by RG Long
“Bah,” Gorplin said, looking between Blume and Olma. “I can’t make up my mind. I’ve seen demons. I’ve fought the devils. I don’t want them spying on us, but, if they hurt such a wee one.”
“She’s only a few years younger than me,” Blume said, not standing but looking defiant. “The same age I was when I came with you all in the first place.”
“Do I have a say?” Olma asked.
The entire group turned to her. Ealrin hadn’t wondered what she might want. He had assumed she wouldn’t want to be left alone. Was he wrong?
She stood up solemnly and looked at them all.
“You’ve all been very kind to me,” she said. “I don’t know what would have happened to me if you hadn’t helped me. But I don’t want to be a hindrance to you or the fight ahead. I should be with my uncle. If he’s still alive. Maybe it’d be best if I went back to Arranus. I could go with Szabo and Cecil.”
“No,” Ealrin heard himself say before he even had finished the thought. It wasn’t right. She was their responsibility. It should be them who took care of her. Who helped her. After the war calmed down they could find her uncle. She shouldn’t have to leave with Szabo. They had just met him. And the potion master, Cecil? He was wild at best.
“She wants to go,” Holve said, looking at Ealrin. He couldn’t stand to meet his eyes. All he was worried about was making sure Olma was safe. Like the rest of them.
He was just about to say so.
When the trumpets behind them rang out clear through the night.
And a blaze of purple flame erupted just above the cave entrance.
37: Battle Lines
Wind whipped through her hair as she listened to the sound of the ocean’s tides. The early morning suns began to warm her skin and she looked proudly over her army. They had come. She knew they would. Her beacon in the sky had let the surrounding countryside know where Isol was and had called her troops back to her. They were running to serve their holy queen.
Yada felt exultant. She had taken what was certainly meant to have been a defeat and was going to turn it around into a victory for her island nation.
Those who had taken their gifts for granted, called them devils, and dismissed them from the very castles they had built would now feel her wrath. She would show them the great power of the speakers. She was Yada, the Holy Queen of Isol, and she was not to be crossed.
There were others who were beginning to gather around them as well. Those who are not allied with her.
“Your holiness,” General Cern said bowing before her. “The armies of Prommus have come out against us.”
Yada nodded her head at this and then waved the general away. She would not be troubled with such nonsense. Looking over her shoulder she saw that several of her magical cannons were being set up to rain destruction down on those who would come out against them.
These had been saved from the chaos of the demons. It had been her quick-thinking generals and their fear of her that had ensured the cannons were saved.
It would be only an hour or two before they were operational. Once they were ready, her enemies would be decimated beyond recovery.
Yada took another breath and allowed pride to swell within her. She was going to be the ruler of not just the forsaken island nation, but of a massive empire. Those who did not yet fear her soon would.
One of her speakers came near and bowed down to her.
“Your holiness,“ he said. “There should be one cannon ready by the time I return to them. In an hour, all will be operational. We will be able to repel the attacks of our enemies.”
Shouts came up from the camp as the flags of Prommus came marching over the horizon. Yada nodded at the speaker and sent him away.
“Tell them they are to fire as quickly as they can,” she said.
There would be the need for cannons in order to repel these attacks.
Yada again felt powerful. If this was the army of Prommus approaching them, they had their moment to strike. If the Isolians ships bearing reinforcements and supplies came now, they would be able to crush the army of Prommus without giving them a chance to resupply.
Where they were was right where they needed to be: beside the beacon of light calling their ships to them.
More and more soldiers dressed in the green of the theocracy came into view in the morning light. Yada dismissed them in her mind. What were they? A few ten thousands of soldiers?
On her ships she carried every single speaker and soldier that they had given to the fight in the Disputed Lands. They had pulled them back for this purpose and this assault. If she could conquer the north Theocracy, she will be able to take the entire continent.
She looked over at the slave she had taken from the city. He stood there, hands behind his back and shirtless. Octus. The hero of the south they had called him. A man who had fought against the lizards and her own soldiers. The hero who was now her personal slave.
Yada smiled to herself. It would not be the last time she did so. All of these who had taken advantage of the speakers would feel a similar fate. They would be forced to work. Forced to rebuild the castles they had not taken care of. Her speakers could do the same job in a half cycle of the moons. She would force the men and women of the Theocracy to toil over the task for a century. They would feel the humiliation they had caused. They would pay dearly for what they had done to the speakers of Isol.
Trumpets blew in the distance and Yada watched as the army of Prommus lined up against the horizon. Foolish. They would die on these beaches. The survivors would be marched back in humiliation. She would be victorious. She was sure of it. Yada stroked the amulet at her neck, feeling its power. This artifact alone would secure their victory. Her hair flowed with the other rimstones she kept there. A smile widened on her face.
This thought of victory was cut off by her captains coming to her again.
Bowing before her, it was Oberon who spoke first.
“We await your orders, your holiness,” she said bowing down.
Yada looked out over the plains of Prommus. To her left there were the ocean tides, promising her the arrival of her reinforcements. They would come.
“Send in our soldiers,“ she said. “Repel the traitors until our cannons are ready. When I remove the beacon of light, retreat. For when the beacon disappears, hell will rain down upon the armies of Prommus.”
38: Power Unleashed
Jerius looked out over the army of the theocracy. They were comparable at least to the speakers and heretics who lined up their ranks out in front of them. With the beach to their south, they would be cut off from any maneuvers in that direction. He looked behind him, knowing that the king had ordered the southern troops to join them in the defense of the theocracy from the speakers. Would they come?
Jerius clenched tight to the book that was in his arms. The words of Decolos.
It had been because of these words that they had driven the speakers away from Prommus.
Perhaps, before the day was over, he would read the words held therein again.
The previous High Priest had been too cautious. He had warned Jerius that Decolos had hidden the power to call forth terrible beings in this book, but that he had only ever done it once. And in his efforts to remove the speakers from the mainland of the theocracy, Decolos had summoned forth an army of demons.
They had come and destroyed the speakers, but they had also mercilessly ravaged the armies of the Theocracy’s budding empire as well.
The former high priest had warned him that to summon the demons again would be to summon upon themselves the potential for such losses.
Jerius scoffed. Such a cautious approach had been why the speakers had been allowed to exist. If they wanted it to be fully rid of the heretics, such drastic measures would be necessary.
No matter the cost.
Captains and soldiers jostled each other to form the ranks they had been instructed to. Jerius sat on his horse, watching the ordeal. He would act when it was nec
essary. No matter the orders of a dead priest or a living king.
“Jerius!” he heard from behind him. It irked him that he should be called by his name only. He was High Priest of the Theocracy now. He should be addressed as such.
Then again, he knew the voice of the one who called.
Turning in his saddle, he inclined his head as he addressed the king.
“Yes, my lord?” he asked with as much respect as he could muster.
“Can you see those cannons they have used against us?“ the king asked, looking out over the battlefield.
Jerius pointed to a far hill where it looked like the magical monstrosities were being assembled. If anything was going to stop them from being successful today, it was this.
“It seems like they are not yet prepared to fire them,“ Jerius said. He was sure the speakers would have unleashed their fury the moment they saw them if they were.
The king nodded.
“No signs of the demons either?“ he asked looking around the plains and beaches before them.
The king was wary of another attack. He had cautioned his army against the demons, not knowing that it had been Jerius himself who had summoned them.
“No sign, my Lord.”
There was no need for Jerius to show what he was capable of just yet. The strike must be purposeful and timely in order to have the effect Jerius intended. The high priest was a position of power. But in order to secure such authority, one more test must be set.
The king rode off away from Jerius and towards another group of generals.
“What would you have me do, My Priest?” Luca asked at Jerius’ side.
Jerius looked down at his faithful guard. She had served him well. Perhaps she had served him long enough?
“There is a battle before us,” he said, returning his gaze to the king. “Go and find a captain to put yourself in the service of. Fight well.”
“But..” Luca stammered. “But my Priest!”
Jerius waved his hand.
“War is no place for a woman,” he said dismissively. “I should have left you in the camp. Either return to the tent or fight in the battle. The choice is yours. But if you survive, I expect your services once again.”
He did not look down at her. There was a sniffing sound he ignored. Looking down to his side, he saw that Luca had vanished. A smile creased his lips. It soon went away as he heard the voice of Gravis.
“Men of the Theocracy!” the king shouted to the line as he turned around to face the army. “We will strike down the heretics here on this beach! We will drive them into the ocean and drown them in their robes! Fight today and we’ll be rid of the Speakers of Isol now and forever! Fight and we will never again know their apostasy! Forward, men of the Theocracy! For the cleansing of Ladis!”
A cheer rose up from the army as they began to march forward.
Good, thought Jerius. Now he had room to work.
Taking the book off his chest he opened it in front of him. At that moment, the trumpet from the island heretics’ side blasted over the plains. They had seen the advance of the Theocracy.
The battle was about to begin.
Jerius began to run his finger over the ancient words, speaking them aloud as he did so. He hesitated on the last word, leaving it in his throat.
He shook his head and shut the book.
No, he thought. Not yet.
He would wait for the Theocracy troops to lose heart. He would show them that Jerius the High Priest was the one who had saved them from ruin. He clutched the book to his chest again. With another hand, he removed his whip from his side and spurred his horse forward.
Several companies of soldiers had already marched past him. He would join the battle, but from a safe distance.
There was still work to do.
CLASHING INTO THE RANKS of Isol, the army of the Theocracy fought with a vengeance. Jerius knew that they felt like they were fighting to rid the land of the heretics. They had been stirred by the king’s words. They would fight for him and the chance to be rid of the speakers who had attacked their city. Jerius knew they were seeking revenge.
But he had seen the power of the magical cannons that were, thankfully, not yet operating. They would rain destruction down on the army. That would be when he would act.
At the proper time, he would reveal his salvation of them all.
Men with spears rallied around him. A host of temple priests wielding maces surrounded his horse. He was the High Priest, after all. He was worth protecting.
Flashing his whip above his head, Jerius let out a shout.
It was followed by the screams of the warriors of Isol. A flash of magical blasts shot from the hands of the speakers on the front lines of Isol.
Soldiers went flying in an explosion of dirt and blood. Jerius’ horse reared and panicked, throwing the priest from his saddle. He landed sprawled out in a heap. Groaning with pain, he became very aware of what was in his hands, and what was not. His whip was still tight in his grasp. He was grateful for the weapon.
But the tome of Decolos was nowhere to be seen. Jerius scrambled to his feet, his whip in his hand. The protective line of soldiers that had covered him from the front line of Isol was now gone. In its place, there was a crater of bodies.
Before an Isolian soldier who was rushing around the crater could confront him, Jerius let his whip fly around his neck. With a jerk of his arm, the soldier crashed to the ground, his neck broken.
As he fell, Jerius watched him fall on top of the book of Decolos.
Rushing to where the body of the soldier was, Jerius shoved his lifeless form off the ancient text and grabbed it up off of the ground. The battle continued to swirl around him. Men fell and died, both from Isol and from the Theocracy. The front had shifted slightly away from him. There was no time to be grateful, however. Turning around, he saw a group of three soldiers running for him. He held his whip overhead, ready to let it fly again.
There was no need.
A group of temple prophets crashed into the soldiers, their maces careening down on their foes with a vengeance.
Jerius was immediately thankful for their service and their sacrifice. Once the threat was over, they turned and bowed at him. They were exactly what he needed.
“Follow me,” he commanded.
Dutifully, they followed him away from the fighting and the crashing of bodies.
Jerius found a rock that was wedged into the sandy dirt and laid the book on top of it. Pulling it open, he flipped through it to the page he had read before.
“Stand before me and defend me!“ he said, pointing at the ground ahead of him. The men did as they were told, holding their maces and turning away from him to look at the battle in front of them.
This time, Jerius read every word in the incantation loud. Pulling a knife from his belt, he thrust it into the back of the prophet standing directly in front of him, allowing his blood to spill out over the ground in front of him. Quickly he pulled a knife out and shoved it into the neck of the man standing to his left.
Groans and painful moans escaped the first man as the second fell dead to the ground. The third man turned around with his mace. Jerius pointed a finger at him and commanded with as much authority in his voice as he could.
“In this body may you dwell for my service!”
What had once been confusion and anger turned to pain as the man’s eyes exploded with a purple flame.
His body twisted with contortions, growing in size and emanating a thin purple glow. Blades grew from his hands and reached down to the ground. His face twisted into a combination of metal and flesh with the helmet he had been wearing.
It had worked.
Jerius looked at the demon who now resided in the body of the prophet. Then he gave his order.
“Rain devastation down on my enemies and the enemies of the Theocracy. Destroy them all. Then find King Gravis,“ he said, his fist clenched around the bloody knife. War and death surrounded them again as the lines
came close to the spot where he had summoned the demon. Jerius had found his new power. This would be what would take him to the throne and be the undoing of King Gravis.
“Find him and Kill him. “
39: David’s Last Battle
The sound of battle and war invaded David’s ears. It had been a few days since he had heard anything except for the tide going in and out and the constant marching of feet beside him. They had moved as one. Falling over from exhaustion as a unit, waking to feed from the ocean and drink from whatever stream they could find that feed into the waters there, and then walking on again.
Now, after weeks of walking, they were close.
David had felt her presence nearby. He had known that the orders of Graxxin had grown louder in his mind and driven him forward. The cold on his skin no longer bothered him. Nor did the grit under his feet.
The only thing that mattered were the screams in his head.
One voice was of a woman he loved, though he wasn’t sure why.
The other was the commands of Graxxin to march. To come to her aid. To battle for her.
He knew they all felt it too. The calls of the goddess of blood. Dozens of them had joined his unrelenting march. They all obeyed the same call. They all heard the same scream.
“East!” it said over and over again.
It echoed in his mind until the only desire he had was to see the point on the horizon where the suns woke him from his march everyday. And now he had arrived.
Looking out over the horizon, he saw two armies at war. A sea of green fighting a sea of silver and blue. They fought and they died on the beaches. Many bodies floated in the water, staining the tide red.
David only knew one final scream in his mind.
“Kill!”
The desire to see blood spilled by his own hands overcame him. It was the only thing in the world that mattered. He took the blade he had dragged for the last weeks and raised it above his head. The others did the same with their own weapons. As one, the army of those who had marched and given their lives for Graxxin, the goddess of blood, charged towards the rear of the soldiers in green.
