"What have I done?" asked Lord Myosk more to himself than to anyone within range to hear his whispered voice. His deflation was simply a singular example of the quickly declining moral of his army.
"My Lord, what should we do?" asked General Niris. After his question was returned by only a confusion induced silence, he spoke again, "My Lord Myosk, we need orders. What should we do?"
Seeing how thoroughly he fell into the trap set by his foes, he could not reconcile what he now faced, what the Stone Keep now faced, what the Silver Empire now faced. He looked to General Niris, and then to General Giprin, both of whom shared his disbelief, but looked to him to provide them something to believe in. He had stood upon the unwavering belief that the Stone Keep was unconquerable; and because he shared this undefeatable quality, he had been given charge over that which reflected him. But now, all this belief had been thrown into the pool of doubt. Did the stone keep have an innate weaknesses, or was it he that possessed the weaknesses that were so easily exposed? He took one last look toward the Dark Legion and staggered backward from the might of the doom facing them all. His Generals moved toward him, but they did not reach him in time. He stumbled backward off the outside keep wall and fell the last forty feet he would ever travel.
As Lord Myosk landed on the hard surface of reality, so too did any hope of victory for the army of the stone keep. His impact with the ground produced no more audible sound than any man falling from the same distance, yet its effect was far greater as the inevitable revelation came crashing down in the hearts and souls of his two generals. They both rushed to look over the wall in the hope of seeing any signs of life, but his neck was bent at such an angle, there was no room for interpretation. Lord Myosk was dead, and they would soon follow.
It did not take long for his impact to be felt amongst the troops, now openly exposed to the superior might of the Dark Legion. They had waited with the excited expectation to advance upon their foes, thereby defending their homes and lives, but when no such order came within the boundaries of their assumptions, those with less rank began looking for direction from those with more rank. This chain continued until it reached the generals, who were rooted too deeply in their own minds and considerations to address the messenger upon the wall, who was confused himself at the absence of Lord Myosk. Neither General Niris nor General Gripin acted; and as a result, all action within the men of the Stone Keep came to a crashing halt.
However, this was not the case for the attackers. After the first advance was slaughtered easily, as if its outcome was designed from the onset of the battle, subtle movements and preparations were being made within the dark ranks. Swords were drawn, shields were slung across strong and armored forearms, bows and arrows were being readied. It was a scene of two different armies, one clearly preparing for destruction, and the other waiting, confused by their recent lack of leadership. But battle and evil does not wait for the good to be prepared. It has its own plans, own machinations, and own paths to follow. And so it did, as one, the dark army began to advance, step by horrible step, as a black and terrible molten sludge covering all things good in its wake with a filthy film of coalesced evil.
Piercing the confusion induced silence, the main outer gate of the castle creaked slowly open. Together, the soldiers turned to see the cause for this unexpected movement. And what they saw was almost incomprehensible, for striding out from the gates was a single man dressed in rags yet walking with the solidified focus of a powerful combatant, one who could change even finality. He was mortal, that they could clearly see, but his aspect seemed thicker, more real than any of theirs. He carried within him a density and gravity of purpose extending far beyond their simple understanding of this day's events. All eyes were upon him, for none could turn away.
As he passed the ranks of men now made weary from their doubt, he stopped to look up to the sky. If they could have seen him, they would have witnessed his mouth utter an almost inaudible sentence, but to their ears, it remained silent. When he turned to face the remaining forces of the stone keep, he spoke and all of them heard, "Are you not weary? Facing this approaching shadow are you not afraid? Men of the Stone Keep, hear me now, for I come with the Will of One Who Is Greater! And He is with you even now! Your wives and children are seeking refuge, but they will not make it unless you stand and fight! I ask you, what do you fear more, your death, or theirs!"
As Eriboth paused momentarily, allowing his question to reach their hearts, the soldiers began to understand. They were going to die today, on this field of battle turned grave. And while it is common for the soldier to lose focus of what they were fighting for, Eriboth had come to remind them of the treasures they protected. "Then stand with me! Fight with me! And die with me as the true fathers, brothers, and husbands you are! Strong of heart and strong of sword! You are the Men of the Stone keep! We die so they can live!" As he completed his last words, Eriboth drew from within his tattered clothes, a sword of exquisite quality bounded by red and black leather on the hilt. Its blade, reflecting the almost fully set sun, appeared to emit the golden glow of the Dragon he rode. As he thrust his sword into the air, his action was mimicked by all of the soldiers as they collectively bellowed a triumphant yell. Their victorious screams were joined by the deafening roar of the gold dragon as it descended from above to land behind Eriboth. As one, Eriboth, Dragon, and soldiers faced their death.
From atop the stone boulder used in an attempt to harm his army, Jesolin watched as the gates opened. He saw the man emerge from within, witnessed his speech, and beheld the Dragon as it landed, once again, on the field of battle. He saw the rags this man was wearing and the sword he unsheathed; and Jesolin felt his hate build. But this time, it felt somewhat different. Each time he accessed his hate, the power lept in the anticipation of dominance, but now, while he was focused on this man, the power's resonance was subtly altered. It was not excited because of the coming triumph, but the challenge, as if it had finally found an opponent worthy to test its very limits. Dressed in his hell blessed, fluid-black armor, he jumped down from the boulder, drew his twin black blades, and took the field.
As the armies collided, those attuned to mortality would witness only what they saw, two forces opposed in their intents, both seeking battle as their means for resolution; however, those able to sense the immortal would feel a much deeper impact as the worlds of Heaven and Hell produced a collision beyond time and space. Lacorion, the Great Gold Dragon wreaked terrible havoc upon the Dark Legion with its fiery breath and powerful claws. Yet, it was soon held at bay by the collective efforts of Mordin's necromancers, led by Mordin himself. Their magic could not touch or harm Lacorion, but neither could The Dragon penetrate their dark layer of protection extending over the warriors.
Thundering in from the flank rode Vismorda and the rest of her Ravens, mounted on the black steeds, red eyes made brighter by the rays of the setting sun. They cut through their quarry, leaving only blood and dismay in their wake. As they circled around for a second charge to the still exposed flank, the remaining wizards of the keep demonstrated their proficient control of the earth and rock. The ground underneath the nightmarish horses began to divide into huge cracks. Most of the Ravens were unharmed, as they were able to evade the rented earth, but between them and the battle was a long and large crevice, sufficient enough to separate them from contributing to the conflict's end.
Impossibly outnumbered, the men of the stone keep were nonetheless repelling the Dark Legion behind the battle prowess of the man in rags. Displayed all around him were the illustrations of death and destruction, devoid of the beauty of life as the armies continued to decimate their opponents. Yet, the visual image he portrayed was nothing short of beauty. Each movement was unnaturally perfect. Beautifully perfect, though not in the estimations of mortal minds, but instead in the witnessing of humanity's immortal spirit. There was nothing within him now that was open to any subjective interpretation. He was divine in his movements and obedient to an alto
gether greater being. He acted in congruency with a direction above anything he could hope to attain on his own. He had found his intent and purpose rooted solely in God. And as such, he reflected all that was greater in Him.
And Jesolin saw it all. Equally destructive, yet diametrically opposed in his portrayal of battle, he breathed in hate and expelled rage. Even the very air around him contributed to his anger induced blood fury. Pushing the limits of his ability to drink from the dark fountain, Jesolin was an unholy reflection of all the pain suffered by all of mortality through all of its time. Sometimes using his twin blades, and other times emitting this dark power to consume his current opponent, he brought destruction and death. Yet for every one man of the stone keep felled under his rage, his army was still losing ground. He had but one option, to face the man in rags and defeat him.
It did not take Jesolin long to cut through the throng and stand opposite Eriboth, waiting for him to take notice. In a tremendous display of power, Eriboth sent the six dark warriors surrounding him flying backward as his sword pulsed a divine release of energy. The dark warriors fell motionless to the ground. There was nothing now separating the two champions except the barren ground upon which they stood.
Jesolin acted first. He waved his hands outward, seeking to strike Eriboth with the dark waves of power he had successfully used against his two most trusted, if there was such a thing as trust, leaders during their final training session. But Eriboth was not without his own speed and defenses. As quickly as the waves of evil energy flew toward him, he extended his sword. The waves, all of them, were cut in twine leaving the ragged warrior unharmed. Jesolin's hate grew.
Calling upon his Dark Fountain once again, he waved his hands upward, and the ground around Eriboth exploded with fury and devastation. As it settled, it formed an encasement of solid rock around him. When Jesolin clenched his outstretched fist, he smiled, believing the end had come. But his fingers did not respond and neither did the stone tomb. Instead, they both burst open leaving the stone shattered into a thousand small pieces and the man within, unharmed. It had become evident that this warrior in rags contained a power to match his own. Their distance, both physical and spiritual, had closed to rest upon the separation of their blades. Jesolin's hate grew.
As before, he acted first. Dissolving into the shadows, the black warrior attacked in a mist shrouded fury unable to be seen. But Eriboth's sight did not come from his white eyes, it came from his obedience. And as he repelled each and every one of the invisible strikes with his golden blade, he sank more deeply into his faith. Three more times he attempted to strike Eriboth under the cover of the shadows, and three more times he was unsuccessful at drawing blood. But he had pressed the ragged man, whose brow was beginning to sweat.
With this fourth attack, Jesolin deviated from his current pattern and did not engage his shadow form. He instead met Eriboth in the open and with no deception. This allowed him to assault his opponent with a series of mental spikes each seeking to disrupt his concentration enough to slow Eriboth's defenses leaving him open. But there was no mind for his spikes to attack. It was as if this man, this ragged warrior, was operating without any individual thoughts of his own.
As the two of them were locked in battle, swords fiercely clashing in a fury of good vs evil, Jesolin sought to gain the advantage by seeking the depth of him. If he could find his way within deeply enough, he might find his weakness, and thus his path to victory. He called upon his dark fountain with all of his remaining ability, not in an effort to defeat his opponent, but in an effort to understand him. He let his dark fluid form the probe and release it as Eriboth counter attacked with a series of slashes and stabs, all of which Jesolin was able to repel.
To the soldiers who had stopped their fighting to behold the greatest individual battle the ages had yet seen, there was no connection between their respective champions. They both stood on the opposite sides of a balance that was currently stuck in the middle, neither side gaining more weight. But to Jesolin, whose probe had successfully rooted itself in the very soul of his considerable foe, there was the beginning of a link. He could see this man had felt great pain, as had he, but there was almost no remaining scar. Was it pain that linked them? No, how could there be a link between them when only one of them was affected by it? There had to be something greater and deeper linking the two of them. As he parried another series of attacks from Eriboth, he noticed that he was becoming winded from the effort. He could not last much longer against this warrior in rags.
Such was his growing desperation and defensive position, that Jesolin had to push his probe more deeply and risk its discovery. During his training session with his Master, he had done this many times, but to push it too far resulted in the subject's discovery of the probe, and that could have devastating consequences depending on the intent of the discoverer. His Master had offered no mercy, only devastation.
As he feared, his probe has caused Eriboth's awareness to join with his as they both saw into the truth of the other. And as different as they appeared to the observers, they appeared equally so to each other. But in their difference, they were still them same; for they carried the same blood. As their swords crossed and held their faces only inches apart, Eriboth, with his white eyes saw into the depth of Jesolin, into the depth of his son.
Instantly, Jesolin had a renewed focus for his hate. He abruptly dislodged the probe and let it dissipate harmlessly into the ether. He lept backward and gathered his disbelief at the knowledge he had just discovered. His life, the end effect of it, the pain he had endured over the entirety of his meaningless existence, even his worship of his Unholy and horrible Master could now be focused not on a simple constructed memory, but on a tangible person standing before him. He took all of his hate, poured it into the image of Eriboth as his father, and exploded with an overwhelming force of pure darkness. This black stream of hateful energy contained all of his time at the orphanage. All of his memories and pain lept to his command and drove straight into the heart of the warrior. And when he thought he had reached his limit, he found more hate steeped in his self-loathing; for now he was not the cause of it, his father was. And Jesolin gave it all back to the man who abandoned him to his life of hate and rage.
As Eriboth lay still on the ground at the feet of the Dark Lord, with his breathing as the only sign of life, both armies remained motionless for several seconds in an attempt to comprehend what they had just seen. But theirs was a reality that did not end with Eriboth's defeat; they were still facing each other and still had more fight inside. So they took up arms and battled. But it was not long before the Men of the Stone Keep were either dead or running away, only to be cut down by the blades of Vismorda's Ravens, who, with the assistance of Mordin and his necromancers, had found a way to bridge the crevice. As Eriboth's breath was growing shallower, the Dark Warrior raised one of his swords preparing to bury it deep in his beaten father's heart. Yet just before the fatal blow was struck, the thunderous roar of the Dragon King, Lacorion struck Jesolin and threw him back.
"You cannot have him!" bellowed the Great Gold Dragon Lacorion.
As Jesolin gained his footing, and began walking toward the Stone Keep, he saw his father being flown high into the sky in the claws of The Dragon. But it was no matter now. Everything had unfolded exactly as his Master had indicated. As his army flooded into the streets of the city surrounding the keep, he watched them quickly eliminate the small resistance still within. As the huge inner keep doors fell victim to the battering ram of his hateful glee, and the last remaining soldiers were killed, Jesolin slowly walked toward the throne. With each step he took upon the stairs leading to the dais he gave thanks to his Master. Satan told him he would be there to help him defeat, Rento and he did. Satan had told him he would be there to see him rise to lead the Gypsies, and he did. Satan had told him he would be there to help him defeat the army of the Stone Keep, and he did. And Satan had told him he would sit upon the Stone Throne, and he d
id.
END
Convergence (The Dragon Within Saga Book 1) Page 82
