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66. For Skagos!
🕑 Added 2025-01-06 18:29:46 +0000 UTCDaeranyx POV
Lord Magnar looked every inch the man of First Men blood—tall, broad-shouldered, and rugged, with brown hair and sharp, dark eyes. Yet what caught my attention was not the man himself but the so-called "unicorn" he rode. It was a massive, goat-like beast with a thick, shaggy coat and a single long horn protruding from its forehead. To call such a creature a unicorn stretched my credulity, but the Stone lords spoke of them with such conviction that it was hard to argue.
Magnar's entourage was modest, consisting of only a handful of men. Among them, one figure stood out—a younger man riding closest to him, his resemblance to Magnar suggesting he was his son.
As Lord Magnar dismounted his horned steed, he strode toward Lord Stane, exchanging formal words before embracing Lady Stane, his sister, in greeting. The pleasantries were brief, for his gaze soon landed on me. I couldn't fault him; my silver hair and Valyrian attire made me a stark anomaly among the rough-hewn men of Skagos. His expression betrayed his confusion, but before he could voice a question to Lord Stane, a horn sounded once more.
All eyes turned toward the rider charging toward us, his goat-like mount galloping at a pace that left the poor beast near collapse. The rider dismounted in haste, urgency radiating from every movement. His grave expression confirmed what I suspected—troubling news.
"My lord!" he called out breathlessly. "Ships! They approach our shore. Two vessels, by our scouts' reckoning, carrying eighty to a hundred men!"
The weight of the words fell heavily on the gathered lords. Lord Stane's face darkened with fury, and Magnar let out a low grunt, his expression hardening.
"Prepare the men, Eldred, and swiftly!" Lord Stane barked, turning to Magnar. "I trust you will join us?"
Magnar’s response was a savage grin, the kind that promised violence.
Stane’s eyes then shifted to me, silently seeking my decision. I gave him a nod, answering without words.
"We ride out as early as we can," Stane declared. "Everyone, be ready."
Without another word, he marched toward Stonehall to ready himself. I followed suit, heading to the chambers allotted to me. If battle awaited, I would meet it properly armed and armored.
**_**
Lord Stane and Lord Magnar arrived at the dense forest overlooking the shore, flanked by a hundred of Stane’s hardened soldiers. From our vantage point, we could see the two ships anchored near the beach, their crews of raiders already beginning to disembark. I stood at the forefront, alongside Lord Stane and Lord Magnar, surrounded by men who looked prepared to fight to the death to defend their homes. With the cold growing harsher by the day and winter threatening to descend at any moment, failure was not an option.
“Are we attacking them head-on, Lord Stane?” Lord Magnar asked, his voice low but tense as he turned to his brother-in-law. I noted the worry flickering in his eyes—not for himself, but for his heir, Jorah Magnar. The boy had stubbornly insisted on joining the battle, defying his father’s orders to stay behind.
“You know as well as I do that charging them outright would cost us too many men,” Stane replied, his gaze fixed on the raiders. “We’ll lure them into the forest, where the terrain favors us. They don’t know these woods—we’ll use that to our advantage.”
Lord Magnar nodded in agreement. It was a sound plan. Losing men now, with winter so near, would make it harder to hunt and provide for the weak and elderly. But before the matter could be settled, I spoke.
“No. We face them head-on.”
Both lords turned sharply toward me. Lord Stane opened his mouth to protest, but I raised a hand, then pointed skyward. Realization dawned on his face, and his hesitation vanished.
“Ah, of course,” he said, more to himself than anyone else. Then he straightened, raising his voice to address the men. “Change of plan! We charge them head-on. But fear not—today, we march under the protection of our king!”
His words sent ripples of confusion through the men. Whispers turned to murmurs until the men who were with Lord Stane when he bent the knee, started chanting, “King Daeranyx!” One by one, the others followed, their voices swelling in unison until the chant echoed through the forest.
“What is the meaning of this, Lord Stane?” Magnar demanded his face a mix of anger and disbelief. “Who is this man, and why are you proclaiming him king? Charging head-on is madness! One pretty man in black armor won’t turn the tide of this battle!”
His son, Jorah, stepped forward to add, “My father is right. This is folly.”
I met their protests with a calm smile. “You’re absolutely correct—a single man cannot turn the tide of battle.”
Lord Magnar’s scowl deepened, but before he could retort, the sound of the men’s chanting carried through the trees, alerting the raiders to our presence. Several of them broke away from the ships, advancing toward us with weapons drawn.
Then the sky darkened.
From above, Anarion descended like a shadow of death, his massive form blotting out the sun. In one terrifying sweep, his white-hot flames engulfed both ships, setting the decks ablaze. Men screamed as the fire spread with unnatural speed, consuming wood, sails, and flesh alike. By the time Anarion rose again, only ash and blackened timbers remained.
He dove a second time, unleashing another torrent of flame to ensure nothing was left alive. The raiders on the shore—thirty or so—stared in horror at the smoldering wreckage, their weapons trembling in their hands.
One of them turned to flee, but the others stood frozen, too terrified to move. They had not come prepared to fight dragons.
And as Anarion circled overhead, his pale scales gleaming against the smoke-filled sky, it was clear they had already lost.
Lord Stane looked satisfied with the choice he had made, though I caught the faint glimmer of fear in his eyes as he gazed at the smoldering wreckage and the charred remains of the raiders near the burning ships. Lord Magnar, however, stood frozen, his expression mirroring the terror etched on the faces of the surviving raiders. Only Lord Stane seemed untouched by the trance-like state that gripped the others.
He turned to address the gathered men, his voice steady and brimming with newfound confidence—a confidence bolstered by the dragon circling above.
“Do not fear the dragon,” he declared, raising his voice so all could hear. “It is our dragon! And under its protection, we ‘Stoneborn’ will no longer cower before raiders! No more will we watch our loved ones die or waste away in hunger! No more will we be driven to the gods-damned cannibalism that has plagued our past!”
His words rang out, striking a chord with the assembled warriors. The shame of their hardships hung heavy on them, but hope—hope born from fire—flickered in their eyes.
“Now, we have a king!” Lord Stane continued, gesturing toward me. “Under King Daeranyx and his dragon Anarion, we will not only survive—we will prosper! But prosperity will not come without sacrifice. We must fight for it, bleed for it, and prove that we are worthy of this hope, worth of their trust! So I ask you now—who stands with me? Who stands for Skagos?”
The roar that followed was deafening. A hundred voices cried out as one, their morale surging to heights I had not expected. Faces that had moments ago been clouded with uncertainty were now ablaze with purpose.
Lord Stane spurred his shaggy goat forward, leading the charge. Seeing him, I urged my own mount to follow, its hooves pounding against the earth as we hurtled toward the raiders. The warriors behind us let loose a ferocious war cry—a cry not of desperation, but of defiance and hope for a better future.
The raiders, still paralyzed by the sight of the dragon and the fiery destruction of their ships, finally snapped out of their stupor. Panic overtook them as they turned to face the hundred charging men. Their fear only grew when they realized they were outnumbered—and outmatched.
And so, they did the only thing they could.
They ran.
They ran as if their lives depended on it. And, as a matter of fact, it did.
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