by Kyle Belote
Before long, the corpses blocked the gap in the wall, and still the goblins and trolls rushed them. The wedged formed into a circle, all swords facing out. Higher and higher, they fought down the multitudes as the departed crumbled beneath their crushing blows. With each death, a body tumbled down the mountain of corpses, adding another layer to the expanding mount. For every descending body, at least two climbing creatures were knocked down, creating a domino effect. The rhythm of battle slowed as fewer managed to ascend to the top. Now, most of the casualties and injuries occurred from falling bodies, slips, and falls. One troll managed to reach the summit, sneaking beyond the sight of the Krey. He reared his ugly head, his war hammer gripped in two hands, coming down to crush Xenomene’s skull. Raven leaped forward to divert the blow, deflecting it, leaving his side wide open for the javelin that tore through his side and came out through his chest.
Blood pooled and spurted from his mouth as each Krey lived his pain, though faintly, through the meld. The Mind promptly cut Raven out from the meld, segregating him so the Krey could continue to move as a unit. Seven blades reached out after Raven deflected the troll’s war hammer, and the troll fell down the mountain in just as many pieces. Since the Mind cut Raven from the meld, Xenomene, the second in command took over, all orders flowing from her.
A shout caught their collective as the Mind diverted their attention for a brief moment. Warlock Lakayre shouted at them. The words, though distorted, the meaning was clear: jump to the rampart. Collectively they gathered to leap. An unlucky arrow caught Two-tons through his eye, killing him instantly, his body falling, adding to the blood and guts littering the ground below. The rest made the leap without incident, landing in front of the warlock, his eyes widening, noticing their blood red iris and pink-hued sclera.
Yellow-white light radiated from the Heart in a circular pattern, cascaded over the Krey, healing their wounds before the bloodlust vanished. The energy pulsed like blood squirting from a vein. The Krey’s eyes changed, the bloodlust cooling, fading, but the whites of their eyes remained pink until they slept the effects away.
“Where is Raven?” the warlock asked.
“He fell. I am the Do-don; I am in command now,” Xenomene stepped forward.
“I am sorry,” he consoled.
“He died as a warrior, with a sword in hand, next to his brothers and sisters of House Eti. As he would have wanted, as it should be. As it was.”
“Right,” was all the warlock could think of to say. “You all fought magnificently. I have no doubt that the Grand Royal Army couldn’t repel the forces. Rest, you’ve earned it. You saved the Army from death; without your timely intervention, we would have been routed this day. I thank you for your service.”
Xenomene glared at him, and a haunted, anger filled her eyes. “You don’t need to thank slaves. We are fodder, what we are born to be.” She turned and strolled away from the elderly man, the Krey followed in her wake, silent harbingers of death.
Lightning flashed, and the sky rumbled, the heavens opened up and began to pour.
***
Chapter 77 : Cape Gythmel
After Dathyr’s fall and the initial resistance led by the Krey, Judas ordered all troops to fall back. He and the battlemages hastily rebuilt the wall from the inside while the Krey continued to fight on the outside. Meristal answered Judas’ request and committed over one hundred battlemages ranging from all three castes: the Aegis, Barrage, and Pharmacon. When they arrived, the mages collectively rebuilt the wall, ripping up stone beneath the roads or from underneath the pile of corpses.
With all their forces pulled back, they settled in for the siege, conducting war counts, what the army referred to as the ABC’s of War: Arrows, Bread, Corpses, Disabled, and the Enemy. Between Judas and the battlemages, they placed several additional enhancements on the walls, including wards against dragons. The work devoured the remainder of the day. Xilor seemed to spend his time wisely, waiting for the remainder of his hordes to clear the Corridor.
That night, Judas arranged the posts on the wall, while orchestrating construction on more weapons and armor to replace the lost or destroyed. Even with the mages to help, it would be days before the first shoddy piece was available. Smithery took time, more time than they had. A sword could take months to forge, and armor even longer. The Aegis and Pharmacon imbued the smith’s tools and metal with slight enhancements, enough to augment, but not enough to deplete the mages. Masters of weapons and blades poured laboriously over scorching coals, forging swords, axes, daggers and war hammers. As a new weapon was forged and tested for quality, the product was delegated to a mage for enchanting, then to an apprentice of the smith for honing and sharpening. The blades were ugly, hastily scrapped together. Judas knew most of the enchanted magic was feeble at best, but if it helped them survive another day, it was worth the effort.
Once production commenced, Judas gathered what women and children he could find and organized them into a mess hall crew. Bread was the easiest for them to make in large quantities in a short amount of time. He also instructed them to boil rice, steam vegetables, mash potatoes and boil grain for porridge. Two of the younger women, who weren’t as adept at making meals, tended the cleaning.
A hungry and defenseless army would lose quickly. Placing a few belated enchantments on the defenses, he gathered the women and children into a central area in the town. “These defenses will not hold for long. Thank you for the assistance in preparing food for the fighting forces, but now we must go and prepare another place for them. We will go north to Dlad City and help the garrisoned soldiers with the fortifications,” he consoled as he gazed at their frighten faces. Judas gathered the strongest of all the battlemages, those who could teleport since there were no portal masters at the Cape and the slow exodus of women and children began.
“Give me ten,” he called to the crowd. They surged forward to grasp at him and he, too, helped teleport them to safety once the pushing and shoving had subsided. After many assurances that he would be back for more, and that all would leave safely, he and his first ten vanished.
It was late into the night before he finished shuttling the women and children to Dlad City and organized with the officer in charge. Once everything was in place, he went back to Cape Gythmel. As much as he regretted not visiting sooner, he attended the wounded, relieved to find the Pharmacon caste diligently working. He organized the wounded into groups with the help of the Pharmacon battlemages and teleported the injured to safety. Dawn was a few hours off still.
Judas finally retired to his tent, finding the Kaptyn awaiting.
“Kaptyn.”
“Warlock,” the other nodded crisply. “I am here for the debriefing.”
Judas held his arm out towards his tent, and the other followed him inside. The kaptyn wasted no time.
“There are parts that I do not know, such as the details of the rebuilt wall. That is for people who are masters of magic. The women and children that you augmented my mess hall personnel with are greatly appreciated. They managed to cook enough food that we’ll be feasting on leftovers on the morrow and perhaps the day after. All told, I lost three hundred and twenty-seven men, those who fell and never rose again. The wounded, less so, a mere one hundred and fifty-three. Additional losses include eight modified trebuchets, two unmodified trebuchets, one armory full of arrows, bows, swords and uncounted armor. We estimate losses at roughly ten to twelve percent. However, your help with the smiths negated the effects.” He paused. “Additional losses, include three stables with grain and feed for the horses, sheep, pigs and goats, due to dragon-breath or carcasses crushing them. We lost half as many animals as we did men.”
“What of the Krey?” Judas inquired as the Kaptyn finished.
“From the reports I gathered, they lost two members, their superior and another. The red-haired girl assumed command. Earlier, she dispatched a letter, no doubt to her superior, explaining the losses and requesting for more personnel. If I may be so frank, w
arlock, while it is never in doubt that they held off Xilor’s minions and gave us a chance to regroup, I question whether it is wise having them among us. I like them well enough, and they are nice, if not crass and humorous, but what if now that war is declared, the Heir should send more squads? I must think first for the safety of my men.”
Judas nodded his understanding. “If the Heir should dispatched more squads, it will be because Ralloc has ordered him to do so. In that event, we’ll be extra careful to give no provocation. I commend you for thinking of your men, a duty befit your rank. Most noblemen are bored and jaded. I am sure the Krey will keep their own in line, we will do likewise. The first skirmish is over, but the long battle has just begun. Seek your bed, Kaptyn Dillon. The morrow isn’t very far away.”
The kaptyn left and Judas heeded his own advice and slept the few hours away till dawn. He arose and washed his face with the cold water in his basin. Patting it dry, Judas exited his tent, greeted by bright morning light.
Soldiers shot about to their duties, the bustling making their armor ring. Judas blinked a dozen times until his eyes adjusted to the harsh glow. Grunts and shouts carried from further distances. The churned mud reeked of animal urine, the air stank with blood and body odor. Judas pulled a small mirror from his robes.
“Meristal,” he said as her face materialized.
“Judas. Where are you? I have reports placing you in Dlad City. Are you okay?” Worry filled her voice.
“Cape Gythmel, still,” he replied solemnly. “Xilor nearly routed us. I sent a few men along with the women and children to Dlad City. We have fortified our position here, but it is not meant to last.”
“So, where do you want reinforcements directed?” she asked.
It was a good question. He needed some here, but even more in Dlad City. “Send all the wizards you can to Dlad City, see if you can direct a battalion of men here and the rest to Dlad City. Be sure to talk to the jyneruls and let them give you advice.”
“Won’t you need more battlemages there to help you?”
“No. I only have to contend with Xilor. I can hold off his Xicx; with the hundred you sent me, minus the few I had remain in Dlad City, we should be fine, for now. No sense in wasting time and men when we don’t need them here. Do you think you can pull it off?” he asked.
A devious smile crossed her face. “I think I can work something out, yeah.”
“Good. Thank you,” he said as he ended the transmission. “Don’t let me down,” he breathed to himself. As Judas tucked the mirror away, the Kaptyn found him. He was rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
“Any word?”
“Yes. We will receive an additional battalion of soldiers shortly. After that, I plan to make due and hold Xilor as long as possible. We need to collect our dead but with Xilor’s army breathing down our necks …” he trailed off. Another thought crossed his mind. “What rank commands a battalion?”
“Kaptyn, warlock. Once you receive Meyjour, you are removed to a higher position,” the kaptyn explained. His brow frowned. “Why?”
“I like you, Kaptyn. You’ve done a fine job in the absence of a superior officer, and I don’t want someone else coming here and stirring trouble. It is usually customary for a member of the Grand Royal Army to issue in-the-field promotions, but since I am acting under orders from the Consul, I hereby elevate you to the rank of Kernoyl. That should keep people from blustering our smooth operation, eh?”
Dillon stood dumbfounded for a moment, and a smile blossomed on his face. Judas had just knocked off over an Age of service to ascend to the rank. “Thank you, Warlock Lakayre.”
“Now,” Judas said, “let’s send a mage off to Ralloc to get you proper insignia befitting your new rank. And then, let’s get some breakfast.”
***
Chapter 78 : Xilor
Xilor stood out in front of his followers, a black pillar amongst his legions, staring at the destruction his army had created. The chaos of battle and the chaos of life, a beauty unrealized. The weak succumbed, the strong survived, as it should be. Even in death, the bodies would make him stronger. Even though dead, energy remained trapped in the body. Instead of letting life take its time to dissipate the energies, Xilor siphoned them into his body, making him stronger.
A dark magic, or so it was said. He held no qualms taking the free energy, idle and useless to the deceased. Why shouldn’t he take it for himself? Why shouldn’t he be the strongest? There were threats out there that nobody, not even the high and mighty Lakayre, realized. To protect what he dominated required him to be the strongest. His rule would be absolute when Judas fell.
Xilor wasn’t sure if he would just kill him outright or if he would let him live, drawing his power from every day, making himself strong and leaving Judas helpless and weak. There were drawbacks, of course, leaving Judas alive; he could eventually escape or be freed from his grasp. Judas would rest and come for him again. Not that it mattered; by then, Xilor would possess immeasurable power and would easily destroy him.
Still, if Judas ever figured out how Xilor drew power from him, if he escaped, he could do the same to all wizards in Ralloc. Within a few hours or days, Judas would be as strong as he, if the warlock made it back to Ralloc.
A movement ahead of him drew his attention away from his dark musings. Judas appeared before him a hundred feet off.
“He’s mine!” Xilor bellowed. His startled army fidgeted, wanting to engage, but fear of their master stayed their action. “So, you have finally come?” Xilor hissed.
“I haven’t come to fight you,” Judas admitted softly, though his voice carried on the wind.
“Why are you here?”
Judas walked towards Xilor, keeping a slow pace. “I came to make a pact, an accord between us–our army and yours,” he admitted. Xilor noted Judas’s eyes darting around, to the sky, his men, him, the ground in front of him, and the carnage.
“Let us hear your pleas,” Xilor growled. Judas was up to something; he didn’t come to make an agreement–or maybe he did, but something else spurred him into action. Xilor had to figure out what that something was before Judas turned that to his advantage.
“If you are so bent on destruction and domination, perhaps you should try to win the hearts and minds of those you wish to oppress,” Judas offered, sidestepping bodies of warriors. “If you win, those you oppress will rebel.”
“What do you mean win their hearts?”
“Simple. After each battle, you allow us to collect the fallen, unhindered, and do not harass us so that we may return the soldiers to their loved ones.” Judas stopped after his sentence. He squatted down next to a body and touched the soldier before rising and continuing forward. The distance between Xilor and Judas closed to fifty yards. “If you ever manage to come into power, at least they will have that to say about you. Despite your oppression, you were honorable.”
What is the point? What is he after?
“On one condition,” Xilor said, his voice cold. “Only after I say. I will send a messenger two days after each battle. Only then, can you collect your fallen.”
“Two days?” Judas sounded disgusted. “Why two days? The dead will start decomposing, and then how are their families supposed to give them their mummification rituals?”
“I don’t care!” Xilor snapped. “Two days is what you will receive, or nothing!”
Judas stopped short; perplexity etched his face. Xilor could see his mind working, trying to ascertain why Xilor wanted two days.
“Very well. Two days,” Judas relented. Kneeling down by another body, Judas placed a caring hand on the soldier. Xilor swore Judas’ eyes mist over. Judas’ frail emotions amused him and exposed a fatal weakness in him. Emotions made him weak. But Xilor peered closer at the body. Who would be so important to Judas to make him feel such strong emotion? Xilor’s eyes danced between the two, the warlock and the fallen. The Dark Lord took two quick steps forward, trying to discern the lifeless husk.
Xilor re
alized who the person was. He did not wear armor but robes and knew Judas had come for the body of the student, Kayis Dathyr.
Why does Judas care for this one?
That answer came to Xilor quickly: he was the previous Consul. Judas intended to take the body to Ralloc, so he could be buried for all the citizens to see, spread a tale of Dathyr facing down the Dark Lord, and become a rallying point, a figure of bravery for their men. Their resolve would harden when they heard the tales of their martyr.
Xilor could not allow that to happen.
“Get him!” Xilor screamed too late. Judas had winked out of existence, taking the body with him. He seethed in rage, vowing Judas would pay. His first thought turned to attack, to exact a toll for his duplicity, but the accord stayed his hand. If he attacked now, he couldn’t freely siphon the dead’s energy after the next engagement.
Simmering, Xilor turned on his heel, his black robes billowing behind him. It was time to destroy Judas from within.
***
Chapter 79 : Xenomene
The battle was over, both sides agreeing to an unspoken respite, surprising even from hardened veterans of the Great Wizard’s War to the newest scab. Other than the few lines she said to the warlock, Xenomene, a woman who had never been at a loss for words if she chose, remained silent. The responsibilities of the Do-don fell to her now, the leader of her Krey. Xenomene transferred what few scant possessions from her small, one man tent to the Do-don’s spacious pavilion.
Raven’s, she recalled, forlorn.
A few of the squad members witnessed her packing, moving Raven’s possessions out, and wordlessly helped her. Upon relocation, she sat at Raven’s makeshift desk and wrote a letter to the Heir explaining their losses and a request for two additional Krey to fill the gap that Raven and Two-tons had left. She folded the letter and sealed it with wax and the Do-don’s seal. Pulling the heavy flaps aside, she stood in the doorway. Tiny spied her exit and went to her. The near seven-foot tall man dwarfed Xenomene. With Raven dead, as well as Two-tons, he became her second.
