Storm of Prophecy, Book I: Dark Awakening

by Michael Von Werner

  A glance to his side as he swung caught the sight of green fire tearing up their left flank. Soldiers on that side broke from combat and were fleeing, unable to bear the strain on their courage any longer. His eyes darted over to the wyvern. It flapped its wings while flying across their front, its breath having been expended. Wind blew at the beast, trying to unsteady its flight but failed. It dimmed its yellow eyes when it looked at Vincent with an expression that taunted him.

  Zombies in front quickly drew back his attention. Vincent kept slicing into corpses while feeling that things could not be worse. Their formation was breaking up; they couldn’t hold the line. Men and wizards alike were fleeing. He kept fighting, not knowing what else to do.

  “Fall back to the trees! Watch for arrows!” Master Anthony commanded, trying to maintain their resistance and bring order to the chaos of their retreat. Vincent held a few moments longer to give others more time then turned and ran.

  Ahead of him, he saw scattered men in red charging uphill to escape the dead. Several of the trees at the top were splintered by the earlier attacks, and a green flame still burned on some. Wizards and sorceresses kept turning their heads as they ran, destroying with their quick aim the black arrows that sought to take advantage. Rick, Karl, and Stacy were not far apart from each other. Rick and Stacy turned or stopped occasionally to obliterate arrows, Karl to magically kick up dirt and rocks in an effort to cause disruption amongst their senders. While Vincent ran, he ducked and felt a quick fright as one of Stacy’s bands of lightning shot over his head and blew apart an arrow meant for him, the sharp splinters striking his neck and back, causing a searing pain.

  They stared at something above him. “Look out!” He heard them all scream while Karl made several furious leftward shoving-gestures with his arms.

  Knowing their reason exactly, Vincent leaned hard left to avoid being thrown over while he made a turn in that direction at too high a speed. He heard a whoosh and felt the heat from the green flames on his back. He heated his blade and viciously swung across, barely missing one of the wyvern’s foot-claws as it flew by, trying to grasp at him. The massive tail whipped toward him and he brought his sword up vertically to block it, straining his arms to keep them firm. It made a shallow cut in the scales as the force of the blow knocked him on his back.

  As Vincent struggled to turn and get up, he saw first the coming undead, and then his friends running into the woods, perhaps to wait for him. The wyvern swooped up over the trees and Vincent saw a man with a halberd panic and senselessly thrust his weapon toward the air, thinking it near. Vincent looked from the wyvern to the man’s weapon, seeing the metal bands running up the side of the wooden haft to the long spearhead where an axe-blade and spikes were attached. Then he glanced back at the disappearing black wings and tail of the wyvern. An idea began to grow. He rushed to his feet, desperately searching around with his eyes.

  “What the hell are you waiting for!” He heard Rick shouting out to him from afar. He glanced and immediately saw the undead. Further across the field, there was a halberd near a headless body, but it was too far; he dared not go after it.

  He sprinted up the remaining distance with the dead masses right on his heels. He watched Rick send a thick stream of flame up and over him. Stacy sent lightning bolts that drew sharp concussions in the air which he knew were bodies being blasted apart.

  Karl readied his hands as though he was about to do something, but looked at Vincent in frustration. “Run faster, you idiot!” He scolded.

  Exhaustion seared throughout his body. His lungs burned. Vincent pushed yet harder. Karl clenched his fists and motioned upward, letting out a harsh yell of exertion. There was a slight trembling and rumbling in the ground near Vincent. He snapped his head to the side to glance and saw a knot of earth ripple and spread a short distance down, tripping a good number of zombies at the very front of their charge. As Vincent reached his friends and quickly got out of their way, Rick cut across from left to right with a wide blaze that set them on fire in varying intensities. Stacy sent a wide gust of wind that fanned the flames and threw the burning corpses into all that followed.

  Vincent rested his sword’s tip on the ground and leaned against a trunk while he struggled to catch his breath. His friends were badly winded as well.

  Karl was irate. “What was that about!”

  “I need a halberd!” Vincent answered with hardly enough air.

  “Why!”

  “What’s wrong with your sword?” Rick added with a mustached scowl, pointing at the weapon while he stood bent over with the other hand to his knee, breathing hard.

  “Nothing! I just need one! I might be able to…”

  Stacy quickly interrupted him. “They’re recovering! We have to go!”

  A black arrow whizzed over the top of Karl’s head. He cursed obscenely. “Come on!” Vincent snapped his gaze over, readying his sword and expecting the worst but saw it stuck deeply in a tree, shaking as though trying hopelessly to get itself free.

  The four of them ran leftward into the trees, going deeper in the direction of where they might find the others. “REGROUP!” He heard Master Anthony’s voice yell through the trees.

  Someone in the army echoed it, trying to rally their troops. “Form up, you cowardly maggots! REGROUP!”

  Others repeated it. “Regroup!”

  “Regroup!” Another sounded out higher and longer.

  “Form a line and stand!”

  The undead were crashing through the thicket behind them. Vincent raced with the other three, wanting to rejoin their force as quickly as possible, knowing that each second was precious and that they only had a chance together.

  “Form a line!” He heard as they got closer. “You too!”

  “I know where to stand, Human!” A voice replied indignantly.

  Past the next few bushes and trees, he finally caught sight of them. A knot of wizards including Master Anthony, Vincent’s two guards, a pyromancer Elf, and others stood in the middle of perhaps over a hundred men that had been rallied once more after the rout. They held a roughly circular formation with breaks caused by trees in their midst. Their respective units were not complete either; they were in no way organized by weaponry, and men with bearded axes, swords, spears, and halberds alike stood at the edges. A few bald mercenary Elves who had run out of arrows stood among them with their weapons drawn. The rest stood behind.

  The four of them were spotted quickly and someone called out not to attack, making sure they didn’t harm their own. Vincent and his friends hurried over. The line opened for them and Stacy, Rick, and Karl went through to join the others from the keep. Vincent took position within the line’s opening and the other men near him spread out so they would have room.

  Vincent stood his ground, waited, and listened. He heard only the sound of his own exhausted breaths and that of others. Pain from his earlier injuries throbbed all over his body while he breathed. Slowly, the earlier sound of pursuit became louder. Twigs were stepped on, dry, dead tree limbs snapped, leaves rustled, and pine cones crunched.

  Zombies crashed through the thicket and came running toward them in disarray. Many were taken down by arrows or by magic. Vincent’s ears perked when he abruptly heard several sharp thuds on wood. Suddenly there was a scream from one of the men. He looked over and saw a black arrow sticking from his shoulder; it had somehow made its way through the trees. He screamed in further pain and agony as his fellow tried unsuccessfully to pull it out and kept trying as it squirmed inside him.

  Dead men, women, and children attacked and were cut down mercilessly. The soldiers were as ruthless as he. The losses the dead faced were terrible and still they kept coming. Vincent felled a small blonde girl in one diagonal cleave. More dead flowed through the woods, but not enough to overwhelm them with any certainty. He dared to have hope.

  A green ball of fire exploded in the trees, missing their forces. Raised shields blocked burning fragments. There were zombies enough to continu
e pressing an attack yet they no longer held a distinct advantage. The cultists would have to come closer to renew their threat. They were probably on their way right now, he thought as he swung. The gods help them if they were.

  Vincent suddenly heard a thick wafting of air again, and his heart caught in his throat. The familiar roar resounded loudly from above. Thick green flame streamed down left of him. Incinerating men screamed in an agonizing death. Some of the flame bathed Vincent’s left sleeve and he beat frantically, trying to put it out.

  While distracted, a zombie lunged at him from the right. His raised arm and elbow were barely in its way and its teeth bit into them painfully. He was knocked to the ground. After a soldier near him killed another, he brought down his bearded axe on the corpse’s legs while Vincent struggled to get free. In anger, Vincent heated the blade of his sword. After another hack from his comrade, the zombie retracted its teeth to try to bite into something more substantial. The moment it did, Vincent pulled his sword’s cutting edge across its throat like a saw, slicing off its head.

  He shoved the body aside and got to his feet. Green fire burned all around. He fought side by side with the soldier near him to hold back their enemies. Red flame from their wizards streaked over and set zombies ablaze while at the same time setting fire to part of the forest. Lightning blasted bodies apart and wind fanned the conflagration. Men wanted to run again after the wyvern’s second attack but couldn’t; the area was too thick with fighting, and showing one’s back here would only result in death.

  The sound of slicing, cutting, and screaming filled the air as they fought on. Vincent ignored all pain and kept swinging at any who came close, despite the momentary blurring of his senses. With the numbers of the dead thinning, it was starting to seem as though they just might make it.

  If they could fight hard enough.

  Vincent heard the thick wafting of the air again and frantically tried to find where it was coming from, desperately wanting to know where the flame would strike next. He constantly looked back toward the dead. The expected flame didn’t come. Vincent snapped his attention back toward the zombies, felling several in a fast, well-placed swing and fearing that at any moment the flame might strike him from behind. The thick wafting sound continued. It was up to something, though he couldn’t be sure what. Anxiety tore through him and wouldn’t go away.

  Abruptly, the fluttering of wings stopped. Something large and heavy fell through the trees, snapping limbs on its way down. Vincent slowly turned his head in terror. Standing amidst them with its wings folded, the wyvern opened its jaws. Vincent jumped aside and ran behind a nearby tree as it let loose a horrific streak of flame, killing the men who had fought beside him.

  “DESTROY IT!” Master Anthony shouted.

  A barrage of lightning bolts and flame sparks flew at the wyvern but dissipated in a bubble around it. The dead pressed closer, trying to take advantage of the weak points in their defense. Master Anthony stood behind a tree with sweat pouring down his dirt covered face and caused the dark clouds above them to thicken. Vincent heard a few rumblings of thunder from within them. Another of his devastating purple lightning bolts suddenly shot down in a thundercrack so loud that Vincent covered his ears in pain and was still unable to hear anything afterward.

  He picked up his sword and peeked around. The fighting continued even though he was unable to hear it, and he saw that the wyvern was unharmed. People’s mouths moved without words. Karl flung dirt at the wyvern’s eyes to keep it distracted. It bit and snapped blindly and a Rygan soldier was caught in its jaws and torn apart. Knowing that death was near, Vincent looked around at the ground for the one item he wanted most. A huge stream of red flame went past in front of him and he had to shield his eyes from the brightness as well as the heat. Oncoming zombies off to his left were burned into nothing and few attempted to pass through the blaze.

  When his eyes adjusted, they finally locked on what they were searching for. Amidst the blackened pile of scorched flesh too far rent for undeath, he saw a soldier’s halberd. Though singed around the edges of its haft, it still appeared sturdy. It might serve its purpose. If he could get to it.

  Magic shot through the air toward the blaze at his left to hit the zombies beyond it. He peeked around and saw more dirt being flung at the wyvern by Karl. The enraged beast blindly exhaled its green flame to kill those around it.

  For speed’s sake, Vincent sheathed his sword and dropped to the ground, hastily crawling toward the weapon. Pain coursed through his every wound. His ears were slowly starting to pick up sounds again; the burning of flames, the slicing of weapons, death cries, and explosions were real to him once more. The stench of burning flesh filled his nostrils and was copious as he went over dead bodies to reach the halberd. The remains of some of the soldiers he crawled over were greasy as though their body fat had been fried. It often singed him and so he tried to move faster. Vincent became profoundly nauseated.

  He crawled onward and something beneath his arm gave way. It was a blackened head with melted eyes, crumbling. Little was recognizable besides the teeth. The helmet lay not far away. The sight and the gagging stench forced Vincent to vomit, yet he kept struggling onward, crawling over his own bile, knowing that he couldn’t afford to care about it. Blackened grease and charred flesh stained his clothes, and while he moved, several more heaves worked their way up his throat. He spit several times without being able to get rid of the awful taste that was the least of his problems.

  Finally, he reached the halberd. He pulled on it. The dead, burnt hands wouldn’t let go. He pulled and they broke off at their wrists. In disgust and frustration, he yanked each off and then checked around him.

  The pandemonium continued unabated. Blood-stained weapons cut into undead flesh. Magic flew through the air. The wyvern roared. On one side, the wall of fire shielding him and the others from the zombies continued to burn. It wasn’t safe yet to stand; Vincent scurried on the ground back toward the tree, pain coursing through his body. His throat was raw after he was stricken by more dry heaves along the way.

  When he reached it, he got to his feet and slammed his back against the trunk. He checked in both directions. Rick sent a flame spark whizzing past him. Charred debris flew back, and he closed his eyes against it. The wyvern roared again. As soon as he opened them, he worriedly checked around him and forced a breath. He then looked up at the head of the halberd and concentrated on his task.

  Vincent pictured it in his mind, tried to feel it. With his hands on the haft touching the metal bands that ran up the side of the wood, his will traveled through it to the spiked axe head. The portion connecting the axe blade began to heat and glow. Small sparks flew off as a bright cut at the top began to form. It grew until the axe blade fell to the ground. Vincent focused his magic again. The rear spike fell next. Only the top spike remained. Vincent immediately had the thought that it might need to be reshaped, but there was no time, and he couldn’t afford a mistake in its reforming. He chose strength over an even thinner piercing quality and readied his new lance while he peeked around the tree.

  The wyvern was lividly snapping about. Periodic clumps of dirt pelted its face, keeping it off balance. A soldier threw his spear at the wyvern. It bounced off and he was rewarded with a streak of green flame. After a failed dodge, the soldier screamed in agony and rolled on the ground, trying to put himself out. At the sound of footsteps from another soldier, the wyvern snapped its jaws in his direction and caught a pine instead. Furious, it retracted and snapped again. Several other soldiers waited behind cover, unsure of how to kill it.

  Vincent’s premonition of what it would do next came as one with its actions. Knowing that others were around it but not knowing where, the wyvern exercised its best option. Green flame began the journey up its throat, brightening the back of its mouth behind the gaping maw of its teeth.

  Vincent seized upon the moment and dashed forward to the next tree. The blinded wyvern’s attention immediately went to him and
fire streamed his way. It moved across, trying to find him. The heat got closer until a soldier threw a rock at its head, making it pull across the other way. The full stream was expended before it had a chance to incinerate the interloper.

  He ducked behind the next tree and waited. When he looked past again, he saw the men confusing the wyvern by throwing small sticks and rocks at nearby tree barks. It kept biting at the false sounds. Vincent dawned upon an idea and put his finger over his mouth, passing a gesture to the men to stop and keep quiet. They held still. The sounds of fighting ensued behind them.

  The wyvern huffed and snorted while blinking its eyes several times, trying to clear them. Suddenly, it let loose a big stream of flame back toward the wizards. Vincent watched as it was deflected upward, setting the treetops ablaze. The acrid smell was everywhere.

  While the flame continued, dirt clumps pelted its eyes once more. “Serpentine bastard!” He heard his cousin yell. Vincent made the tip of his weapon glow red.

  This was his chance.

  His feet tore at the ground before the flame had abated. Trees and branches swept by his vision in a blur. His lungs starved for air. He ran impossibly fast. Vincent brought his arms back, preparing for the thrust. He neared striking distance as the green flame from its mouth cut off.

  His grip tightened.

  A solid impact jarred his arms painfully as Vincent slammed the glowing tip of his makeshift lance deeply into the beast’s chest. It howled in pain and spread its tense wings reflexively. With all his strength, he gritted his teeth and braced his feet against the ground, straining his muscles and driving the heated point ever deeper into its being. Blood pumped out between its rent scales.

  A harsh roar came from jaws so tense they opened only in slow spasms. Another roar came from his own throat, so lost was he in the moment while he twisted the shaft with all his might and drove it in further. Their eyes met, both filled with hatred.

  With its dying strength, the wyvern craned its neck toward him, preparing to kill Vincent with one final bite. Its neck was much faster than its jaws, and before he could move, the sharp gaping maw encircled him. The tongue he had chopped short was suddenly only a foot away from his face. A putrid smell assailed his nostrils. Its mouth began to close. He hurriedly let go his lance and ducked out, falling on his back.