the table. The Banthra drifted closer and a blanket of evil draped over them, filling them with despair, fright, anger, and other dark emotions that penetrated their meager shells of humanity. The Banthras presence stained their very souls.
Prince Bomballa, leader of Numenell, held his ground at the table but his eyes betrayed his resolve. Numenell was the gateway city to the Flatlands and it was home to many bandits and raiders that used the city as a staging base for raids into Finarth and the lands of Annure.
His eyes darted nervously. The feeling of despair emanating from the black knight was obviously taking its toll on the prince. The tall black nomad was wearing his traditional flashy clothes, a bright red coat over a silky white low cut shirt. His deep purple pants were made of the same fine silk and the outfit was finished off with knee high boots made from expensive soft leather. He wore a purple hat with a long feather protruding from it. At his side was a jeweled rapier and dagger.
Moredin laughed inwardly at the outfit but he knew that looks could be deceiving. Bomballa was a deadly swordsman and Moredin had seen him slay more than one person who had underestimated him based on his outward appearance.
Also at the table was Arg’on, a gigantic black tribesman from the Sithgarin who was Lord Moredin’s war leader. He was huge and heavily muscled and the only thing he wore was the traditional war skirt that was standard for his tribe. A crisscrossed leather harness held together by a square piece of steel in the center of his chest wrapped his muscular torso. His tribe’s symbol, a desert hunting hawk, was embossed on the small steel plate. A giant heavy broad sword was lashed to his back and his tribal skirt was made from supple leather covered with thin plates of steel. Lord Moredin had never seen such a powerful and fearless looking warrior in all his life and he was glad that Arg’on was on their side.
Lastly there was Chief Grazzit, leader of the goblins. Grazzit was short, about as tall as a child who had seen twelve years, but his long arms gave him a wiry look. His thick skin was gray and patches of dark hair covered his body. The beast’s face was human in appearance but the yellow eyes, narrow fangs, and pointed ears were all too goblin-like. Dark plate mail covered thick wool clothing and at his waist hung a curved short sword.
Lord Moredin had heard that the history of the goblins was somehow linked to that of the elves, that they were fallen elves that had turned evil. He glanced briefly at the goblin and decided that there could be some truth to the legends.
The Banthra stepped to the table and slowly spread his hand over the map. The black spiked gauntlet clicked ominously as he opened his long fingers.
“We will use the goblins first to expose their archers,” hissed the Banthra. The demons voice was soft and guttural and it made the men and monsters alike fidget with apprehension. “How many warriors do you have, Grazzit?”
“Five thousand, my Lord,” muttered the goblin. His voice was high pitched and he mumbled slightly due to the many teeth that filled his mouth.
“Lord Moredin, you will use the phalanx, sending your cavalry around to the west while Prince Bomballa leads a second group of cavalry from the east. Arg’on will stay in the center with Ongessett and the orcs. I will leave the hundred ogres under your command, Chief Ongessett.”
“Very good, Lord,” replied Ongessett. The orc’s expansive chest gave his voice a deep, rasping baritone sound.
“We will flank them and crush them.” The Banthra’s speech was slow and calm, but it carried the weight of power, and darkness. To Lord Moredin it felt like someone was running a claw down his spine. The others felt it too for they glanced around the room nervously.
“Lord, what will your part be in the battle?” Moredin asked boldly.
The demon slowly turned its spiked helm toward Moredin. The black knight’s voice sounded like a whisper on the wind and its eyes sucked any shred of confidence from Moredin’s body. “I will be where I am needed.”
“Will our spy do his job as expected?” asked Bomballa nervously.
“Yesssss,” whispered the demon. “Everything will be ready.”
***
The Finarthian army had marched hard for several days before they reached the Lindsor Bridge. Scouts had been sent out periodically to assess the progress