by Ben Stovall
✽ ✽ ✽
“Wake up,” Ulthan said as he shook the mage. Joravyn woke with a bit of a start.
“How long was I out?” he asked, weariness still weighing his voice.
“Ten hours,” Ulthan answered. “It’s dusk now, and the army’s been seen exiting the trees. Everyone’s ready, I just came back for you.”
Joravyn blinked. Suddenly he felt more awake than he’d ever been. He took a moment and switched out his robe for a tunic that was more protective, a small bit of metal guarding his chest and shoulders. It was enchanted to be as lightweight as the cloth he wore, so it would not inhibit the movements he needed to make while casting spells. This suit’s vibrancy was also muted much more than his normal attire. It still displayed the Western Arcanomancer College’s orange sigil above the left breast, but it was otherwise completely black.
The mage stepped out into the main room to see it completely bare, save for his friend. Even the owner had left the Pony. It made him uneasy. Ulthan stood by the door. They made haste as they stepped out onto the street, walking toward the northwestern gate. Joravyn didn’t plan to fight there for long, as he’d need to convene with the other mages on the battlements to prepare the grounding spell.
The sun was low in the sky, and the streets were completely empty. Anyone who could fight had gone to their station, and anyone who couldn’t would take no chances being outside of their homes tonight. Joravyn almost envied them. Sitting beside a fire and waiting the battle out seemed calm … comforting. Before long, everything would be back to normal for the townspeople of Souhal.
Unless they lost, of course.
Joravyn laughed the thought off. Souhal had him. There was no way they could lose.
Before long, Ulthan and Joravyn stepped out of the northwestern gate. The assembled force was impressive, and Joravyn wondered what a sight to behold the main gate’s combined might would be. He couldn’t wait to see it from the battlements.
The mage rose a hand to block the sun from his eyes as he stared into the tree line to the west. Sure enough, thousands of men were walking into the fields around Souhal, some bearing torches, or banners, or swords, or staves. There was yet to be any sign of the Dark One. Joravyn hoped that wouldn’t change.
“Ready, old friend?” Ulthan asked him quietly.
Joravyn smiled. “Let’s show them what the Gandari Kingdoms can do.”
Sixteen
Inaru squinted at the approaching army. The dark silhouettes weren’t those of the skeletons he’d been expecting. They were men and women. Flesh and blood. Soldiers.
And that made him smile.
Many of the fighters were terrified of the idea of fighting shambling frames of bones as black as pitch. But men? They knew how to kill men.
A battle cry sounded from the approaching army. They shouted to the skies. “For the Dark One!” The enemy sprinted toward them.
“Hold,” Inaru commanded. His voice was flat, no louder than normal. Not a soul moved. Charging men and women screamed as the invaders ran toward Souhal’s marble walls. Arrows whistled through the air from the battlements above them. They rained into the oncoming force, slaying many a foe, corpses falling unceremoniously to the ground. Their comrades pressed on.
The soldiers behind Inaru beat their shields. They were dying to rush into the approaching combatants. To meet steel with steel and trade blood for blood. But not a soul moved. Another barrage of arrows flew into the sky. Krolligar’s hand tightened around his mace. He cleared his throat as he twitched slightly.
Inaru chuckled. He inhaled, and the beating of the shields stopped. Not a sound was made. Inaru barely whispered, “Charge.”
The orcs drew their weapons and ran to meet their enemy. They shouted “For Gandaraar!” as the forces rushed forward, and Inaru swelled with pride.
The warchief crashed into a man with his left-hand axe slamming into his shield. He immediately swung Storm into the arm. It didn’t cut through, but a loud crack let him know it was broken. He pulled his axe from the buckler and struck again, splitting the man’s head in two. All around him the orcs clashed with the invaders. Not far from him the other forces defending Souhal did the same.
Not all were as lucky as he was with their opponents. An orc that once belonged to the Smoldering Mountain clan fell into the dirt beside him. He immediately swung his axes into the intruder for vengeance, but the man parried one axe and dodged the other. Inaru’s weapon sailed toward him again, arcing toward his head, and the invader ducked, avoiding the blow. He counterattacked by stabbing at Inaru’s abdomen, but the strike slid meekly against the armor, and Inaru smashed his axe into the man’s wrist. The hand fell to the ground and Inaru cut him across the chest.
A loud crunch sounded beside him. He turned to see Krolligar had smashed the skull of a man who’d nearly stabbed Inaru in the back. He nodded his thanks, and the two of them pressed on.
“That one,” Inaru said as they struck down another three. He hefted his axe to point at a man who ran an elf through. “He’s been shouting orders.”
“Get his attention,” Krolligar whispered. Inaru knew his plan. He rushed toward the ring of invaders that guarded the captain. The warchief cut deep into the armored shoulder of one of his soldiers, and the rune on Storm flashed. A thunderclap boomed over the battlefield as lightning killed the woman. Three of the remaining men lunged at him in unison. He dodged the first blow with a turn, and the man lost his footing on Inaru’s boot. The second swing he parried with a heft of his axe, and the third one cut his bicep. Inaru ignored it. He disarmed the second man with a flick of his weapon, and spun around on the third, slicing into his abdomen. The second assailant dove after his blade. Inaru found the first soldier on the ground and stomped on his leg. The man screamed as it broke. The second man swung again, but his strike was way too high. Inaru ducked and slammed the man’s leg with his axe. He fell to his knees and Inaru cut his throat with a twitch.
The warchief felt a sword try to stab into his boot. The first man he’d thought dead hadn’t perished yet and tried to avenge his comrades. Inaru almost laughed. He raised a boot into the air and smashed his brains into the dirt.
Looking up, he saw Krolligar had cut the captain’s throat and had already moved elsewhere. A would-be assassin shouted as he lunged at Inaru, drawing attention enough for the orc to kill him without a thought.
Unfortunately, someone smarter tried next.
A quick cut marked Inaru’s face. It sliced not even half an inch away from his left eye. He whirled on the attacker but cut only the air. He heard a footstep on a dented piece of armor to his right and swung. A bit of blood splashed on the ground, but he still did not see his assailant.
“ARGH!” a man shouted behind him. Inaru turned to see Rhu with his daggers in a man’s back. A bloodied knife fell from the invader’s hands.
“Thanks,” Inaru exhaled.
“The honor is mine, warchief.” The orc bowed low and returned to the melee.
Inaru whirled to catch another sword with Storm and thrust his other axe into the attacker. He fell to the ground and Inaru knew he’d bleed out.
Then a mace slammed into his side. It didn’t sunder the armor, but it hurt. A lot. He was glad his armor fit so tightly … he was nearly certain a rib was broken. His face twisted into a scowl. Inaru bellowed and cut the man in two vertical halves.
Shouting was a mistake. The invaders surrounded him. There were eight of them in a circle. Inaru’s hands tightened on his weapons.
First, they all rushed at him, some with their blades low, others high. Inaru managed to dodge two swings, parry four, and kill one of them before he could attack. The last blade cut into his thigh. He surged against his foes and managed to cut three of the assailants, however only one fell to the ground. They struck again, and he dodged three of their swings, the other three hitting him. None of them cut through his armor, but they’d struck him all the same, and he could feel the soreness of his muscles where his assailan
ts had hit.
But one stood too long where he’d been. Inaru cut him open with a wide gash across his chest, the momentum of the swing slamming into another one of the attackers and finishing her off. He pressed his advantage and took another two down before they struck back. He parried both of their strikes with his axes and kicked one away. The orc struck into the other with Storm, before finishing the last off before he could stand.
Inaru could barely breathe. Everything hurt. But Aldayn hadn’t lied. There were thousands of soldiers. Inaru couldn’t even fathom how many noncombatants they must have had with them. No doubt waiting behind the trees for the battle to be done.
But the invaders didn’t stop coming. They rushed from the woods, swords high and faces locked into tight grimaces as they ran toward the awaiting defenders.
The orcs were all too eager to meet them.
✽ ✽ ✽
“Shields up!” Tyrdun yelled over the chaotic song of battle. He hefted his famous mace upward, cursing that his arm was beginning to tire. Weapons of all kinds smashed into the defender’s shields. Tyrdun barely felt the sword that struck against him. With a deft swing he smashed the attacker’s clavicle, and he dropped the blade. The dwarf didn’t hesitate. His second blow crushed his opponent’s armor into the man’s chest. He could tell the man’s ribs had stabbed his lungs, and his bloody wheezes were all the dwarf heard.
Before long, three invaders were on him. A man and two women, wearing simple fur armor. The man and one of the women held short blades in each of their hands, and the other women carried a simple mace that was more akin to a block of metal tied to a stick. Tyrdun went low, ducking behind his shield as the man lunged forward. The blade in his right hand struck first, the one in his left soon after. Feeling the weakness in the left-hand strike, Tyrdun slammed the Stonehammer into his right hand. It broke with a loud crack; the blade clattered against the metal swords and armored corpses that lay all around.
The woman with the mace struck next. Tyrdun felt his shield earn a small dent from the blow. Before he could counterattack, the other woman flung herself at him. Her blades slammed into him. Tyrdun caught one with his shield and the other crashed against his side. It didn’t cut through his armor, but the plates jammed into him and he groaned from the blow. With a twirl, he pushed the shield against the caught blade and slammed the woman’s thigh with his hammer. She buckled from the blow and fell to the ground, and with a swift strike he crushed her skull. Blood shot from her ruined face, splattering on his armor and through the visor of his helmet.
The man who’d attacked first tried to stab Tyrdun as he hefted his mace from the woman’s cratered face, but he tripped over a corpse and fell; his momentum carried him down the hillside, and he was trampled by the oncoming assault. The woman with the mace swung again, but Tyrdun parried the blow with his Stonehammer. With another two swings, the woman fell to the ground, and he crushed her throat with the head of his mace.
The dwarf grimaced. His vision was blurred from the blood of the attackers. “Why!” he screamed. “Damn you! Damn you! Why!”
His answer was only the approach of another group of the invaders. Two this time. Both men. They carried longswords. Their armor was made of dark cloth. They both had hair that fell loosely over their heads, unkempt. Blond. Patchy beards that grew for lack of shaving and nothing else. Tyrdun could’ve been twice their age. They fought like children.
They died like children.
They all did.
✽ ✽ ✽
“How many can they have?” called Captain Sholar.
“Too many,” Ulthan grunted. The paladin wiped the blood from his brow. So far none had gotten in his eyes. But his armor was covered in the crimson flecks.
“We’re losing too many men!” the half-elf cried.
Ulthan felt warmth surge through him. He swung his blade in a wide, diagonal arc, and flames streaked in the air behind its path. The sword cut through a man’s leather-clad chest and he fell on the ground. The paladin kept swinging. The flames burned his foes. The light of Solustun exposed their wickedness. Left swing, parry, forward thrust. Right swing, step, step. Shield block, right swing. The invaders died like cattle. Ulthan’s training and conditioning had taken over completely. Left swing, parry, forward thrust. The paladin cut a swathe through his foes. Open wounds and flaming corpses were all that remained as he advanced. Right swing, step, step. Left swing. He felt as if his body were about to combust. Left swing. Men and women were all around him. Parry. They demanded things from him, things he couldn’t give. Forward thrust. His home. Right swing. His world. Step, step. His life. Shield block, right swing. No, I won’t become one of you!
Let me go! Why! Why are you doing this! Do you know who my father—
A hand smacked his cheek. Joravyn stood over him. He was lying on the ground surrounded by bodies. Enemy and ally alike.
Thankfully, only the invaders’ bodies were burning.
Then, the paladin noticed the silence. Everything was quiet. Not a single sword sang.
“What happened?” he asked.
Joravyn shook his head. “You … rushed forward. You ran in alone against them, your sword ablaze. You cut them down like they were paper. Then you collapsed. Nothing’s come out of the tree line since.”
Ulthan grimaced. “Then it’s about to begin.” Joravyn nodded. “Help me up.”
The paladin, now standing, examined the line of trees. Every five yards, a group of four men stood, purple magic gathering around their commune in a malicious sphere of light. “Sholar!” he called. The half-elf yet lived. “Get the men back in formation!” the paladin yelled. The commands resounded over the defenders’ heads. The wise soldiers did their best to throw the bodies of the dead away from their lines, not able to take the time to check their faces to see if they were comrades or enemies. Everyone tensed. Joravyn retreated behind the lines.
Flesh and muscle withered off the bones until there were no more, leaving behind only the black frames of those once living. The skeletons rose from the ground, some clutching the weapons they’d wielded in life, armor hanging on their bones where it could still cling to them.
The undead swarmed. Bones clattered as they washed over the soldiers like a crashing wave. Many formidable defenders were pushed to the ground and pummeled into the dirt or run through, but none remained still for long. The men were beginning to panic, the very real horror of this situation crashing into them. Ulthan swung his blade wildly, sending bones soaring across the battlefield from the skeletons he felled. But replacements were easy to find, and more rose.
The black frames pressed against Souhal’s bulwark. Everything was lost in the chaos of the attack. Ulthan kept fighting. Swinging fervently. No matter what he had to stand. He had to defend Souhal. Left swing, parry, forward thrust.
A blast of lightning surged into the skeletons around the paladin. It arced from frame to frame, coruscating through several to cut a swathe through their ranks. The bones of each one it hit flew away in a spectacular display, soaring well into the air and raining back down on the defenders. The paladin felt the magic Joravyn channeled grow stronger, its ambience enveloping the battlefield. The lighting continued to blast the skeletons.
Ulthan felt the blaze of Solustun within him once more. Right swing, step, step. He struggled to hold himself in control. Left swing. Step. Smash. Thrust. Skulls rolled off broken clavicles. Ribs fragmented, and spinal cords shattered from his swings. Smash. Thrust. Right swing. Parry. His sword sliced upward through a skeleton and hung in the air. His blade caught the light of the sun, what little there was, and shined fiercely. With a roar, he arced it into the ground in front of him, striking the earth with the blade.
A wave of flames burst forward. It scorched the mud and skeletons alike as it seared through their ranks. Bones fell all around, and the battlefield opened, allowing the defenders to raise their blades once more. Ulthan gave them a chance.
And it was just what the defenders needed. Th
e assorted forces rallied to Ulthan. Together, they cut through hundreds of skeletons. Maybe thousands.
And they kept fighting.
✽ ✽ ✽
Thank you, Eldre’torvaas, the scaleskin rogue prayed. His darksteel dagger was invaluable during this oppressing onslaught. His allies’ attacks on the skeletons would separate the bones from one another, but unless the soldiers managed to crush something vital, they reanimated. However, when the darksteel dagger cut down a skeleton, it stayed on the ground.
He dispatched three with quick strikes as he fought alongside the orcs, humans, and Torgashin stationed at his gate. Some of the scaleskin even rallied to him. The thief. The one they’d cursed at all their lives. Only takes the invasion of the undead, Torvaas laughed inwardly.
He struck another one of the black frames down, stabbing his enchanted dagger into its skull. Its eyes blazed a brighter red for a moment before the rest of its form clattered to the ground, the skull stuck to his knife. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the bone into the bay.
The scaleskin rogue ran toward another group of skeletons that had surrounded some of the orcs defending. Torvaas leaped off the ground and soared for a moment through the air; he flipped over the circle of skeletons and fought with the orcs behind him. There were fifteen of the black frames around them, and five orcs stood with him. Stealing the initiative, Torvaas lashed out with his daggers on the two in front of him. His darksteel blade severed the skull from the cervical vertebrae, and the skeleton was reduced to a pile of shambles. The other dagger bit deep into another skeleton’s sternum, but it remained standing. It struck back at him with a sword of definitive elvish make, but Torvaas nimbly avoided the strike.
Another two skeletons lunged at him, and he parried their blows with his daggers. They pushed on his blades hard. Torvaas let them break his guard. He dropped to the ground and the black frames stumbled from the sudden lack of resistance. He stabbed his darksteel dagger into the two on his right and dislocated the third skeleton’s patella, causing it to crash to the ground and break apart.
