The King of the North

The sun beat down on his face as he felt the wind whipping through his long, black hair. The rhythmic beating of his horse’s hoofs on the hard ground matched with the pace of his heart as he sped through the countryside, his mind uncharacteristically on distant matters. Tears which pooled in his eyes were quickly dried by the gale, and his scarred hands gripped his steed’s reins with their full strength, turning his knuckles white. He knew the quest he had just undertaken had but one result, and he knew too that there was no other choice for him. 

For 37 years, Valagar, son of Vilbrandir had guarded the wild lands of the north from evil as a Ranger. His father’s father, Vultbar, had been the last king of men in the northern kingdom of Eltuniad, and Valagar remembered the high, grey stone walls of Fimvetir, the capital of that great kingdom before it was rent asunder by legions of wicked men and twisted orcs, spawn of the Dark Lord Illr who had besieged the city for nearly a decade before it fell. He remembered his grandfather, who had remained stout even at their troop’s nadir, with fear in his eyes as the enemy battered on the doors of the keep, his own men mostly dead or wounded. Valagar was holding his father’s hands as Vultbar instructed them to take the king’s pass into the high mountains with what was left of his family and his men. The doors would hold long enough for Vilbrandir to lead their company out into the wild, where they may start a new life. Vilbrandir refused, knowing he was the fiercest warrior in his father’s army, yet as the ground began to shake with the frenzy of his enemy’s bloodlust, he accepted, taking Valagar and just 150 men, women, and children out through the mountain pass. A few years later, they came to be known as the Rangers of the north.

And yet the Dark Lord would not leave their family be, knowing that even in defeat they would be dangerous, if they should be allowed to reach the southern kingdom of Ardoniad and warn them of Illr’s rising power. And so he set a stealthy watch on the southern passes. Why Ardoniad hadn’t sent men north already, after so many decades of silence from their allies, Valagar didn’t know. All he knew was his purpose. 

The Rangers had been gathering strength in the north for some time, and while the land was mostly ruined by Illr’s corrupted will and horrific designs, as he razed cities to the ground and replaced woodlands with festering, plague ridden swamps, there were still some villages where his evil had not penetrated, due to the actions of Valagar and his father. Their numbers had nearly tripled since they had escaped the doom of Fimvetir, and now they presented a serious threat to the dominion of Illr, as they destroyed his supply caravans, assaulted his troops on the road, and defended they few remote villages left to stand against the Dark Lord. 

As his horse turned swiftly at his command, Valagar cursed himself that he should have thought those victories would last. Two years ago, Illr had sent forth legions of orcs from his eastern fortress of Vondur Reykur to destroy the small havens the Rangers had built for themselves, and while the Rangers were powerful, they quickly retreated and watched their lands burn under the wrath of Illr. Though Valagar was too small to remember the full War of the north, or Nordurstrid, Vilbrandir remembered it well, and grew bitter at the south, wondering where their kin were at this time of need. So he formed a plan - to gather every Ranger they had in the wild and make for the pass of Cirdon, the widest and least fortified pass to the south. They would be outnumbered, but if only a few of them could make it and raise the alarm, then all hope would not be lost. And so they gathered in the small village of Vonar, hidden away at the feet of the great northern mountains. Three hundred Rangers were armed and ready to ride south. The women, who had foreseen this doom, took up arms as well, and made their horses ready. They would ride with a spear in one hand and their children in the other, if need be. As that nearly doubled their numbers, Valagar felt hopeful for his family. 

And yet on the eve of their escape, Illr learned of the location of Vonar from a stray Ranger who he’d captured and tortured for a fortnight, and he brought his hammer down upon the village in the first hours of morning. Many were quickly slain as the village was roused for combat by the screams of their kin, and even as they fought bravely, Illr had brought a force of thousands to crush his enemy. Vonar was lost, and as the first glimmers of the sun rose in the east, Vilbrandir told Valagar to escape with their family - Valagar’s wife and two sons, along with a small company of their cousins, nieces, and nephews. With no time to hesitate as Illr’s forces closed in around Vonar, Valagar heeded his father’s words and rode out into the night with twelve companions. Three were slain by archers, two more were wounded, and yet they escaped and rode south will all haste. 

However, as the sun began to rise fully over the horizon, Valagar heard a sound which turned his blood cold. A terrible scream pierced the still morning air and petrified the small company as they stopped and turned to see smoke rising from Vonar. Somehow, in his heart Valagar knew the scream belonged to his father, and the horrible sound was seared into his memory. He looked back at his company. His wife, along with two other women, were fine, clinging onto their children with pale faces. They had left with ten Rangers, and now only five were fit for battle, as two had their wounds tended to. His wife gripped her sword tightly, and he looked at her resolute eyes and found strength. A fire was lit in his heart, and the scream of his father no longer froze him, but threw him into terrible wrath. 

“Milhain, my dear,” he said to his wife, “I must now see to something that I should have done many years ago.”

She could see the painful fury in his eyes, and knew it would be folly to try and stop him. “What must I do?” she asked. 

“You must lead our sons and our kin southward. Take not the pass of Cirdon - take the Gap of Ardon, near the forest. That pass is narrower, yet I feel that the Dark Lord’s forces will be less vigilant there, and once you make it through, the forest will provide you with enough cover for the night. Tomorrow you should be able to reach Ardoniad and raise the alarm.”

“I will see it done.”

“And if the southern kingdom too is lost, as I fear it may be, then do not despair, but look to the sea. Sail west and bring our kin to an island of peace, where they may live out their days without sorrow.”

“My lord,” said Gristold, a Ranger who was Valagar’s cousin, “Where will you go?”

“I ride for Vondur Reykur, to duel with Illr. Too long has he haunted our family with his pestilence… too long has he slaughtered our men. My grandfather stood against him his entire life, as did my father. To avenge them, and all of our fallen brothers and sisters… that is where I go now.”

“Mr lord, you’ll be slain before you come within five leagues of Vondur Reykur!”

“If I am slain from afar,” replied Valagar, gripping his reins, “Then Illr is as much a craven as I thought. I will make it known that I come to duel him, and him alone. If he does not accept, his own forces will realize their leader is a coward.”

“Then let us come with you,” said another Ranger.

“No!” said Valagar harshly, “You must stay with the company and see them through to Ardoniad, whatever the cost. Your journey may be long ahead of you, so go now! Ride south, and ride to our salvation!”

Milhain looked at her husband with loving eyes, and knew there was no time to waste. She touched his cheek tenderly and then rode off with great speed, causing the rest of the company to depart quickly. Valagar turned his eyes northeast, where Vondur Reykur, and Illr, awaited him. 

And so he rode on, recalling his life’s journey with bitterness and with anger. A few orcs he met along the way and slew easily. In the growing light of day, his dirty Ranger’s garb was shed, revealing bright silver armor underneath. When the first orcs had come to Vonar, he had been putting on his armor, which had once belonged to Vultbar and was forged in Fimvetir itself. Valagar’s horse rode with incredible speed, and soon his armor began to glow as he raced to the broiling smoke rising in the east. His enemies, orcs and men alike, fell before him and cowered, thinking him a God of old rather than a ranger. Finally, he reached the gates of Vondur Reykur and was met with Gurdash, a general of Illr, who he slew easily and with terrible fury. 

He pounded upon the gates and cried, “I am Valagar, son of Vilbrandir, Lord of Eltuniad, and I come now to duel you, Illr of the Dark Citadel! Answer me in combat! Or are you the craven your men think you are? Come now, coward! Let justice be done this morning!”

Valagar waited at the gates and continued pounding until at last they opened, and Illr himself stepped out. He was nearly a God, almost twice the height of Valagar, who himself stood a head above any other man. The Dark Lord wore his black armor, which came up in spikes on his gauntlets and shoulderguards and was inscribed with the black magic of his own design. In his hands was a large hammer, which was forged by the Dark Lord himself. Upon his head he wore a black, thorned crown and no faceguard. His twisted smile cracked his lips and black blood poured from them. Illr’s eyes were fire, reflecting his will, and yet in that moment they were matched in strength by Valagar’s eyes as he drew his sword and readied his shield. 

“So this is what’s left of the line of Vanhelm? This is the descendant of Vultbar?” The Dark Lord let out a harsh laugh. “How far has your house fallen?”

“Is this how you would fight me? With words rather than weapons? If your hammer has as much sting as your taunts, then I will leave this accursed land with your head!” Valagar gripped his sword with sure hands, and smiled as Illr grimaced. 

“If it is death you wish for, then I will be glad to oblige.” With that the Dark Lord swung his great hammer and nearly hit Valagar on the head, though the Ranger dodged it. Thus the fight began, and the Earth shook with the falls of Illr’s hammer, and each swing of Valagar’s blade was a streak of brilliant silver. Long did they parry one another’s attacks, with Illr’s size ultimately being to his disadvantage, and Valagar wounding the Dark Lord seven times, and though Illr at first did not cry out to the cuts into his armor, the seventh wound was delivered under his raised arm, and he wailed as none of his forces had heard him cry before. 

But despite these victories, and despite how much Valagar resembled a God with his shining silver armor and furious dueling, he was a mortal, and his opponent was not. After many hours of dodging, parrying, and occasionally striking, Valagar was struck by Illr’s hammer, and he flew back from the force of the impact. Though his body was broken, he remembered the cry of his father at Vonar and stood up again. He found his sword and charged at the Dark Lord, whose hammer was misguided. Valagar drove his blade through Illr’s knee, and it was then that the Dark Lord truly screamed in pain, causing his own orcs to shiver. He was driven to his knees and yet Valagar felt his strength leaving him as blood ran down his face and out of his mouth. Illr took this opportunity to remove the sword from his knee and break it in his hands. He grabbed Valagar and threw him to the ground, putting a foot on Valagar’s crumpled chestplate even as his other foot shook from the pain of his wound. 

“Behold, the last king of Eltuniad, defeated by my hands!” And though his voice was strong, he himself felt fear for the first time. Valagar’s eyes darkened, though they did not shut then, and there was still a spark in them. Illr put down his hammer and drew his knife, ready to behead the last king of men in the north, to his knowledge. But then there came an arrow out of the west, which pierced Illr in the hand and forced him to stumble back from the ailing Valagar. A horse’s hooves rang out against the stone and a Ranger from the north quickly grabbed Valagar as two more sent arrows at the gates of Vondur Reykur. They recovered their fallen king and rode away swiftly. Illr, who no longer had the strength to pursue them, slunk back into his fortress to tend to his wounds, knowing now with terrifying certainty that though he was immortal, he was not invulnerable. His orcs rejoiced in his victory, and yet he himself felt shame. 

Valagar awoke to a night enveloped by darkness, with no stars to be seen in the sky. “Where… where am I?” He mumbled softly, unable to feel the majority of his body.

“My Lord, we are near the ruins of Elenheim. We managed to get you out-”

Suddenly, there was wild fear in Valagar’s eyes. “Did you abandon my wife?” 

“No My Lord,” Answered another Ranger, “We met with your company as they journeyed south. Near the Old Grey Marsh. They told us what had happened to Vonar - we didn’t gather there because…”

“Because we were afraid,” continued the first Ranger. “We are… sorry, my Lord.”

A third Ranger picked up the threads. “We at last felt ashamed at abandoning our kin, and we were on our way north when we met with your wife. When she and her company - your company, told us of what you had done, we knew there was no better way to repay our disloyalty than with helping you in your mission.”

“Though I fear,” said the second Ranger gravely, “That we were too late.”

“Listen to me,” said Valagar hoarsely, “This is my last command to you. Illr is wounded. His forces will remain in Vondur Reykur for some time. In that time, ride north and find every Ranger you can. Then, ride south and meet with my company in Ardoniad. If the southern cities are sacked… take ships and sail west. I do not believe that the gods have abandoned us to this torment, so all you need do is wait out your lives in peace. You have… served me well, if you can do this.” Valagar coughed deeply and felt blood at his lips again.

“We will see it done, my Lord,” said the first Ranger, and the other two concurred. 

“My sword…” 

“It was broken, my Lord… your shield is here.” The Rangers handed their king the silver shield of Eltuniad, one of the last pure relics of that kingdom. 

“Don’t leave me here for orcs to plunder my body,” said Valagar slowly, gripping his shield with two hands. “Bury me… when the first light of dawn peaks above the eastern horizon.”

“Yes, sir.”

Valagar felt his body’s strength leave him at last, and he closed his eyes, his body enveloped by darkness. After a few stuttering breaths, the tale of this great Lord of men, was ended in the inky finality of the black night, not in defeat, but rather in hope. The Rangers had seen Illr nearly defeated by the hands of their king, and thus they knew their enemy was not invincible. If the strength of one man could best Illr, then there was hope for the kingdoms of men yet. This hope they would carry with them into the south, and the tale of Valagar the Brave would never be forgotten.