroyed and was instead replaced by wooden planks and scaffolding.
A small army of men in shining plate and mail armour, Gerome guessed at least five hundred, defended the bridge against a literal sea of soldiers dressed in black leathers and cloth. A number as high as tens of thousands he estimated. Why these men fought over this ruin, he could not say. Though on the surface it seemed to Gerome that this was just another of a series of pointless battles from a war spurred by greed of corrupt lords. But something told him that this battle wasn't as pointless as it seemed.
Indeed the lands that surrounded him were foreign to his eyes, he'd never known a great ruined city made from white stones, nor the river that it stretched across. But that wasn't all that was unusual. Beyond the borders of the eastern side of the city, past the black clad soldiers, was a green, but decaying, country and in the far distance were tall blackened mountains that encased dark clouds. An active volcano bellowed fire and ash into the air. An uneasiness crept into his heart from the very sight of it.
On the other side, a bright green country stretched for miles, dotted with flourishing crops and farmsteads, and in the distance, great white mountains that shone bright even while the sun was blocked by clouds. A fortress of immense scale stood at the edge of his vision, that seemed to be carved out of the white mountains itself.
Their banners were even more strange. The men in plate armour flew black and white banners with white trimmings, in the center was a white tree and seven stars lined above. Gerome could think of no nation with this sigil, neither in Valm nor elsewhere. The other force bore a flag with a sinister red eye upon a field of black. Even Gerome, with his ignorance, could infer that this flag represented a nation that believed only in the oppression and subjugation of all free men.
If there was such an implication of good and evil, this was it. The men clad in black that came from the dark lands were clearly the aggressors, and Gerome's sense of justice and honour beckoned him to intervene.
Lucina had warned them of the dangers of meddling too much with the past, but he cared not. It was their mission to save the past from Grima, and what better way to save it than ensuring people can flourish and prosper. For Gerome had no doubt that these black-clad men would ruin and destroy just as they had to their domain.
The battle seemed to be escalating. The smaller force of soldiers had now destroyed the wooden section of the bridge, which served as the only passage into the western side of the city. But there appeared to be a group of men that had stayed behind to give others time to retreat. Gerome stay above, as arrows from both sides had kept him from coming any closer. They all fought valiantly, creating shield walls with their great tower shields to hold their enemies at bay, but that didn't last for long. One by one the knights in silver armour were cut down until but a small company remained, at least fifty or so, and they too were being overwhelmed. Gerome knew what he had to do. He drove Minerva downwards towards the bridge. He tensed as he felt arrows whizz past him as well as bounce off the hard scales of his mount. But he was not deterred.
Gerome landed on a section of the bridge behind the group and dismounted, carrying his axe with him. Minerva then flew off the bridge to circle the area and avoid arrows. It was not possible for him to effectively fight from his wyverns back as the tall towers and narrow streets coupled with hails of arrows prevented him from doing so. Fighting on the ground seemed to be the best option. It was not often he fought on foot, but his skill with his axe was deadly even without his mount.
Gerome approached the group of knights, some had now turned their attention to him. Gerome could see on their faces was clear wariness. He understood completely. He had seemingly come from nowhere and his armour certainly fit the dress code of the enemy. The soldiers raised their shields towards him and readied their spears.
"I'm not your enemy, I've come to help" he said to them. Gerome then rushed past their bewildered faces towards the men in black, charging in with his mighty axe.
But then he stopped right in his tracks just before the hordes of men, only to see that these weren't men at all. These grotesque looking creatures in the shape of man snarled at hissed at him, barring sharp fangs and pointed ears. They were short, all of them. Some had an ashy green skin colour, others were larger, but still dwarfed by Gerome, and had a greyish colour to them. Gerome scrunched up his nose as he smelled a terrible stench emanating from these beasts.
One of these creatures rushed him, breaking Gerome out of his trance. It swung its crude sword wildly at him. Gerome parried the strike then swung his axe forward. He grimaced upon hearing the sickly crack of his blade breaking the creatures ribs. He pulled his axe free from its chest and out flowed black blood, staining the grey stones beneath it. The creature fell back writhing in pain as three more approached him, swinging their brutally made weapons just as poorly as the other. He sidestepped the first and swiped his axe along its back, the second lunged forward, thrusting its sword at Gerome's chest, but he was faster than this creature. Gerome expertly dodge the thrust and struck its neck, then in one motion cut down the third as it approached.
He fought alone, swiftly moving between the creatures, striking down foe after foe. Their blades swung wildly at the air as Gerome was too fast for them.
Finally, the creatures let up and started to flee toward the beginning of the bridge. Gerome paused and looked around, many bodies of his fallen enemies were scattered around him. Some crawled away to their comrades, whimpering from their wounds.
Though they were ugly things, Gerome still felt wrong fighting them. His only enemies in the future were Risen, they felt no pain and they did not bleed. These creatures were living and breathing, they felt fear and pain just like he did, and it irked him to see their lifeless corpses thrown about.
About fifty or so of the creatures had stayed behind as the many others fled, and they had now formed a clumsy formation at the beginning of the bridges as they approached Gerome cautiously.
He raised his axe high and bolted straight for the enemy. This seemed to have surprised them as some of them instantly retreated upon seeing Gerome charge. He crashed into the first row, sending the first few creatures staggering back as he then swung his axe around, felling many before him.
He was enough by himself to break the lines of the creatures and they fled from Gerome's axe and they scurried away into buildings and around side streets. The street before the bridge was now clear of any enemy.
But Gerome could hear the rattling of armour and the stamping of many feet coming closer to him. Round the corners of side streets and out from buildings came hundreds more creatures, they bore the same sharp teeth and pointed ears as the others before, but these were much larger, almost reaching his height, with skin as black as coal. He readied his axe, though there was an uneasiness settling in the back of his mind and he started to become anxious.
Gerome then heard marching coming from behind him. He turned and saw the knights had reformed and moved to the beginning of the bridge. There they formed a tight shield wall, two men deep. A few archers from behind their lines drew back their bows. Gerome tensed as he heard the whooshing sound of arrows flying passed his head and into the enemy.
A knight then called out to him,"You there! Mor-rohir! Quickly, get behind us!" Gerome nodded and hurried to the knights as they opened their ranks to let him in. As he came to the back of their lines he was met by one of them. He was tall, broad and strong. Gerome could see light brown hair peeking out from underneath his pointed helmet, which seemed to be more ornate than the other knights. Ot had an intricate winged design with another winged shape piece judging out from its center, above the eyes. His other armour consisted of similar intricacies. Gerome surmised that this Knight was their captain.
"You fight with the ferocity of ten men, Mor-rohir." he said, "Though your manner of arrival is questionable, how can I trust you are an ally?"
"Brother, I doubt an enemy would assail the Orcs like he did," came another's voice. He was tall as well, though a bit thinner than the broad Knight. He was dressed in simple leathers with a white tree and seven stars embroidered on the front. He carried a longbow in one hand with a sword in the other.
"I saw your forces clashing with these...Orcs, and I decided to intervene."
The Captain nodded while keeping a wary eye on Gerome. "Very well, your intervention was much needed. We would have been overrun if you did not drive them back."
"My captain, the Orcs approach!" another Knight said suddenly, and their attention was now turned back toward their advancing foe.
The Captain put a heavy hand on Geromes shoulder. "Fight beside us, Mor-rohir, I've ordered my men from the western shore to bring boats and ferry us across. Help us hold them back until they arrive," he said
Gerome simply nodded in response and took his place behind the knights. He steadied himself, his grip around his axe tightened. Though the feeling of uneasiness was still gnawing at the back of his mind and was starting to grow into a small feeling of fear.
The hordes slammed against the shields of the knights. The Orcs' crude swords glanced off their shields and armour, barely making a scratch. The Orcs tried to force their way through their wall by brute force, but the knights were steadfast against the tide. More and more orcs piled into each other now, and a few started to climb each other and over the shield wall. Gerome swing his axe at them, striking the Orcs as they pulled themselves over the knights.
'This won't last' Gerome thought to himself. Even if the men had the better arms and armour there was just far too many. More and more orcs had arrived with every one killed five more took its place.
There was a commotion to his left and Gerome turned to see the shield wall had broken, and the creatures swarmed each man. With one side broken the rest soon followed. The men in front of him had now pulled back as they were overrun. Gerome however would not retreat just yet. He stood his ground, felling any Orc that got in the way of his axe. Though he noticed he was not alone in this effort. The Captain and his brother were fighting fiercely at his side.
For a moment they fought together. The orcs seemed to fear them as many would flee as the three approached, desperate to get away from Gerome's mighty axe.
Fewer and fewer orcs now came at them, and Gerome could see the knights had routed the enemy that broke their lines. The Captain then held his sword up high "Reform the shield wall!" He cried.
The knights now formed up along the mouth of the bridge once more. Their great tower shields held tightly together and spears pointed forward, though the orcs did not come. Instead they seemed to be slowly retreating. Gerome started to become more anxious now, and a steady feeling of fear now rose within him.
He slowed his breathing as he tried to calm himself, right now he had to focus or else he would lose his life here. But he just couldn't shake this feeling of fear.
Was it the fear of death? He doubted it, Gerome had been faced with death countless times, and he had long ago cast away his fear for it. There had to be something he wasn't seeing, something his instincts were telling him that Gerome just couldn't figure out.
Minerva suddenly roared above them, but Gerome could very much tell it wasn't a mighty roar but instead one of distress. She landed on the other side of the bridge and cowered under her wings.
"Minerva!" he called out to her, but she wouldn't even look his way. Gerome's brows furrowed, his wyvern has never once ignored his calls before. Since he was young, they had always shared a special bond. In any situation he could call upon his wyvern and she would respond to any of his commands. Gerome was truly baffled. This was extremely out of character for her. Surely these Orcs did not frighten her as not even the giant form of Grima could.
But then he felt it, a great dread washed over him, like the coming of a chilling winter breeze. He now noticed the battle had gone quiet. He looked back towards the knights and saw the creatures had now pulled away. But the men did not cheer. Gerome could see the fear ridden on their faces. He looked towards the horde and his breath hitched in his throat.
Trotting between the ranks of the orcs were nine riders cloaked in black, riding black horses. Their hoods were so dark that he couldn't make out any face underneath, though as they got closer Gerome could now see that there were no faces. Only a black abyss.
This was the source of his fear, he knew it. They seemed to just emanate a dark power and terror that Gerome had never felt before.
They stopped before them. A rider in the centre, who appeared to sit straighter and taller than the others, drew his wicked blade and held it high in the air. Gerome held his axe tightly in his hands but he hand no courage to even raise it.
"Men! Into the river!" The Captain cried, and all the soldiers fled, running off the bridge and toward the stone docks beside it. Gerome stayed still however, as he was overcome by a primal fear.
"Mor-rohir!" he heard someone call. A strong hand then pulled him back. It was the captain,
"The boats are close, but we don't have time to wait for them. Come!" he said.
Gerome didn't even bother responding and he retreated with the Captain. He looked back for a moment and saw the orcs were now rushing after them once more. Arrows were now being shot at them, glancing off their armour.
They all came to the shallow banks of the river. Gerome could see a few row boats approaching, though still some ways off.
The Captain was the first to run into the river, proceeded by his brother. The rest of the soldiers followed, casting away their weapons and pulling off any armour they could. Gerome took one last look behind, seeing the mass of beasts running to them. And behind, the looming demonic shapes on their black horses.
He entered the river, running into the shallow banks that grew deeper with each step he took until the slope dropped off and the water was now at his neck. Gerome paddled hard with his arms to keep himself afloat in his heavy armour. There were many men about him struggling to stay afloat. Gerome stubbornly held on to his axe. It used to belong to his late mother, he'd never even think to part with it.
The row boats seemed to move as slow as snails as Gerome struggled against his weight. The pattering sound of arrows piercing the water was all about them as the Orcs fired their bows. A man cried out in pain as he was struck in his neck from an arrow. Gerome could only watch helplessly as the man sunk to the depths.
"Minerva!" Gerome hollered again, but his cries would not be heeded from his wyvern. The terror of those riders in black was too much, even for her.
Gerome swam toward the boats, but his arms felt like cinder blocks, and each time he drew himself up he was pulled a little more under the water. It was as if a hand was tugging at his legs from the bottom of the river, pulling him deeper.
Finally, Gerome could take no more. His arms would not move, and he sunk to the darkness of the great river.
Suddenly a figure tore through the water and grasped at Gerome. It latched on to his cape and violently pulled him upwards. Gerome tore through the surface of the water as he was heaved onto a rowboat. He sat there for a moment, coughing up water. After regaining his composure, he took a moment to look around him and saw a few soaked knights breathing heavily. There were other boats too, carrying the rest of the soldiers to the western shore. He also noticed the Captain as well as his brother was with him in the boat. The Captain's brother had his hands on Gerome's cape. It seemed that it was him that saved Gerome from drowning.
He looked at him and nodded slightly, "Many thanks, you have saved me from my end." Gerome said to him.
The captain's brother gave a small smile, "It was you who charged the enemy alone a moment ago to assist us, it was only right to return the favour."
Gerome grunted as he turned to look back at the eastern shores. The Orcs stood on the banks sneering and shouting in some foreign and demonic speech.
Gerome watched them with hard eyes and their shapes grew smaller as the boats approached the western shore. Many questions came to him then. Just what were these Orcs? And where had they come from? And lastly, what was that dark power from the riders?
"Orcs," he said suddenly, "What are they?"
"They are a race of cruel and twisted beings who exist only to destroy," spoke the Captain. "Have you never encountered them before?"
"I had never known such creatures even existed until today." Gerome said plainly. The men in the boat seemed puzzled by this as they looked at him with confused faces.
"How can that be? There is not any land in this world that hasn't been tainted by their presence." The captain asked.
'That's interesting' Gerome thought. 'Orcs have been everywhere, so why do I not know about them?' He sighed, it was something he'd have to research later.
"What about those black riders? What manner of man are they and why did I fear them?"
The men in the boat were deathly silent, staring downwards with hard eyes and faces showing a great pain.
The Captain exhaled suddenly, as if he was holding his breath, "They are an ancient and terrible enemy, I do not wish to darken this already dark day with talk of them so soon, but know that they are a fearsome foe, and that fear you felt was their chief weapon."
Gerome nodded in understanding. He was content with this explanation for now. In his heart he truly didn't want to know more about them anyway.
"I have been meaning to ask you," the Captain said again, "From where do you hail?"
"Ylisse," Gerome said.
The two brothers looked at each other for a moment. "Ylisse," repeated the Captain while he stroked his chin. "You are the second man I've heard that hails from there, though I have not seen it on any map,"
"Indeed," cut in the captain's brother, "I have asked many of the Loremasters in Minas Tirith, none have ever heard of such a place."
Gerome's eyes narrowed behind his mask, "You..don't know Ylisse? Yet you've met someone from there already?"
"We have," replied the Captain, "Months ago, while I was patrolling the Great Wall of Rammas Echor, I came across a rather...callous fellow wandering around the gates. At first I thought I had come across another wizard since he wore a strange pointed hat, but this lad was far too young. I tried questioning him but he kept on berating my men about the condition of the wall. I bore his rambling for a whole hour before I had my men seize him for questioning. He then told me he hails from Ylisse and his name was Laurent. Do you know him?"
"Yes," said Gerome, " He was among my companions that travelled...here."
"I see, in truth I would have simply sent him on his way, though he seemed to have an affinity for magic. He also told me a strange thing. He said he had never heard of the realm of Gondor before. Or of Mordor."
"Neither have I," Gerome deadpanned.
The captain's brother furrowed his brows while stroking his chin, "So, you do not know of our lands and we do not know of yours. This is strange to say the least. How is it that you even ended up here?"
"I'll tell you another time, once I see a map. Where is Laurent now, by the way?"
"In Minas Tirith. My father was also quite interested in his story, so he gave him access to the great Library in the Citadel. My brother and I shall take you to him, when we go to report to our Father."
Finally the boats halted at the banks of the western shore and all the knights shakily jumped out. They were met by many other soldiers. One of them, who now had bandages wrapped around a still bleeding wound on his arm, approached The Captain and his brother.
"Please forgive me, my Lords, for not sending the boats quicker, more men would have survived had I not tended to my wounds first."
"Do not trouble yourself for what was out of your control. And Morrohir had come to our aid." The Captain said while gesturing towards Gerome.
"Why do you call me that? That's not my name."
"Mor-rohir, it means Dark Knight in the language of the elves. I did not have your name so I did not know what to call you other than what I saw." The captain then outstretched his hand towards Gerome.
"I am sorry, I did not give you a proper introduction of myself. I am Boromir, son of Denethor, captain of Gondor and high warden of the white tower, and this is my brother Faramir, captain of the rangers of ithillien. Might I have your name?"
He clasped Boromir's hand, "Gerome, son of Virion."
Boromir gave him a warm smile, "Well Gerome son of Virion, you have mine and my men's thanks. You have proven yourself to be an ally of Gondor."
Gerome simply grunted in response. Suddenly a great roar from the broken bridge caught their attention. It was Minerva, Gerome could tell she was still in distress, he then rushed off towards the bridge to see her, followed by Boromir and Faramir.
When he came to the bridge he saw a few men with spears waving them at her, as well as some shooting arrows at her tough scales. Gerome felt an anger rise within him. He hurried towards the men with spears and pushed them away from Minerva. "Stop it! You're scaring her!" He said while he gently caressed his wyvern's head.
"This is your fell beast? What enemy are you?" Said one of the soldiers.
"She's not a beast!" Gerome quickly cut in.
"Nor is he an enemy," came Boromir's voice. "Stand down men, Morrohir and his...mount, are allies of Gondor."
The spear and bowmen relaxed themselves as they watched Gerome gently soothe his wyvern. He then heard small chuckling coming from the brothers. "Something funny?" Gerome asked.
"It just seems so strange for one to have a strong connection to this...flying animal" Faramir said. Gerome looked back to Minerva.
"She used to belong to my mother. She has been my trusted wyvern for many battles. Minerva is quite friendly, but she hates spears."
"Well, I will tell my men to leave Minerva be." Boromir said. Boromir then turned toward the gathering soldiers, "Come now lads, a hard day has been fought, I'd say we have earned some good rest, and a hearty meal!"
The soldiers surrounding them seemed to be pleased with this as they cheered and rushed off. Boromir then turned toward Gerome, "Are you going to join us?"
Gerome shook his head, "I'll stay here, with Minerva."
"So be it, I'll have my men bring you some food for you and your wyvern." Boromir and Faramir waved at Gerome as they then left with their soldiers. He was now left alone on the bridge.
Gerome looked around at the ruined city as he gently stroked Minerva's head. She seemed eased now and she cooed softly under his hands. It was quiet around him, except for the footsteps of passing soldiers. Though they were sparse. He spared a glance to the eastern shore and noticed there was no sign of any enemies, no orcs, and no black riders.
'Gondor, Mordor, what are these places. Where did I even end up?' He mused in his mind.
'These men don't know of Ylisse either, is this even the past of our world?' He quickly dismissed the thought. He trusted Lucina and Naga enough not to mislead him. After all, there was still much of the world he hadn't seen. But what he was certain of is that he was far from home, and far from his mission. He sighed to himself. He'd just have to wait to see what the coming days would bring.