Selena Bradford had held up better
than many in the company could expect on the following day. The woodlands they passed through were dense
and well covered with the high boughs of the maples that grew everywhere in
thick stands, but they could not entirely keep out the torrential downpour that
struck the mid-southern ranges of Tamalaria.
Her magical nature should have rendered her powerless due to the soaking
conditions, but she managed to keep both her spirits up and her magic flowing
through constant use. She kept her body
layered in an aura of superheated temperature, evaporating the raindrops a few
inches before they struck her delicate skin or tough, crimson robes.
Yet,
unbeknownst to even her closest companions, her inner thoughts haunted her at
every turn. Every step further she
marched with the army, now grown in size further from troops joining in from
nearby villages and towns, including Bael and a few score of his Lizardmen, she
felt certain she was getting closer to her own demise. It was a sensation that she had felt vaguely
during the assault on Desanadron, but the feeling had subsided when Byron and
his company joined in the effort. Now,
her fate seemingly lay right before her, spelled out quite clearly, but at such
a distance as not to be discernable. The
freezing rain and constant dampness did not add or detract at all from this
inner sensation. Not even the eager gait
of the soldiers all around her contributed to her mental condition. It came from within, from deep in the
recesses of crimson fury that were so much a part of her being.
For
as long as she could remember, fire had been her only friend. Her mastery of Pyromancy had come early, as
she had told the others, but her powers had become who she essentially was. They defined her as much as her name
identified her as a living being. In her
adolescence, she had strayed from social circles, never truly settling in with
any friends or loved ones because the lure of her magic called so strongly to
her. By the age of twenty, she had
completed her own tome of spells, discovered through constant
experimentation. By the age of
twenty-one, she had traveled across and seen almost all there was to see in the
west of Tamalaria. Yet one thing she had
never seen, was war. Sure, she had been
in her fair share of confrontations, leading adventuring parties into dangerous
and unknown territory, plundering secret temples and dungeons beneath the
surface of the earth. But war on this
large a scale was something she had never been prepared to deal with; that, and
the idea that she now had not just allies, but friends. People who had become involved in her life
for reasons that seemed to stem from more than having a common foe.
Byron,
she thought. He, of all of the company,
she understood the least. He was a Dread
Knight, no matter how she looked at him.
The tales of his savagery under the control of Tanarak had persisted in
her mind from the moment she met him, yet she could do and say nothing about
it. He did appear to be in this for the
right reasons, and there had been changes in him, both obvious and subtle.
Shoryu Tearfang,
she mused, looking over at the young Cuyotai Hunter as he strode hand-in-hand
with his wife, the Gaiamancer Ellen Daires.
A werecoyote and an Elf, she thought with a grin. Who'd have thought it could be? Shoryu appeared to her to possess a singular
determination that she admired in one so clearly inexperienced in the world and
its many ways of life. That he should
find true love, if it were so, after losing so much at the hands of Richard
Vandross, allowed her a small measure of pity and admiration both for the young
man. Ellen Daires, of course, came to
her mind next. So gentle, so calm, yet
so fragile at the same time. Her power
over earthen magic was nearly a match for her own over fire, but Ellen was not
meant for such conflict. That much was
clear to Selena in the way the Elven girl maintained such a death grip on her
husband's furry hand.
Morek
Rockmight came alongside Byron for a moment, and the two began exchanging words
quietly. As the Human Pyromancer looked
at the stout, rough-hewn brawler, she had to stifle a small laugh. So much courage and tenacity, so much
strength, for one so small, she thought.
The Dwarven Boxer moved and fought with a frankness and directness that
deeply reflected his own taciturn personality.
A few well-aimed punches from those enchanted gloves he kept around, and
even Shadowbeasts turned to smoldering, bleeding piles of refuse in a moment's
time. But he was not the smallest of
them all, of course.
There was Alex,
the Ki Fairy, whose sarcasm and razor wit had kept her good company in the last
few weeks' time. He alone seemed to
appreciate her brand of humor, and often played off of her own jokes with his. He was clever and crafty, and capable of much
more than she figured most would attribute to him. And lastly, there had been James Hayes, whom
she had met before all of them.
She
recalled the crestfallen look that hung over his features like a death shroud
when first he had received word of Fort Flag's utter destruction. Byron and his company had not yet arrived to
lend aid, and the systematic defense and assault on the city of Desanadron had
been going on for two and a half days. A
scout had returned from his survey, as requested by the Paladin, and she
herself had been standing near the steps of the library, going over defensive
movements for the soldiers of the city with a Jaft Sergeant. The blue-skinned humanoid had turned his bald
head to watch the scout approach Hayes, but he must have seen something in the
scout's movements that told him to stay well away from the Paladin; he was
going to take the news hard. Selena had
gone silent, and watched as the stern, warrior-like face of James Hayes had
transformed for a few moments' time into something so pitiable that it had made
her want to weep for him. So many of his
brethren slaughtered, while he had been trapped within the magical barrier
erected around Desanadron. But he had
regained his composure, if only for a few minutes, to reply to this news.
"Sacrifices
must be made in the name of mighty Oun, our great god. We all knew the risks our titles and order
would entail. I thank you, Martin,"
he had said, returning a salute from the scout.
"Now go see the healers.
They shall tend to your wounds."
As soon as the scout had darted away, Hayes had marched stoically into
the nearby church, a temple erected for the worship of Oun.
Selena had crept
to the large, ivory doors, and listened as Hayes sobbed and wailed up near the
altar. "Why, oh great Oun?! How could our faith and service come to
this? How have we betrayed you? Why have you let so many of your own
followers perish like this?! It isn't
fair," he had screamed, standing to his feet and striking the altar with
the butt of his broadsword.
"Why?!" He had raged
and moaned, alternately, for nearly an hour before he got up from his knees
next to the altar. Selena had ducked
off, out of sight, so as not to be caught eavesdropping. James Hayes hadn't been the same since that
afternoon. His faith had been shaken to
its very core, but he seemed to recover some from his travels with the Dread
Knight and his company.
But
he was not the last, she recalled. Oh
no, there was also poor David Spore, the one-armed Monk. The moment he had become involved with the
company personally, Selena had seen that he was doomed. Skilled though he was, he did after all only
have one arm to work with. And he was a
trusting soul, trusting enough to let an assassin close enough to deliver the
killing blow. But they had all trusted
the Lizardman assassin, and the blame for Spore's death lay with all of them,
the group as a whole.
"Selena,"
a dark, rumbling voice said near to her.
She shook her head to clear her thoughts, and saw Byron only a few feet
away, concern somehow reflected in those twin orbs of glittering yellow
light.
"I'm
fine," she snapped, rather more brusquely than she had intended. "I'm just thinking about what lies
before us."
"Aren't
we all," the Dread Knight replied cryptically. Without another word, he moved away from her,
back toward Prime Minister Viper and Morek Rockmight. Had he seen it too, she wondered. Had Byron felt the same disturbance that she
had? She didn't know, and now, more than
ever, she wanted to speak to the mysterious undead warrior. But Byron kept his distance, like a con man
who has spotted an undercover constable.
The army marched on, further into the forest, and she returned to simply
following, building her magical force within her. Before the day was through, she would need
all the energy she could muster.
If
Richard Vandross intended to send them to their deaths, Tamriel and Amon
agreed, they would not leave the mad warlock their own people for his further
designs. Tamriel, after having been
rather bluntly dismissed, stormed through the tunnels of Mount Toane, swinging
his huge, ursine arms at every Shadowbeast and Illeck that came within
reach. The Shadowbeasts, for the most
part, suffered only minor injuries, which they recovered from almost
immediately. The Dark Elves, however,
did not fare so well. Eight had to be
rushed to healers right away, and nearly a dozen more perished where they
landed against the rock walls. Tamriel,
leaving a wake of congealing and wounded soldiers and magic users behind him,
took himself directly to the outside of Mount Toane's entrance, to the western
front of the towering mountain. There,
First Lieutenant Amon was drilling his Khan soldiers adamantly, taking them
through combat drills specifically designed for mass combat situations.
It
was a curious exercise, and for a moment, Tamriel stopped in his tracks. Two Khan, armed only with their claws and
fangs, wearing simple chain mail, stood in the center of a circle of nearly a
hundred other Khan, who were all heavily armed.
Three of these circles swirled and flowed as the training combat ensued,
the pair in the middle of the circle forced to defend themselves from all
sides, under nearly impossible odds. But
the Khan, though they were not true lycanthropes, had a decent regenerative
system; none of the troops were slain in the exercise, merely rendered
unconscious. Though the conditions
appeared quite brutal, Tamriel understood the logic of them.
If ever Amon's
personal troops found themselves completely outnumbered, they would take down a
large number of enemies before they themselves fell to their wounds. Of course, he added as a mental side-note,
none of them appeared to be using magic of any sort, which would be present
where they were going. Lowering his
lumbering head and sighing deeply, he set his back straight and stamped toward
the Khan Lieutenant, who stood apart from the circles, his steel half-plate
armor glinting in the fading sunlight.
As Tamriel came within ten feet, Amon's ears pricked up, and he spun on
his heel, sword drawn. Seeing the Major,
he sheathed his weapon and whipped off a quick salute, which Tamriel returned
with haste.
"Amon,
there is no more time for formalities.
We have been given orders from lord Vandross," the Renka boomed,
his deep, throaty voice echoing across the field. The mock combat continued uninterrupted. "At dawn's first light, he is going to
create a large teleportation rift, and we two are to lead two full battalions
through to confront the army that marches towards us," he said, a hint of
anger in his tone. Amon stared at him,
dumbstruck.
"Only
two battalions," the Khan rasped, incredulous. "But the scout estimated the opposing
forces to be a full five battalions in strength! Even my personal units here will not be
enough for the task! And none of these
men, proud and noble warriors though they may be, have what it takes to stand
against a magical assault!" Tamriel
gave Amon a smirk.
"That
is why we shall take three battalions.
One of the Illeck sorcerer units shall accompany this battalion,"
Tamriel boomed, nodding his head to indicate the surging groups downhill from
him. "And I shall bring a full
complement of Shadowbeast and Human troops, along with my brothers. Combined, the three battalions should be able
to hold off Byron and his army for long enough to do serious damage! Then, when Vandross sees how effective we
have been, he shall open the rift once more, for us to return to Mount Toane. Surely he is not so far gone in his madness
that he won't see the wisdom in such a maneuver!"
Amon agreed with a
grunt and a nod, then turned to his troops and gave out a ferocious roar. The surging masses slowed to a standstill,
then swarmed again as Amon raised his left hand in a fist, one finger pointing
skyward. They were forming ranks and
rows for marching, donning their armor and weapons as they moved. Tamriel admired their structure and practiced
movements for a moment, awed at the sight of so many brutal warriors brought
under the command of a single Khan. Amon
surely deserved better than his current rank, the Renka thought, but the
Lieutenant had been adamant about leading only his own people, his own
Race.
Vandross likely
wouldn't raise him in rank due to this particular request, but Amon didn't seem
to care so much about titles and ranks, or privileges. All he wanted was war, and Tamriel understood
quite well the Khan's reasoning. He had
been a Chieftain in his tribe, undefeated in combat; he saw his own people as
superior to anything that lived in Mount Toane.
He may have been right.
Tamriel
took his leave and marched straight back into Mount Toane, locating Sergeant
Robin after a sweeping search of the inner tunnels and chambers. He found the Beastmaster and mage in a large,
spherical chamber high up in the mountain, where few of the troops
ventured. Not even Vandross appeared to
care much for the upper tunnels and chambers of the mountain, and so it made
the perfect place for the mages of his army to concentrate and train. Several Human soldiers and stray Lizardmen,
those who had not joined Bael when the former General had been left behind to
die, stood about, getting spells locked onto their weapons and armor.
Robin, with a keen
eye for anything larger than himself, came straight over to Tamriel from his
meditation mat, a scowl darkening his already shadowy face. "What brings you here, Major? Can't you see we are, for the most part,
occupied?" Tamriel growled deep in
his throat, and watched with satisfaction as the much smaller man backed away a
step, his right hand drawing back into a fist.
He wouldn't strike Tamriel physically, the Renka knew. He would surely have a spell prepared, but he
would need a few moments to cast it, and with Tamriel being less than an arm's length
away, he felt sure the mage wouldn't risk having his throat crushed.
"Be
at ease, Sergeant," Tamriel said, putting his hands up in the 'no trouble'
pose. "I come late in the evening,
I know, but I must commandeer one of your units for tomorrow morning. We leave through a rift, at Vandross's
command, to attack the marching army that threatens. You shall choose only those you think to be
competent, but by no means send your very best.
Some exceptional magicians would be nice, though." Robin raised an eyebrow at him, standing
straight. "You do not have a choice
in the matter, Robin. If you refuse me,
I shall tear out your spine and leave you a loose collection of bones and
organs," Tamriel threatened, smiling the whole while. He saw his own teeth reflected in the little
man’s eyes, and saw that to a lesser, mortal being, it must have been
terrifying.
"O-of
course," Robin stammered, skittering away like a cockroach when a torch is
lit in a filthy kitchen. He sprinted out
of the main chamber, and Tamriel gazed about the room at the assembled mages
there.
These men and
women, unlike the rest of the army, wore no uniforms, or any insignia on their
personal garb that would indicate rank.
Then again, perhaps it would be best this way, he thought. After all, the rank they might be assigned by
officers in Vandross's army might not even reflect their true power or
intellect. Surely there was a huge
disparity between the half-breed, Colonel Molis, and General Vilec Roak. Tamriel had been touched by Molis's power; it
shone above all others in Mount Toane.
When he had confronted the Colonel, up in the northwestern mountains, he
had been spared his life; he knew, however, that Molis could have wiped him off
of the face of the mortal coil without effort.
How he accepted the role of only Colonel while one such as Roak remained
General was beyond him. Then again, he
thought, Roak is cunning and quite sly, even by Shadowbeast standards.
Robin
returned just then, with nearly fifty Human and Illeck mages trailing after
him, their robes of all materials and colors, like a shimmering rainbow of
mystical force. Tamriel could feel the
magic flowing off of them, and from the look of several of them, they had been
training in combat magic with one another.
"Here they are, Major.
Forty-six of my mages, awaiting your orders. I have apprised them of the situation,"
Robin said, swallowing hard. "Some
chose to remain above. They said that
their powers would be best suited to the defense of Mount Toane."
"Good
enough," Tamriel barked curtly.
"All right, all of you," he said, thrusting a large, hairy
finger at the unit assembled. "Get
some rest. I'll be coming to collect you
first thing in the morning." After
that, he had gone off to his own large chamber to speak with his brothers, who
had agreed hastily to join him. They had
become rather bored in the mountain, and were hungry for the taste of blood and
flesh. He had gone off to his own cot to
sleep then, to rest up for the following morning.
And
now he stood outside of the mouth of Mount Toane, Richard Vandross off to one
side of him, preparing to open the rift that would send them through to meet
with Byron of Sidius's army. Vandross
made no comment about the mages; after all, Amon had placed them cleverly
throughout his own men, with a handful positioned strategically in Tamriel's
battalion. As the rift opened, Tamriel
let out a battle cry that echoed across the plains, and led the battalions
through the rift. As the opening in
space clamped shut, Vandross sagged slightly towards the ground, but found that
a cold, steel plated arm was helping him back to his full height. He turned to find Colonel Molis standing
there, his strange, shadowed eyes peering out from the darkness of his
helmet. Vandross shrugged the arm off,
dusting himself down as the sun rose over the horizon.
"My lord, it
is folly to send them after Byron's army.
The Lizardman Bael has been spotted by several of my spies, leading a
large force north to intercept and join the Dread Knight's forces. That was several days ago. Tamriel and Amon's battalions, and the mage
unit they tried to sneak through with them, are going to be utterly
destroyed." Vandross chuckled
merrily for a moment, patting Molis on his shoulder plate as he stalked toward
Mount Toane.
"I
know, Colonel, I know! My own scouts
reported the same sighting shortly before your men returned to inform you! Indeed, they'll be destroyed, but they'll
also take down a nice chunk of Byron's army.
Of that much, I am very certain."
Molis stared after the mad warlock for a moment, sprinting to catch up
to him.
"And
what of Sergeant Robin, my lord? Did he
not betray you by sending magic users with Tamriel, when you clearly ordered
the Renka to take only two battalions?"
Vandross spun on his heel, his face twisted up into a savage smile.
"He
has already been dealt with. I needed to
stretch my legs this morning, and test the edge of my scimitar," Vandross
said, cackling like a hyena. Molis saw
the slightest hint of quickly drying blood on Vandross's scimitar hilt. He had already known what was going to
happen. He knew that Tamriel and his
units would be backed against a wall.
"However, do not be mistaken.
I intend for them to cripple Byron's army severely. I have secreted away into their midst a
Necromancer, who is very skilled at quickly calling the recently deceased to
her command. As the dead fall to the
ground, she shall have them rising from it, in order to serve her."
"Is
she to be sacrificed as well, lord Vandross," Molis asked, his tone taking
on a hard edge. Vandross turned to face
him, and crimson light flared for a moment through his eye patch. Molis took a defensive step back, clearly
having enraged his master.
"Why,
yes, she is. Of course, she wouldn't have
agreed to go if I hadn't promised her a safe teleportation scroll to use when
she's really in trouble." Molis had
stopped following Vandross, realizing for the first time how much like Tanarak
this man had become since gaining the Glorious Mother of Destruction. "Don't fret, Colonel," Vandross
said, spinning to face him on one foot, arms wide open like a cajoling child at
play with close friends. "I did
give her a teleportation scroll! It just
so happens that it will teleport her about a thousand feet straight into the
sky!" He cackled then, a maddened
predator amused by his prey's pathetic attempts to run away or fight back. The spider and the fly, Molis thought, watching
the one-eyed warlock disappear into the dank gloom of Mount Toane. The spider and the fly.
The
assembled army under Byron's command marched on through noon, not stopping to
rest, as the sloping lowlands they had crossed into south of Fort Flag offered
moderate temperatures and welcome breezes.
The plains were not filled now, however, with the birdsong and small
animals that made them their home. The
wooded thickets did not appear to teem with any life; it was as though the
whole region held its breath, about to sneeze at a moment's notice into full
activity and life. Which was essentially
what happened to the entire army when one of the forward scouts was seen atop a
hill rise nearly a half a mile ahead of the army.
Though none could
make out the physical appearance of the scout, everyone knew there was trouble
coming. Only one scout stood there, and
he was now blowing on a great horn made of carved elephant tusk. It was the warning sound for 'incoming
attack'. A moment later, as the Elven
scout took a breath to make a second blow on the horn, a barely discernable
projectile, a crossbow bolt Shoryu could see, flew through the back of his neck
and out of his throat, smashing his jaw apart as he died where he stood.
Selena
Bradford could barely breath, let alone move as just over a thousand armed men
and women, warriors, priests and mages all, began to shuffle into complex
marching and attacking formations around her.
She had never involved herself in the middle of a combat of such
magnitude; even in the Elven capital of Whitewood, she had been safely up on
the walls around the outer perimeter, able to volley her deadly balls and cones
of flames, her eruptions of magma, from a distance. The fire in her soul blazed yellow for a
moment; cowardice? Could she be feeling
a fleeting moment of hesitation? No, she
retorted mentally to the feeling of helplessness that had threatened to consume
her. I am not a coward! I will not back down!
Moving herself
into position near her other traveling companions, who had already assembled
themselves as a single unit, Selena Bradford prepared herself for use of short
range, up close Pyromancer spells. There
were not many, but enough that she could deal some hefty damage before
retreating to her more comfortable distance.
"Any
sign of them yet," she asked Byron, but the hulking Dread Knight merely
shook his head and shuffled forward slowly, trying to keep the little company
from Whitewood and Desanadron behind the first unit, the Thirty-First Elven
Infantry, and the third unit, Lord Viper's mages. When at last they saw their enemies, Selena
Bradford nearly choked on her sharp intake of breath. Three enormous, bear-like creatures, bedecked
in full plate armor and wielding enormous maces, led a full complement of Khan
warriors. The tiger-men had at their
foremost lines a single man who stood out from the rest, himself wearing full
plate like the bear-demons, while his soldiers were clad in much lighter braced
chain mail. While they marched head-on
towards Byron and Viper's forces, the central Khan barked an order in the
tongue of his kind, a harsh and guttural combination of grunts and roars. They broke stride and ranks, and from their
midst came flowing dozens of magic users, each casting spells simultaneously on
themselves and the warriors. A few of
the first offensive spells were being hurled at the Thirty-first Elven
Infantry, and men and women alike were being burned, frozen into crumbling
shards, and bursting apart at the limbs, their blood already staining the
ground.
"Forwarrrrrd,"
Byron shouted, charging ahead of the company into battle with the first set of
troops. Morek Rockmight leapt into the
fray alongside, his own men joining the first troops. Within less than two minutes, Selena could
see, the battle would begin in earnest, and the body count would really begin
to mount. She herself might be included
in that body count, if she weren't careful.
All around her, the world morphed into a cacophony of sounds and flashes
of steel and light, and as the first rows of opposing forces collided, she
realized that she was being dragged along with the flow of the army, into
battle. The clash of metal weapons on
armor pierced through the haze in her mind, and she looked around frantically
to discover how the first few minutes of the raging battle had gone for her
friends and allies.
Shoryu
and Ellen, she saw, were each standing high up in the trees nearby, he picking
off Khan and Illeck one by one with his enchanted arrows, she providing
protective wooden and stone warriors from the ground and woodland itself. Morek, off ahead in the thick of the fray,
was throwing his fists around as though they were the tools of Armageddon, the
mystic gloves he favored so crushing chain mail and bones as surely as a felled
tree might. And as she focused her
attention on the smallest of the three bear creatures, the Renka, she noticed
the comparatively small forms of James Hayes and Byron strategically fencing
with the beast, striking it with their swords and backing swiftly away to avoid
the slow, menacing blows of its mace.
Lost in her observations, she almost failed to notice the Khan soldier
bringing his scimitar down toward her head.
She
reflexively tucked and rolled away, springing to her feet and lobbing a
fireball the size of a pumpkin into the Khan's face. As the orb struck him at the speed of a
charging horse, his body slumped forward, sans head, a smoldering neck hole all
that remained in its place. The stench
of its burnt flesh and fur lingered in the air, like expensive incense to her
nostrils. Her veins filled with fury,
the old fallback mental state she lapsed into in the heat of battle. Rising to her feet, she began channeling her
magic into the very ground, gouts of flame and magma engulfing handfuls of the
Khan soldiers at the rear of their formations.
She would not risk such a spell with her allies close by; they would
wind up victims of her onslaught as well.
For a moment, she was caught up entirely in her dance of death, hurling
bolts of fire and cones of flames, summoning walls of heat and marching them
through dozens of Khan.
But
the expense of her magic was wearing on her quickly, and there appeared to be
no end to the Khan. As Selena glanced
about, she saw that while the number of Khan soldiers, Illeck and Human mages
barely dwindled, the number of men and women fighting for Byron, Viper and
Morek was slowly being chipped at. Yet,
there also appeared to be no change at all in the number of combatants on the
field. As Selena Bradford visually
scoured the battlefield, she saw, to her horror, why the odds were beginning to
seem in Vandross's forces' favor.
Standing amid a circle of Illeck Q Mages and Gaiamancers, protected by
earthen and support magic, stood a gaunt, pale figure, a woman with raven-black
hair and eyes the color of a swamp; a Necromancer! As the combatants fell in combat, regardless
of alliance, the Necromancer summoned their bodies back to life, using them to
press the Renkas' forces forward. She
had to warn Byron.
As
she darted through the onslaught, swords and pikes barely missing or grazing
her arms and legs, a stray claw strike knocked her clear to the ground several
feet from the source. She turned over,
and saw a towering Khan who stood unarmed, his armor torn apart, but his eyes
still livid with the bloodlust that can only be had by living, sentient
creatures. The beast approached her,
fangs dripping terribly with the thought of another kill, a sorceress no
less! But as the Khan reared up to bring
its heavy claws down into her chest, a single, shimmering arrow pierced the
soldier's face. Shock registered for a
moment on that quickly paling creature, and as the flash of light from the
arrow blinked, a sound like a walnut cracking in two split the air, and the
creature dropped backward, its head split evenly to the throat. Blood sprayed across Selena's legs as she
regained her feet, but she had no time to feel revulsion; she still had to warn
Byron, warn the others, of the Necromancer's presence.
She
saw as she got closer to the Dread Knight that he and James Hayes had already
finished off one of the Renkas, and were quickly backing another one against a
tree, which Ellen Daires had just brought to life with her Gaiamancy. She had to risk shouting now, or the tide of
the battle could be turned against them.
"Byron," she shouted, as loudly as she could. Her lungs felt clogged and weighed down with
soot and ash; yet another price to be paid for her brand of high power, high
speed magic. But she had caught his attention,
just as James Hayes launched an assault of holy magic on the bear demon.
The Dread Knight
turned his head for a moment, and James turned to face her as well. "A Necromancer! There's a Necromancer in the middle of
their-" she blurted, gasping for breath as she watched the Dread Knight
and the Paladin smashed aside like rag dolls by an enormous Renka, this one
easily twofold the others' size. It was
the creature that had been leading the overall assault, she realized. Vandross had sent a formidable forward
offensive at them, and she watched in horror as Byron and James Hayes began
their struggle with this larger, much more fearsome opponent.
Shoryu! Of course, she thought; his arrows were
enchanted, and he's the best shot with an arrow she knew. But as she searched the trees for him, she
could find no sign. Orders were being
shouted throughout Viper and Byron's army, orders to fall back, to concentrate
on the undead first. They were going to
lose ground, time, and more lives, if something weren't done. And the more of their own that fell, the more
undead the Necromancer would wield against them. Selena realized, in a moment of clarity, that
she only had one option left. One final
spell that all Pyromancers of great knowledge know of, but cannot use.
The
spell was best known as Immolation.
Byron
had to choke down a hell of a lot of pride to issue the order to retreat. But as it was, he couldn't get a bead on the
Necromancer that Selena Bradford had been trying to warn him about before Major
Tamriel had knocked him and James Hayes further back into the woods. Byron himself hadn't suffered much in the way
of injuries; he was still, for all intents and purposes, a Dread Knight,
wearing the armor of a Paladin. Both his
armor and his training easily negated such blunt force trauma. James, however, could not count on undead
status to protect him. The Human Paladin
got up from the ground with much more effort than was required of the undead
warrior, who gave him a hand at the last moments of grogginess. After that, they began to move the lines
back, taking care to ensure that everyone knew to destroy the undead
first.
The
second order he issued was flat-out refused by Thaddeus Viper, which was to cut
off the heads of nearby fallen comrades.
Without the head attached, Byron had reasoned, it would be nearly
impossible for the Necromancer to bring them back from the dead. But Viper had refused the suggestion, barking
at the Dread Knight that it was "inhumane". Byron would have argued the point that
warfare in general wasn't humane, but he didn't have the benefit of time to do
that. As he fell back with the troops,
he fended off the constant attacks of the huge Renka, the one who had led these
Khan and Illeck and Humans against them.
But he had to duck and weave through the clustering lines of combatants
when he noticed a single figure, clad in crimson robes, slowly and calmly
approaching a small circle of mages. He
knew immediately that it was Selena Bradford, and he feared the worst for
her.
The
Dread Knight sent a current of holy energy ripping through Major Tamriel,
almost as an afterthought, but the energy held him still, his huge, furry body
thrashing in pain. It was the opening he
needed, and Byron sprinted back in the direction of the rest of the waiting
Khan and the circle of mages that Selena was approaching. She was going to get herself killed! "Selena," he shouted, swinging the
Morning Glory like an oar through a river, felling and cleaving men and women
as he went like a wind tearing leaves from their branches. The Human Pyromancer stopped, and looked back
at him with a smirk, shaking her head.
The look in her eyes told him to stop, and Byron felt his legs lock him
in place. He could not hear her over the
din of battle behind him, the screams of the maddened soldiers coming at him,
but he could read her lips, and the words she spoke struck home so hard, he
didn't even feel Shoryu and Morek Rockmight tear him out of harm's way.
The
words she had spoken were, "It's my time."
Finally,
Shoryu thought as he leaped down out of the tree he and Ellen had been using as
refuge, a chance to let this out of my system!
As Humans and Illeck followed the units’ retreat, Shoryu let go of the
pent up hostility and aggression that had been gnawing uncontrollably at him during
their marching days. The price of his
gifts of blood to Byron had to be paid, and now he had the opportunity to do
so.
Strapping
his bow to his back, the Cuyotai Hunter unleashed his fury on the oncoming
assailants, his claws tearing and rending everything and everyone he got close
to. In his maddened frenzy, he even tore
the throats of allies who got between himself and the few Khan giving
pursuit. But he felt nothing for these
losses. All the world for him was a
playground of destruction.
“What
in the name of Karagesh,” shouted one Khan in heavy chain armor as Shoryu bit
into his shoulder and tore the arm free of his body. Screaming in agony, the Khan fell, and Shoryu
proceeded to beat the Khan about the head with his own severed limb. When the man went limp, Shoryu stomped down hard
on his head, bursting skull inward upon gray matter.
In
thrall to the battle lust, he almost didn’t survive that frenzy. A pair of Illeck mages struck him with a
handful of spells from his right flank, and the pain and damage done knocked
Shoryu’s senses back into order. As they
closed for the kill, he drew his bow and put arrows through their hands,
wounding them and cutting off their magic.
He sprinted away from the front to fall back.
He
would have continued, but saw that Byron was rushing out to meet the attackers
by himself. Morek Rockmight approached
Byron from his right, and Shoryu assisted him by hauling Byron back from the
left. He appeared to be watching something
far off, and when his struggles ceased, Shoryu looked at Selena Bradford, who
approached certain doom.
As
she turned her back on the Dread Knight for the last time, she thought about
what he had been trying to do. Perhaps
he wasn't a monster after all, she thought with a smirk. Had she really ever doubted him, though? No, she thought, shaking her head with a
bemused expression. Not since
Desanadron, when they had first met. She
looked around her, not focusing on much of anything but her own magic as she
called it forth. The circle of mages had
made no move against her, and the Necromancer woman in the middle of the circle
simply smiled at her with the utmost contempt, as if to say, 'you think you can
harm me?' She intended to do more than
harm the woman and her toadies; she intended to reduce them all to less than
ash.
She
waited patiently as the main struggle behind her fell just outside of the range
of Immolation. The Khan soldiers held in
reserve were, however, not going to be so lucky. They slowly closed in around her and the
mages, smirking and laughing. They too
would perish in the mightiest flames a Pyromancer could summon to their
aid. With a sigh of resignation, Selena
began to focus on the weaving of the symbols in the air in fire, the words that
had to be spoken to conjure the exact magic to be used in the spell. But she did not think on the one thing that
most mages think of when they read about the spell of Immolation; the
spellcaster will perish in the flames as well.
As
she neared the completion of the Immolation, she looked up into the once smug
face of the Necromancer. The woman was
losing focus on her own undead minions, and her smile was completely gone,
replaced with a slight eyebrow raise of curiosity, perhaps even concern. "Ka'ludruhn, Mefastus, Ifritinus,
Meteordum, Ingulfum," Selena chanted, raising her hands and revealing all
of the symbols she had drawn in flames in the air. The symbols formed a wall of loosely
connected flames before her, and only a single word remained. A single word, and her friends and allies
would have their chance at completing their objective. A single word, and the road to Mount Toane
would probably be cleared. A single
word, and no more of her friends or selfless soldiers would have to die in
vain. But she waited, looking up at the
Necromancer, who opened her mouth to speak to the Pyromancer.
"And
just what has this accomplished, Pyromancer," the woman spat, smiling that
smug smile of superiority once more.
"It
has sealed your doom," Selena said, waving her hands to her sides and
slamming her palms together.
"Immolatus," she whispered, and the spell of Immolation
commenced. A bloom of crimson fury
pulsated around her chest, a single, tight ring of magical force. As she bowed her head, the ring gained heat,
energy, drawing it directly from within Selena Bradford, and the ring pulsated
and stretched. The Necromancer woman
stood there, transfixed by what was occurring.
The Khan soldiers all sniffed the air, distrustful of any magic they
themselves didn't possess or know of.
They shuffled about uneasily, but held their ranks. In the end, their training and discipline
killed them. The ring pulsed once more,
and then shot outward in a circumference around Selena Bradford, turning every
living thing it touched, man, woman, animal and plant, into a standing replica
of what they had once been, formed of ashes.
In the next instant, the piles began to crumble and blow away in the
wind, and Selena Bradford fell dying to the ground.
There
had been a terrible burning sensation, not fifteen feet away from Byron and James
Hayes, when the undead soldiers all dropped to the ground, reduced to their
state of death. All that remained of
Tamriel's forces now were a few mages, some soldier Khan here, and the Khan
that Lieutenant Amon stood with in reserve.
Of course, Tamriel hadn't yet realized that they were all dead, even the
strategically ingenious Amon. Viper,
Byron and Morek all turned their units back to squarely meet the remains of
this assault, but the clever Renka issued an immediate order of retreat. So their undead soldiers were no more; there
still stood nearly two hundred behind the Necromancer, waiting to be
unleashed...
Or
so there had been a few minutes ago.
Where were they, the bear demon thought in a panic? Had lord Vandross taken them back? Had the mad warlock only intended to harm
Byron's forces and leave Tamriel and his brothers to die at the Dread Knight's
hand? Surely not, he thought, as he
turned his attention back to the undead warrior who was hacking and slashing
away at him with that accursed holy weapon of his. But as he looked back, his huge claws swiping
just wide of the Dread Knight, his fear of having been abandoned turned into a
different fear altogether; all who had remained behind had been reduced to
ashes.
As he turned back
to focus on the Dread Knight, he saw on Byron's skull what looked like a
horrifying mockery of a smile. As he
reared up to swing his lethal claws, Tamriel felt the cold, hard blade of James
Hayes's broadsword pierce through his belly, where the chain shirt didn't quite
reach. Major Tamriel was stunned for
just long enough to allow Byron to leap up on his massive shoulders in a single
bound, chanting odd words under his breath.
The Morning Glory sheathed, palms pressed down toward the Renka's head,
Byron unleashed the Paladin spell of Holy Cannon straight through the demon's
body. Blood and bile sprayed all over
him and Hayes in a shower of gore, the remains of the body folding inward like
a house made of wet paper.
With
their officers dead, their Necromancer reduced to dust in the wind, and no aid
coming, the remaining troops attempted to flee in all directions, cut down by
Elven archers and Viper's mages. The
battle was over, and not more than ten minutes had passed since it
started. Byron, James, Morek, Shoryu and
Ellen ran down the slopes of the woods to where Selena Bradford lay dead. Byron was the first to notice that Alex, his
first real friend since becoming a Dread Knight, lay burnt to death next to her
head. He had been with her in the
end. No one in the company spoke, nor
groaned about their own injuries (which were thankfully few), standing silently
to honor their friend and ally. Finally,
James Hayes rolled her over, folding her arms over her chest, and made the sign
of Oun over her corpse. Byron copied the
gesture, leaving the group to their own grieving. He hated to be cold about it, but he had to
get a report from the other officers regarding the remaining casualties. He had to get an idea of what sort of
resources they would have after resting the army.
Byron
stalked through the long swaths of blood and corpses to Wilhelm Von Rook,
Lieutenant of the Second Grade. The
Elven man had a large gash across his forehead, three diagonal claw marks, but
they appeared fairly shallow, and so Byron wasn't too concerned with his health
to allow him rest before a report was taken.
Von Rook gave him a stiff salute and stood as straight as a board. "My lord," he said, his voice
slightly weak and trembling.
"Casualty
report, Lieutenant," Byron barked, rather more harshly than he had
intended to. He was trying not to let
his own feelings about Selena Bradford's death affect his judgement, but
already he was feeling his emotions overwhelm him. Two fallen in his personal service, no more
than a few score yards away in this case.
"Well,
my lord, we've had a rather bad time of it, I must say. We've lost one hundred and thirty-four men,
nearly all of them infantry and unmounted cavalry. We suffered a few losses to our mages, and a
handful of archers, but as a whole in terms of numbers, nothing crippling. However, sir, I knew many of those who fell
in this battle. They have families,
friends, who are going to miss them terribly sir." Byron nodded, grunting disapprovingly. Such is war, he thought rather dismally. "And, my lord, Sergeant Cassandra Payne
fell to her wounds. A vicious spell of
some sort was cast on her after she received a minor cut, and the wound spread
from her stomach to her throat. She fell
almost instantly, my lord." Once again
Byron shook his head, miserable at the thought that Vandross had once again
gained the upper hand before him. As he
thought of the young Sergeant-at-Arms, he was reminded of the uncompromising
nature of war in Tamalaria. Young, old,
middle aged, it didn't matter to the gods of war; once you joined the battle,
you were as expendable as the next soldier.
So
what of Selena, he wondered with a twinge in his heart. What of little Alex? He had read the words on her lips; 'it's my
time,' she had said. That much he had
been afraid of. Voice had told him
during the morning, deep in the recesses of his mind, that one of his friends
would not survive the coming battle. He
had assumed that Voice had been speaking of the battle they would face at Mount
Toane, but it had been here, long before they could even reach the lair of the
one-eyed warlock Richard Vandross.
"Thank you, Lieutenant," Byron said, absent-mindedly. "Let's get our dead buried this
evening. We'll be staying right at the
edge of these woods until morning. The
troops need time to heal their wounds, physically and emotionally. That will be all. You may tell everyone to be at ease after the
bodies are taken care of. And
Lieutenant?"
"Yes,
my lord," asked the Elf as he snapped off another salute.
"Don't
bother burying our enemies. Let the
scavengers have them." Without
another word, Byron moved back toward the company he had brought with him into
this mess. How many of them would
survive the onslaught of Mount Toane?
And if they survived, what would their lives be like afterwards? Hard questions to ask himself, he thought,
and no answers anywhere in sight.
Later that night,
when everyone else in the army's camp was eating or tending to the injured and
the company's supplies, Byron and James carried Selena Bradford away from the
encampment, Shoryu, Ellen and Morek following closely behind. Alex had been tucked under Selena's hands,
the Ki Fairy barely recognizable after the damage had been done. They carried the two companions almost to the
northernmost edge of the woods, a full mile and a half away from the army. When they laid them down, the company stood
about in silence. Morek had brought
three shovels from the supplies tents, but no one made a move to pick them up
now that he had laid them down.
"What
should we do now," Ellen asked in her timid voice, her eyes filled with
tears that threatened to break her resolve.
Morek and Shoryu moved slowly toward the shovels, but James Hayes put
his hand up to stop them.
"No,"
he said, softly, his own eyes almost cold and steely. But he wasn't being unemotional; rather, he
appeared to have an idea in mind.
"I'll stay here with her.
You two, Ellen, Byron, go gather up some wood. We'll give her a funeral pyre. I think that's what she would have
wanted," he said, his tone flat and devoid of inflection. The Dread Knight nodded, seeming to
understand James's request.
Selena had been
the first member of the company he had known, had fought with. She had seen him at his worst, his most
hopeless, that much Byron was certain.
The Human Paladin had been trapped with her in Desanadron as word of
what had befallen his kinsmen reached him.
He would want a few words with Selena alone, even now, when he had only
one last chance. Byron began marching
away into the woods, presumably to find suitable firewood. The truth of the matter was that it was all
around them, branches and sticks of good enough size and brittleness to burn
quickly and powerfully. However, he led
Shoryu, Morek, and Ellen away into the woods, out of earshot of James
Hayes.
When
James saw that Byron had understood his meaning, he knelt down next to Selena
Bradford's body, laying his head on the ground next to hers, and wept as softly
as he could. He let out everything, all
of his aches and pains, tears running in thin rivers down the landscape of his
face. After so much fighting and
training in his life, it was beginning to be a rough terrain for even those
precious, salty streams to flow through, but they found their way. "I couldn't, I couldn't do anything
Selena," he whispered hoarsely, trying not to sob, getting the words out
all in one rush. "I don't know what
to do anymore. You have been the only
person I could hope to keep safe, the only one who knows fully what I have
felt. You know how close I have come to
losing all faith, to disbelieving everything the Order has taught me," he
nearly screamed, choking on the sobs that threatened to rack his entire body
loose of its spirit.
"And even
you, little Alex," he said, touching Alex's limp form with a single
finger. "I could not protect even
the littlest of us." James shook
his head disconsolately. "And
though I know you cannot hear me, know this; I am most sorry for my
failure. I am not worthy of my title any
longer," he said, and began to reach for the lashings that held his
breastplate on his upper body. The
symbol of Oun, emblazoned across the metal, was worn and battered, covered with
blood. He felt unclean, unfit to bear
the mark of his great god any longer, and he was going to do away with the
armor, until he heard the faint sound of hoof beats.
James
Hayes looked around, but could see no one, nothing in his vicinity. Nothing stirred, nothing made a noise. It seemed the entire world around him had
come to a halt. What had happened to
him, he wondered. Is this the delirium
of regret? The hoof beats came closer,
closer, as though they were right on top of him, and still he could see no
horse. He whipped his head around,
hearing the braying of a horse, and saw standing beside Selena and Alex's
bodies a huge, pale stallion, and astride it, holding a scythe in one skeletal
hand, a figure he instinctively knew all mortal beings must some day meet.
He dared not utter
or think its name, for to do so, he felt, would mean his own immediate
departure with the entity. The black
cloak and robes billowed about the entity as it dismounted, all tattered cloth
and shadows. Yet Hayes felt no menace
from it, no malcontent; rather, he could almost detect a sense of duty about
the entity. It stood by Selena's corpse,
the tiny Ki Fairy resting atop her chest, making no move, uttering no
sound. The wind that blew past James's
ear carried the faintest hint of a whisper on it.
HAVE
YOU SAID YOUR GOOD-BYES, it asked. James
was so startled by the raspy, thick feel of the words that he barely had the
capacity to think of what they meant. MY
TIME IS PRECIOUS, AND I HAVE MUCH WORK TO DO.
James collected his composure, straightened himself up before this most
revered, and mostly feared, being.
"She
can hear me," he asked, fully aware of how much his voice trembled.
FOR
NOW SHE CAN, MORTAL. BUT YOUR TIME IS MY
TIME, AND MY TIME GOES QUICKLY. THERE IS
MUCH MORE WORK TO BE DONE THIS NIGHT, AND I HAVEN'T THE PATIENCE FOR LONG
FAREWELLS. BESIDES, DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA
HOW DIFFICULT IT IS TO KEEP THE REST OF THE WORLD ON HOLD? James looked up the hill to the west, and saw
Byron and the others, each frozen in time, carrying bundles of wood.
"My
apologies," James said. He knelt
down, and kissed Selena Bradford as tenderly as he could on the forehead. For a moment, she appeared to smile at
him. "Good bye, my friend. Perhaps we shall meet again, if mighty Oun
allows it." As James stepped back,
the entity swung his scythe down with such speed that all the Paladin could see
was a flash of silver light. Two orbs of
light fluttered up and into the darkness of its robes, shining there like the
pinpoints in Byron's eye sockets. As the
being turned back toward his steed, James had a single question burning in his
heart. If he didn't ask it now, he might
never be granted another chance.
"Wait! I do not want any
trouble, but I must ask you something!"
The dark rider mounted his horse, but turned to face his darkened cowl
toward the Paladin.
SPEAK
QUICKLY, MORTAL. I SHALL ANSWER AS BEST
I CAN. Now there was a hint of
impatience in the thin, whispery voice that carried on the unnatural wind.
"Who
has granted me this opportunity? Why me,
and not another? Why have I been given
this gift to seek forgiveness for my inadequacy?" The rider circled his horse once, for the
steed seemed more impatient than the rider who James would not name. There was a pause, and it seemed to stretch
infinitely on, eons of moments passing around them.
I
WAS AFRAID YOU MIGHT ASK THAT, FOR THE ONE WHO MADE THIS REQUEST OF ME REQUIRED
THAT I ANSWER YOU THAT QUESTION. IT WAS
INDEED OUN. NOW, JAMES HAYES, I MUST
DEPART. AND KNOW YOU ONE THING MORE, the
entity said as it began to ascend into the air, fading from existence. SHE SAYS, THERE IS NO NEED TO SEEK
FORGIVENESS. A small pain exploded
behind James Hayes's eye, and he found himself sitting next to Selena
Bradford's body once again, Byron and the others just now coming over the hill
and out of the woods with the firewood.
It would appear to any outside observer that nothing had happened. But for James Hayes, the most important event
of his life had taken place.
He
had received forgiveness, and confirmation of his faith.
