Chapter 421: Shadows on the Horizon
Shadows on the Horizon
The sun slanted toward the horizon, dropping lower with each rush of wind. Its golden crown dipped below, casting long shadows of orange and red across the sky. The clouds, touched in fire and copper, glowed like embers strewn in the heavens. For an instant, the country appeared painted in tranquility—warm light pouring over the hills, the air calm, the world suspended in the tender quiet of dusk.
It was lovely. Serene. The type of twilight that might remind even a warrior to forget the burden of his sword.
But not here.
On the borderland that Vellore’s armies had occupied, peace was a cruel illusion. The camp—often filled with the sizzle of fires, the rumble of men exchanging jokes, the din of armor and voices—was locked in a strained quiet. The air was heavy, not with heat, but with expectation and fear. Each soldier sat rigidly, staring at the diminishing light as if the horizon itself could betray them.
On the high crest which looked down on the camp, King Gary stood with his top generals and commanders. His cloak was blown at by the wind, its black and silver fibers glowing with the fading light of day. At his side, Edric—his chief strategist—was standing with hands clasped behind back, his keen eyes staring out into the distance. The rest, men seasoned by blood and war, shifted restlessly.
Gary’s jaw was clenched, his face thrown into shadow by the dusk. His black and blade-like eyes swept the distance to where the border lay. On the other side of that line of ground lay the Moonstone Kingdom—an adversary which had ever been haughty, but now, maybe, had fallen into his snare.
"Until the Moonstone army comes before full nightfall..." Edric’s words disrupted the silence, unruffled but sharpened with intent. "Then they have been taken in. Our ruse worked."
Gary didn’t answer immediately. His eyes remained on the bleeding horizon, the waning sheen of light. At last, he breathed out through his nostrils, low and even. "And what if they do come?"
"Tomorrow will not then be so simple," Edric conceded. His mouth curled into a thin, sardonic smile that did not quite reach his eyes. "But at least we shall meet them knowing they set out from here hurt, not whole."
A murmur of voices swelled among the men gathered there. One of the commanders, a thick-shouldered man whose cheek was scored with scars, guffawed coarsely.
My king," he told him, voice nearly jubilant, "see the sun! See the quiet! Their host is nowhere to be found. It appears that we have won without bloodshed."
A second general cracked his knee, his smile razor-sharp with relief. "Hah! Edric, your strategy has saved us rivers of blood. I should toast in your honor tonight.
Even the junior officers, generally too cautious to speak out of turn, granted themselves whispered laughter and murmurs of approval.
"Victory before one sword is drawn," one breathed.
"Maybe the gods are smiling upon us," another ventured.
Edric permitted himself a slight bow of the head as plaudits swept over him. His eyes shone with pleasure, but his stance was still tense, as if he still calculated hidden factors.
King Gary spun, and for the first time that night, a smile flashed across his face—thin and savage. "We’ve shattered their will before we even unsheathed steel. Fine. Tomorrow, we begin our invasion. This night..." His voice had the weight of iron in the breeze. "We dine."
A roar of cheer went through the men. Relief washed over their faces, as if chains had been unwound from their chests. Already they were discussing meat and wine, song and laughter, celebrating the fall of Moonstone before the first battle of war.
Gary stepped back, determined to dismiss the assembly. But one of his veteran elders, a battle-hardened old man whose eyes had seen too many fields of carnage, stiffened all of a sudden. He looked out toward the horizon, his face darkening.
".Your Majesty," the man said, voice trembling. "Pardon me, but... do you see that?
Gary halted mid-turn. Slowly, he followed the man’s stare toward the far distance where twilight bled into shadow.
The horizon lay quiet, but there—faint, almost imperceptible—something shifted. A blur. A smear against the fading light.
The king’s eyes narrowed. "What are you speaking of?"
"I—I don’t know," the general admitted, frowning as if doubting his own sight. "It’s too far... but I swear something moves."
The other officers looked at each other. Some of them scrunched up their eyes, squinting against the fading light. Others shook their heads and muttered denials.
"There’s nothing," one of them said.
"Maybe your eyes play tricks on you, old man," another one jeered.
But Gary did not jeer. His instincts,Sharper than any cutting tool, pulled him with icy conviction.
"Get me the binoculars," he commanded.
At once, a soldier sprinted ahead with a case—ornate, steel-clad, its surface scrolled with runes of clarity. The instrument was no plain glass; it was a war-tool, hammered by artificers to pierce distance and distortion both. They named it the Falcon-Eye Scope, capable of enlarging sight across miles as if heaven itself bowed its glance.
Gary accepted it, the weight settling in his hand. He raised it cautiously, the lens flashing with the remaining thread of sunlight. His generals stood by, their chatter ceasing to silence, as the king brought the scope to his eye and brought it to focus on the horizon.
It was empty at first, just the smear of twilight and shadow. He adjusted, tight breath, and then—
His eyes went wide.
The blur took on shape. Lines. Shapes. Movement.
Not vacant land. Not a trick of twilight.
But an army.
Columns and columns, sweeping up from the horizon like black waves. Armor glinting pale in the waning light, banners streaming in the wind. A wave of troops so large that the earth itself seemed to shudder beneath their advance.
Gary’s hand tightened around the scope until his knuckles paled. His jaw clenched, teeth grinding. The faint smile from before was gone—burned away, replaced with a storm in his gaze.
"...Impossible," he whispered.
The sunset bled away behind him, leaving only the deep, swelling dark.