The Grim Legion

by Kindred Ult

  "I did none of that, my old friend. I kept him with me whenever possible, and taught him how to fight and to think, but I never tried to influence his decisions. In fact, up until now, I had assumed that he would not have followed me and was either dead, or had turned to decadence by now. It brings me great joy to hear that, not only is he not dead, but that he has adopted my philosophy." He beamed, which showed several missing teeth. "You bring joy to an old, dying vampire, Dimitrious."

  In response, Dimitrious' eyes narrowed, and his next words were in a whisper. "Damn you old man, damn you and your bastard offspring. I'll see to it that he's wiped from the face of this earth, if it takes me five lifetimes." With that he spun around, slammed open the door, and practically flew down the steps. He left behind an old vampire, who smiled to himself and brought his blanket closer to him. "It was nice talking with you too, O second eldest of the living vampires."

  ________________________________________________________________________

  The two nights passed without great incident for Demenn, with the first spent packing his belongings and heading out with all of the others in the army and militia. They had made quite a spectacular sight, with over one thousand, five hundred fighters passing through the large gates of the wall and out into the woods, but there was no celebration to mark their departure, as was the custom of the humans. All of the vampires came to see the army leave, but few smiled, while most simply stared impassively. None were under any illusions of an assured victory, and all knew the numerousness of the werewolves and that, if the army lost, they would all die soon as well.

  And so it was a somber procession out into the woods, and none of the warriors spoke as the trees unbent and shoved themselves out of the way of the army, creating a huge path for them to tread on. In a few miles, they met with the Necromancers, who had just reached them that morning, and with almost no exchange, the two sides paralleled and began walking towards the Great Plain. They walked for the entirety of the day, and then through most of the night. When they finally reached the Great Plain, they began to set up their respective camps, with the vampires on one side and the necromancers on the other.

  When he was finished setting up his tent, he sat and looked over the plain before him. It was called a plain, but in reality it was more akin to a valley if anything. It was a vast clearing where a large amount of trees has been missing for centuries, but that had flowing grass everywhere. The ground all around sloped downwards towards the inside, forming a depression of about fifty feet from the sides to the middle. In all, it was the perfect battlefield for the werewolves because it allowed them to use their numerical superiority to full advantage. It also allowed them to surround the vampires by being sloped, and the lack of trees gave them full mobility, especially their first class fighters. Demenn sat and wondered just why the Patriarch and Matriarch had chosen such a place, since it carried almost no advantages for their people, but he knew that they must have some reason.

  Eventually he stood and began walking towards the main pavilion, which was where the final meeting of all of those who would take part in the war would be. As he walked, he wandered from his original path, realizing that the council would not start for at least another hour or more, and that he had time. As one of the ten captains, he would be required at the meeting, and he also wanted to go so that he could understand why they were fighting here, but he saw no reason to appear too early. So he walked through the camp and allowed his senses to roam.

  He saw many vampires, attending to their various tasks or simply walking, sitting, lying, or standing. He wondered how many of them he would see after the night after next, and then wondered if he himself would be alive to see them. He heard the shriek of a human woman who had been kept alive for just this night, and noticed that there were quite a few of those around tonight. Many, undoubtedly, did not believe they would live through the next twenty four hours, and so they tried to live this one part as best they knew how, which was by saturating themselves with every pleasure they could think of. Others looked like they had shut down, and sat or stood where they were with their eyes glazed over. He knew that they were looking at their past, and probably wondering if it had been worth it.

  Another female cry made his thirst come up within him, but he denied it, as he usually did. He would save his thirst for before the battle, as he did not want to become overcome by bloodlust in the middle of battle, since that would mean immediate death. All around him, he sensed a mixture of feelings. There were spikes of anger, whether at the enemy or their leaders he could not tell, scattered shards of fear, throbbing feelings of bloodlust, and the ever-present low buzz of fear. Many of them probably did not want to fight, and many also knew that they would die, but they all would fight, and many would die simply because their leaders commanded them to.

  'So many lives will be wasted,' he thought "and all because of a few people's actions. It would be tragic were we not all already damned.'

  So consumed was he in his thoughts, that he did not notice N'colto until he practically ran into him. He looked up and saw N'colto smiling down at him, or at least that was what he guessed his face was trying to convey. Whatever his face was doing, however, it was obvious that he was ecstatic.

  "I heard about what happened with Varus. Thank you, from myself and from my entire race. Thank you."

  "You are welcome, but I cannot promise that anything will change. Varus is from my lineage, so that may explain how he was able to change as well. I may not have solved anything at all."

  "Be that as it may, you have given my people more hope than we've had reason to have in many years, and for that I thank you." N'colto bowed at his waist until his head was lower than his knees.

  "Yea," Demenn had no idea how to respond. "And again, you are welcome."

  N'colto came up, and it looked like he had a tear in his eye. "Are you heading to the council pavilion?"

  "I suppose so." Demenn just now wondered why the council members liked to name everything about them 'council something,' but decided it was not important.

  "Good, then we are of the same purpose, let us walk together until we make it there."

  "All right." Demenn saw no harm in it.

  They walked in almost complete silence, with only slight communication being passed between the two of them, until they reached the council pavilion. It was a grand tent, larger than any he had seen before and one that could easily fit a hundred people. It had taken almost half of the night to raise and soared fifty feet into the air. The main flap was open, and the guards—always guards—let them inside the mostly-empty council room. There were at least thirty minutes before the meeting started, and as such almost none were seated in the raised sets of benches. Most had not arrived yet, and most of those who had were huddled in little circles, murmuring and discussing who-knows-what. These groups had always disgusted Demenn, as they tended to be full of backstabbing politicians simply trying to discover how to triumph over their newest rival, and also the rare warrior unfortunate enough to be drawn into a conversation over his head. These warriors were almost always taken advantage of in some way or another.

  Before his disgust could really set in, however, Demenn saw two vampires from across the room, and immediately ran towards them. One was facing away from him and one towards, and when the one facing him saw him, he gestured wildly to the other. The other turned around, and by the time Demenn reached them, both Sophella and Niethel were facing him and smiling. He clasped hands with Niethel, then turned to see Sophella staring at him. She tapped her foot on the ground.

  "Well, if it isn't our kick-ass-then-get-captured-then-escape-and-steal-the-queen-then-get-pummeled-by-the-same-guy-he-beat-down-then-lose-the-queen-and-come-back-to-get-promoted-boss."

  "Have you been practicing that?" Demenn smiled softly.

  "For hours, I've had to hear it at least a hundred times before now." Niethel chuckled with him. "Still, you don't seem to have gotten off too badly, if you ask me."

&nbs
p; "Indeed," Demenn looked over Sophella, who was dressed in a voluminous black cape with a large hood. "You will be a necromancer tonight?"

  She curtsied here large coat and turned around. "Yep, and tomorrow night as well. I will have to be a necromancer first, and a vampire second."

  "Well then, I wish you luck with your part of our battle, whatever that may be." Demenn hoped to learn what it would be when the meeting commenced, but he did not expect it. The vampires were notoriously stingy with their battle plans.

  "Pfff," Sophella scoffed. "If I had to rely on luck, or, for that matter, this baffoon," she jerked her thumb at Niethel. "I would have been dead long ago."

  Niethel shot up his hands and feigned hurt. "Hey now, back up. Who was it that saved you from all of those werewolves?"

  "Hmmmm," she pretended to think. "Why, that's right, me."

  "Oh, that's right, isn't it." Niethel looked down and scratched his head in embarrassment. Demenn laughed with them, and they exchanged stories for the time until the council started and they had to go to their respective seats. The pavilion filled up steadily, and by the time Demenn got to his seat, the entire tent was packed. When one of the guards at the entrance signaled that all of those who had to be here were, Vladimir rose from his seat and addressed the crowd.

  "Good evening. This will be our last council before our battle, and it is now that we will discuss our strategy. First, all of our units will engage the army head on." There was an immediate murmur among the vampires, but that was quelled by one look from Vladimir before he began speaking again. "Each unit will use position A and then come together to form one large triangle made from smaller triangles of units within it. You will split through their forces like a spear and fight to the middle. Once the triangle reaches the middle of their forces, you will split up into your units and form circles within them. Make them full circles, so that the werewolves will not be able to leap inside them. Once those formations are set, the battle will rest primarily upon the necromancers and demons, who already know their roles. Although we will be the ones sustaining the bulk of the damage, we are the only ones of our allies who may do so and still survive. This battle depends upon your strength. Can I trust you, my warriors?"

  There was a resounding shout of approval from those vampire warriors who were present, and Demenn gave his own voice to the throng, although not as enthusiastically as others. Vladimir had said "We," but any sane individual knew he meant "You." Additionally, if the ten units were to fight, that meant that the five hundred or so militia would be kept back to defend the camp instead of providing support. Vladimir waited for the approval to end before speaking again.

  "N'colto, I also require the use of you and your people. I need you all to maintain a high view of the battle and assist wherever you deem it necessary. Please only provide your assistance where you deem it completely vital. The militia and myself will stay with the offensive magicians and necromancers inside the camp to protect them and provide unbiased assistance. Is the plan unclear to any?"

  Dimitrious stood, and was recognized. He spoke in a tone of nonchalance, but his words sent a chill down Demenn's spine. "My lord, if we are to use a spear to pierce the enemy, who is to be the tip of the spear?" He cast a subtle look at Demenn as he sat back to his seat.

  Vladimir pondered this question. "It has always been the duty of the general to choose the champion for a battle. Darius, choose."

  Demenn did not even need to see the glee on Darius' face to know what was coming. He pretended to look thoughtful, and scanned the room very deliberately, heedless of Samael jumping up and down with his hand in the air, before finally speaking. "Patriarch, Matriarch, I feel that I must choose…" he paused again for effect, but Demenn already knew what his fate was. "Demenn, one of our newest captains."

  Vladimir began to turn to Demenn, but Saphira turned stood and faced him. She stared at Demenn before speaking. "You have been appointed, Demenn. Will you accept this appointment?"

  Demenn knew all too well what this appointment was. It was clearly a great honor, but it was also a death sentence. Few given that position survived the battle, and he was to be at the front of the triangle facing thousands of werewolves. Nevertheless, there was only one answer to that question, and when he replied, he knew that he was dead. "Yes, Matriarch, it will be an honor to serve you."

  She smiled at him, and just for a moment he forgot that he had signed his own death, but then he saw Vladimir's face twitch for a moment, and also Dimitrious and Darius smiling widely, and he felt it all fall back onto him. He fell more than sat back down on his seat. 'Oh well, it is not like I thought I would live through this war anyway.' Absently, he thought that he had been right. He had made far too many enemies over the last months, and now it was coming back for him. His success had killed him, it seems, by gaining him notice, which had brought about the, at best spite, and at worst hate, of the three strongest warriors in all of vampire society. He would have to watch his back if he were to live through tomorrow night, even if he did somehow survive being at the head of an army.

  A grin unconsciously appeared on his face. 'Yes, tomorrow will be fun.'

  ________________________________________________________________________

  Brand also stood over the valley that night, seeing the tents of the vampires and thinking about the battle to come. The werewolves had left their lair with considerable celebration, and had feasted well the night before, but when they left, they left an empty lair, as every werewolf went to battle, even the civilians, women, and children. Also, he wondered why the vampires had chosen this place as well, but more than that he thought about his message to the vampire slayers. On one level, he hoped that Nasoren had reached them just so that she would be safe and that they would not respond so that none of them would have to die, but on another level he truly wished they would come so that both of these races would be destroyed.

  "Deathbreak." A familiar voice sounded behind him, and Brand turned to see the King walking up to him.

  "Sire?" Brand had no idea what the King wanted of him, but he was in no place to decline at least a conversation.

  "Deathbreak, I require your assistance," the King said after a short pause.

  Only one answer. "I am yours to command milord."

  The King smiled, which was strange. "Obedient as ever, Deathbreak, but on this occasion I do not want to command you as your King, but to ask you as a fellow warrior. Walk with me." As they walked, the King explained himself. "I do not trust vampires as a matter of course, and my mistrust of Vladimir is many times of any other being in this forest. He has been their acting leader for too long to be so naïve as to allow his army to fight in a battlefield even remotely giving us an equal footing, let alone suggesting it. Equality naturally favors us, and he knows it. I suspect a trap, and one of great strength if he believes he can wipe us from the earth in one battle." He paused, and after a suitable time, Brand responded.

  "What would you have me do, sire?"

  The King looked at him while continuing to walk. "I am asking that you lead beside me for a counter attack to that trap. We have saved almost all of our first class warriors; all save for a few specially selected for their presence in the main force. They have no idea how many first classes we have, and so will not be able to notice our absence until they spring their trap, at which point we will send our entire elite force to counter it. We will crush them in their own deceit, and our kind will finally end this conflict and be allowed to live in peace.

  Brand knew that this was an opportunity unlike any he could have hoped for to know the inner workings of the werewolves. This time it was not pretense that made him answer immediately. "I will sire, but is this not subterfuge?"

  "Yes it is."

  "And are we not a culture that avoids and abhors the uses of such vampire-like approaches to war?"

  The King chuckled and flashed a grin. "Yes, and it is an image we love to cultivate amongst those whom we fight. After all, what would 'beasts
' know of strategy?"

  Brand smiled as the King walked away and looked at the battlefield before him in a completely different light. Tomorrow would be fun.

  - 13 -

  Of Honor, Deceit, and Death

  22

  Of Honor, Deceit, and DeathDamian looked over the army that was arrayed on the other side of the plain, and for just a moment he felt a small tremor in his heart. Thousands upon thousands of werewolves, looking like a sea of brown, stood ready to descend and consume him and his forces at any moment. The army behind him looked miniscule in comparison, but Demenn felt his fears quell as his thoughts shifted from the legions before him to his sister. She was all he could think of, and, for a moment, he could have sworn he smelled her scent float through the air. When his eyes settled back down on the mass of bodies before him, they still seemed just as large, but they had lost all of their terror.

  "Let us do this." He whispered as a smile splayed over his face.