"But surely you can cure that now," Revi said.
"Theoretically, but it will take time, and we still have much to learn of this strange malady."
"I'm confident in your abilities," said Revi.
"As am I," said Aubrey, "but there are far greater things weighing on my mind at present. While you slept, we were invaded by Norland."
"Typical," said Revi, "wars always crop up to disturb my research."
The door opened, revealing Lady Hayley.
"Revi?" she asked.
"I'm here," he said. "Come to me, I would feel the warmth of your hand."
The ranger moved to the side of the bed, taking the mage's hand and sandwiching it between her own. "I missed you," she said, tears coming to her eyes.
"I am here now, safely returned to your side."
"There's so much I want to say to you," she began.
"And that's my cue to leave," said Aubrey. She made her way to the door, looking back to see the two of them deep in conversation.
* * *
Gerald opened his eyes. He was in a strange room that somehow looked familiar while a figure leaned over him, the face slowly coming into focus.
"Gerald, are you with us?"
"Anna, is that you?"
As the image in front of him became clearer, the distinctive blond locks brought a smile to his face. "Where am I?"
"In Uxley Hall," she said, "in my old room."
"Your room?" he said. "Then, where are you sleeping?"
She chuckled, "Alric and I have taken the king's room. Now, you must rest, you've had a bad time of it."
"What happened?" he asked. "How did I get here?"
"Beverly brought you back, and Master Hearn used some kind of spell to preserve you. You were very near death, I'm told."
"The Norlanders..." he said.
"Have been defeated, but not without cost. We took many casualties, many more than we could afford, and we still have to march to Eastwood."
"Eastwood?" Gerald said.
"Yes, they launched a two-pronged invasion. They didn't even stop to take Tewsbury, it caught us completely off guard."
"So you fought them here, in Uxley?"
"We did," Anna confirmed.
"And the others?"
"I'm afraid Telethial is dead, along with a great many of her Elves. Herdwin survived. He sends his regards, by the way. Did I mention he's now on the Nobles Council?"
"Herdwin is?"
"Yes, he's representing the King of Stonecastle."
"Well, I never," said Gerald.
"That's not all. Much has happened in your absence, but I'll fill you in once you've rested."
"You said there's another army to fight?"
"Yes, but I know we'll defeat them," Anna declared.
"How?" Gerald asked. "You just said we took more casualties than we could afford?"
"Yes, but now we have our secret weapon back. You!"
"Me?"
"Yes, with you at my side, I know we'll win."
"I wish I had your confidence," he said, "I tend to be more cautious."
"It's that caution that makes you a great leader," said Anna.
"Did you command the battle?"
"No," she replied, "I relied on my experienced warriors."
"Fitz, then?"
"No," Anna said, "it was Lady Hayley. She proved herself a great leader. By putting down a rebellion and planning this battle, she has proven herself a true defender of the crown."
Epilogue
Winter 964 MC
* * *
The Elven Necromancer Kythelia, recently known as Lady Penelope Cromwell, gazed across the windswept land before her. The wind blew in from the west, driving snow through the ruins to settle against the small stone walls that still remained.
"Do you know where we are?" she said.
Her companion, Princess Margaret, cast her eyes around, taking in the bleak landscape.
"No?" she said. "Why, should I?
"Centuries ago," said the Elf, "there was a great battle here between the Elves and the Orcs of this land. The Elves carted off their dead, but the Orcs, vanquished, were left to rot, their bones bleaching in the sun." She gazed up at the winter sky. "Of course, it was summer when they fought, but that matters little for our purposes."
"I see no sign of bones," said Margaret.
"Nor would you," the Elf continued, "for that was long ago. They have returned to the ground and no longer exist within this mortal realm."
"Then why are we here?"
"When a person dies, their spirit is linked to the place of their departure. We shall use that this day to conjure forth the dead."
"We are to animate them?" said Margaret. "They would, I think, make poor warriors."
"No, we will not animate their corpses. They would be, as you said, rather ineffective, and their mortal remains exist no more, in any event. No, instead we shall call forth their spirits and bind them to us."
"But won't they disappear when the spell ends?"
"We shall be using Blood Magic," said the Elf. "They will remain active until we dismiss them."
"I'm not sure I understand," said Margaret.
"The calling of spirits is not unknown to you," said Penelope.
"Yes, but all spells expire."
"In this case, the spells can be maintained."
"For how long?"
"Indefinitely," said Penelope, "though each such spirit raised will consume some of your power."
"How many can I raise?"
"That will depend on the power level you have reached, but likely in the range of six companies."
"Six companies? That's only three hundred souls. How do you expect to create an army with such few numbers?"
In answer, Penelope waved her hand, indicating the robed individuals that roamed the field. "These are my followers," she said, "dedicated individuals who can each raise a hundred or more warriors."
Margaret counted heads, giving up as she reached fifty. "That's quite an army."
"Yes," said Penelope, "an army the likes of which has never before been assembled. Now, are you ready to begin?"
"I am," said Margaret.
"Remember your training. Concentrate on the task at hand and put all else from your mind."
"Yes, Mistress."
Margaret closed her eyes, thinking back to her training. She sought the darkness within her and started calling forth the words that would unleash the power. As her pulse quickened, she felt the rush as her heart started beating rapidly. Energy coursed through her and then she opened her eyes to see the world in shades of grey.
Feeling the presence of spirits all around her, she began the incantation, releasing the magic to flood across the ground in a wave of energy. Snow circled high into the air, driven by unseen forces, and then figures began to materialize. They looked vaguely Human at first, wispy outlines that quickly took the more solid form of Orcs. Then more appeared, dozens of them, and she focused her attention on them, gathering the threads that linked them to the spirit realm.
"Good," said Penelope, "you've done it. Now anchor them in the physical realm."
Margaret did as she was bid. She imagined the threads of their souls and tied them off, keeping them from returning to their natural state of spirit energy. The spell ceased, and she looked at those before her. More than three hundred Orcs stood ready to fight, their faces devoid of emotion, their bodies appearing ghostlike and pale.
"Now," said Penelope, "with the three kingdoms in ruins, the time to strike is nigh!"
* * *
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Ashes - Chapter One
From the Ashes
Spring 1102 SR* (Saints Reckoning)
(In the tongue of the Orcs)
An arrow sailed through the air, digging into a tree near a deer. Alarmed by the sound, the creature bolted, disappearing deeper into the woods.
A bellow of rage exploded from a nearby bush. Its occupant stood up, his green Orc skin blending in well with the surrounding forest. "I should have had him," he growled.
"There will be more," called out his Orc companion. "To be honest, Laruhk, I am surprised you got so close. I would have heard you at twice the distance."
"You mock me, Kargen," he replied. "My skills are just as good as yours."
"And yet the deer escaped," stated Kargen, his face breaking into a grin, "but it is of no consequence, we shall merely have to find another."
"Had you not given our last deer to Athgar, we might be back at our village, enjoying the smell of roast venison."
"He needed the kill," defended Kargen, "and we are sufficiently skilled that we shall not return empty-handed."
"Bah, you favour the Human too much. What is it about him that you find so interesting?"
"He is not like the rest," asserted Kargen. "He treats us with respect, and in turn, I offer the same to him."
"Athgar is not much of a hunter," observed Laruhk.
"Neither are you if your last arrow is any indication." Kargen wandered over to the tree, pulling the shot loose. "The tip is undamaged," he said, offering it back to his companion.
Laruhk tucked it into the quiver that hung from his belt. "Where shall we look next?"
Kargen didn't answer, he was too busy sniffing the air.
"What is it?" asked Laruhk.
"Something on the wind, smoke I think, coming from the west."
"A nearby hunter?"
"No," said Kargen. "It is too strong for a simple campfire. This is something bigger.”
"An army camp, perhaps?”
"Here, in this part of the woods?" asked Kargen. "Humans know this is Orc territory, they would be fools to enter."
"And yet, it has not stopped them in the past,” said Laruhk. “It is the reason we built a palisade around Ord-Kurgad, remember? I can think of no other explanation for the smoke, can you? The only other thing nearby is the village of Athelwald."
"Perhaps it is under attack?" suggested Kargen.
"Who would attack the Therengians?" asked Laruhk. "They form a buffer between the duke and us. Without them, there would be trouble on the border."
"Perhaps that is someone's intent?" supplied Kargen. "We know so little about the ways of Humans, but they are said to be devious."
"You think that outsiders mean to invade us?"
"It is a distinct possibility," said Kargen.
"And so Athgar's people, these Therengians, would they fight?"
"They would not fight us," replied Kargen, "for we are the only ones to trade with them, but they would, I suspect, fight to defend their village."
"If that is so, then what are we to do?" asked Laruhk.
"We must investigate further," his friend decided, "and try to discover what has befallen them. Let us see if we can solve this mystery."
They made their way upwind, following a westerly path until they emerged from the trees onto a slight rise, the Therengian village of Athelwald visible some distance off. Even from their current position, they could make out flames. Thick, black smoke poured from the dwellings, while horsemen rode about, torches in hand, their armour glinting in the sun.
"Your suspicions are correct, they are under attack!" called out Laruhk.
"Yes, but by who?" asked Kargen, shielding his eyes, straining to make out what details he could.
"Armoured riders on horseback, it would appear," said Laruhk.
"I can see that, but who are they? Mercenaries? Agents of the duke? Soldiers from Krieghoff? They wear heavy metal armour, perhaps a war has broken out, and Athgar's village has been caught in the middle?"
"What shall we do?" asked Laruhk.
"There is not much we can do. If we were to go down there now, we would be slaughtered along with the rest of Athelwald. No, we must wait and watch. With any luck, we shall be able to identify the attackers."
"Why? To seek revenge?" asked Laruhk.
"No," Kargen replied, "this is not our fight. To intervene would be to invite disaster for our own people."
"As usual, you are in the right, my friend. We shall let them kill each other, and then there will be fewer Humans to threaten us in the future."
"You misinterpret, Laruhk. We shall wait until the riders have left and then enter Athelwald. There may be survivors."
"I thought you said it was not our fight? The Orcs of the Red Hand have been left alone by the duke. Are we to change all that with our actions this day? Surely, if we interfere here, there will be repercussions?"
"I cannot stand by and do nothing," said Kargen. "We Orcs exist in a precarious position, surviving only so long as the Duke of Holstead does not see us as a threat. I would have thought the same of Athgar's people, but something has altered that relationship. Change is coming, whether we want it or not."
They watched the riders as they torched the village. The dead lay scattered about, while others, cut off by the horsemen, cowered before the display of weapons.
"They mean to take prisoners!" announced Laruhk.
A drop of rain fell, landing on Kargen's face. "Our ancestors weep," he observed. "Mark this day well, for something has started here that will have a great effect on our people, I can feel it."
"Surely you jest, Kargen. The Therengian's are a minor people. How could the loss of this one village affect our tribe?"
"Just as the loss of a single hunter can change the fortunes of the hunt, so too, can the loss of a single ally leave ripples in the lives of others. I do not know what has happened this day, but I feel it has changed our future."
They watched in silence, the raindrops increasing in frequency till they became a heavy rain, obscuring their view of Athelwald.
"Come," said Kargen, "it is time we approach."
They made their way down the hill. The rain had soaked the ground, yet smoke still poured forth from the buildings. As they drew closer, a quiet settled over the area, lending an eerie feeling to their journey. Arriving at the edge of the village, they paused, listening intently, trying to ascertain if the enemy horsemen remained.
"They are gone," announced Kargen, advancing.
Slowly, cautiously, they walked into the remains of Athelwald. The thatched roofs had, for the most part, been burned away, while little was left of the buildings save for some scorched timbers and mud.
Laruhk stopped, gazing down at the body of a villager. "This was no battle," he declared, "this was a massacre."
Kargen swept his gaze across the area, taking in the footprints that were yet to be washed away by the rain. "Yes," he finally said, "and yet I fear killing was not their objective."
"How can you say that? Look at all the bodies!"
In answer, Kargen ran forward, then paused, pointing at the ground. "There, you see? They were taken from here in a large group, herded, like the Humans herd cattle."
"But why would someone do such a thing?" asked Laruhk.
"There is only one reason I can think of," replied Kargen. "They were taken as slaves."
Laruhk made a face. "How barbaric," he spat out in disgust. "Have they no sense of decency?"
"No, they do not, whoever they were. I suspect these people fought back," he waved his hand to indicate the dead, "but they had little chance against armoured horsemen."
"Poor Athgar," said Laruhk, "I shall miss him."
"I doubt he was taken," offered Kargen. "He is not the type to surrender without a fight."
"Then he is likely dead," said Laruhk, "and yet I do not see his body.
"
"Let us look around some more, perhaps we will be able to find him, and let his spirit rest."
They poked their way through the burned-out huts, ignoring the rain. It was Kargen that finally found what he was looking for. "Over here," he called out.
Laruhk came running, "What is it?"
"This is what is left of Athgar's hut," said Kargen. "The rain must have extinguished the fire."
"Is he in there?"
"I do not know," Kargen replied. "The timbers that formed the roof have collapsed. Help me move them, and perhaps we can find his body."
They quickly got to work, hefting the timbers and tossing them to the side. As they moved yet another one, Kargen tripped on something, sending the wood toppling to the side. He looked down to see a boot, still attached to a leg.
"A body," he called out. "It must be Athgar, buried in the debris."
Laruhk moved forward, crouching to wipe ashes from the body, revealing Athgar, the human’s brown hair framing a face with a patchy beard. The Orc pried open an eyelid to look into the human’s grey eyes. "He is dead," he declared.
"No, he is not," said Kargen. "Note how the rain bubbles around his nose? Quickly, we must pull him free."
Kargen lifted the man's head, shielding him from the rain with his massive green body. "Grab his legs, let us pull him from the remains of this hut."
They dragged him out, laying him on the ground. As they did so, the rain slackened, then suddenly stopped. Kargen looked up at the sky in surprise, "The ancestors look kindly upon us."
"It is just rain," offered Laruhk, "not the ancestors."
"Do not be so sure to dismiss things," retorted his companion.
Laruhk looked over the body. "He seems to have taken a rather nasty hit to the head," he observed, "and there are several cuts to his arms, along with burns."
"Strange that he would have taken refuge in a burning hut," observed Kargen.
"I suspect he fought back, but something must have forced him into the hut. Perhaps he was driven back by a horseman?"
Defender of the Crown Page 40
