Peaks

It was nearly impossible for the legions to summit the mountains of Akmanduth, but under the relentless guidance of commander Halern, they found the will to conquer long respected giants. The mountains had served as a traditional defense for the people of Aka. They had wistfully believed their safety secured because no one was mad enough to attempt an invasion from the west. It wasn’t foolish, but unlucky, that Rollow Halern set his eyes upon Akamanduth and denied the impossible.

Thirty thousand started the journey from Kellern, but only twenty five thousand remained after the scaling of the peaks. It was an abundance Halern hadn’t needed. He could have taken Aka with five thousand and a leisurely pace. But that wasn’t what King Praz asked of him. Praz had told him to take Aka within a fortnight, or to never return to Kellern. So, Halern winked at the god of luck, and spat at destiny before carving apart a mountain range.

The smell of horse shit clung even to the infantry as they marched into the verdant valley after Akmanduth. The people of Aka were famous for their equestrian skills and often believed to start riding before walking. It was no wonder that they worshiped the old god, Celebras, the centaur who had stolen the moon. Halern thought the story was a poorly crafted myth. The moon waned and waxed under its own accord— holding its spot in the sky due to its own magic, not something borrowed from a muddled creation that can’t wear pants.