by P. G. Thomas
*******
Again, alarm horns greeted the new morning, which John had grown to hate. When he reached the top, one of the guards advised there had been much activity the night before, as enemy fires had burned bright into the night. Looking out onto the battlefield, he saw large wooden structures in the distance. Seeing the wood fall to the ground, elf eyesight was not required, as the contents were large enough to be seen with normal vision. Huge metal soldiers fifteen feet tall began to move towards the bridge, picking up their pace, they began to run. John had feared magic would enter into the battlefield equation sooner or later, but he was hoping for the second. While he had hoped his magic nullifying spell had penetrated far enough into the camp, he now realized his mistake. The odd metal soldiers contained no gold. Eric and his lightning may have been able to deal with such creations, but dwarves with axes and elves with arrows were outmatched. The large metal structures were closing towards the bridge, and the war council was paralyzed with fear, looking to John for answers, but even he was unsure of what to do.
Ryan leaped off the side of the cliff. [Auto select engaged. Safeties offline. Abort. Abort. Abort. Abort.] By the time he landed on the valley floor, he was twelve feet tall, solid rock, filled with rage. He met the first metal structures head on, throwing it into the river. Punching the second so hard, his rock fist came out the back. [Energy present. Engage conversion program.] He roared, venting his frustration. Tackling the next, he ripped off its head, and thrusting his arm into the hollow magic workings, he made contact with magic, which he converted, allowing him to grow in size. When he met the next, he was eighteen feet tall, then twenty, then twenty-five. More came at him. Picking each up, he body slammed them to the ground, shattering the metal that contained the magic. Years of watching wrestling and mixed martial arts fights flooded into his memory. The machine inside of him analyzed the memories, adopted them, and now choreographed favorite moves long forgotten: superman punches, flying elbows, drop kicks, body slams. Metal man after metal man shattered. He continued to grow in size, advancing on them, collecting the wonderful energy, which allowed him to continue to grow. When none were left standing, he stood over forty feet tall and was overcharged. Magic crackled across his rock hard exterior, arcing from his body to his arms and between his legs. He roared to the heavens with rage-filled magic, but there was more magic than there was Ryan. Images of Samantha and Lauren flooded his brain: the brands on her, her foot, her back, her pain. His entire body was magic filled, overloading. He screamed to the heavens, as he wanted somebody to feel the same hurt that filled him. Scanning the battlefield, the rest of the black-clad looked so small, but the rage needed a target, needed something or somebody to vent on. Scanning the soldiers, when he saw the purple, he saw red, and he screamed, “BE THERE.” Winking out, reappearing several hundred feet away, he grabbed the man that wore purple, who was smaller than the rage that filled Ryan.
He looked at the man in the purple sash, the one who had hurt the one he loved, the one who had crushed the spirit of Lauren. [System corrupt.] He was like a nuclear power plant when all that was not supposed to go wrong—went wrong. He thought of a thousand ways to kill the one that harmed the one he loved. Images of creative death raced through his mind, causing circuits to short, misdirecting the energy flow. [Online. Meltdown imminent. Discharge energy.] As the magic exited Ryan, it entered the man in the purple sash, causing his clothes to catch on fire, melting his armor. Still Ryan screamed, “REVENGE!” Energy fled, hoping to avoid an internal explosion, it found the screaming man. His skin bubbled, falling to the ground exposing the soft muscle underneath. Still Ryan screamed, as thoughts of revenge flowed through his mind. Smoking muscle tissue fell to the ground, exposing the white skeleton, and as the bones, small or large, began to fall, each had one word engraved on it: Lauren.
Organs were now exposed on the one that used to wear purple: the one who had tortured Lauren, yet still Ryan screamed. The volume was so great the soldiers fell to their knees, gripping their heads when eardrums ruptured, making blood flow from them. The energy that left Ryan ripped into his victim, ripping him apart, but it also sustained his victim’s life. Bones engraved with Lauren’s name continued to fall to the ground, having nothing to hold them in place, but Ryan continued to scream even louder, “REVENGE!”
The man who liked purple was now nothing but shoulder bones, a rib cage, and skull. Even though his vocal cords were long destroyed, he still screamed in agonizing pain, gifted by the magic that now consumed him. When a final blast of magic vaporized him, Ryan fell to his knees. It was at that point he felt the black-clad soldiers breaking their weapons on him. With the rage now gone, like the man in purple, he realized, even though he was still made of rock, he was normal sized, and the west gate was too far away. Lauren, I love you. [Release reserves. Engage instant evacuation program. Implement.] He looked to the cliff edge, whispered, “Be there.” Winking out, he appeared beside John on the stone cliff, unconscious.
John screamed, “To the Earth Mothers! Get him there now! Where the hell is their report? Where the hell is my magic?”
As the suns started to fall behind the horizon, John looked at Aaro and Bor, having no idea of what to say.
Bor knew, and he smiled. He went to the top of the stairs, and after blowing on a battle horn, he waited for silence. “Brothers.” His voice was large, filled with purpose. He was dwarf and had a message to deliver. “The field tomorrow we claim. Legends born will be. Black-clad army, their blood, our ink, and we will write our stories with it. Too long our battles fought by others. NO MORE. Tomorrow, the suns will shine on the nation of dwarf, nation of elf, nation of midlander. Royal House, the last sunrise ever they will see. Tomorrow, fear they will know. THIS BATTLE IS OURS. IT ENDS TOMORROW!”
The army most likely never understood the reason for the thunderous cheer that echoed out of the valley, but that would change the following day.
Chapter 29
The battle horns never sounded the next morning. Long before the suns woke, the gates opened allowing the west to cross into the east. There was no reason to put off that, which would be, especially when legends waited to be born.
When the gates had opened in the dead of night, dwarves, armed with mithril ax and shield, stole through the darkness. Until one never sees or hears three hundred thousand dwarves disappear into the black, they will never truly understand stealth. Behind them, silent elves followed, carrying oversized quivers of mithril tipped arrows, who sought out their brothers hidden in the forest on the north bank. More elves with short bows and crossbows followed the dwarves, so they could provide close support. Poorly trained black-clad sentries never saw them, being unable to hide from the keen dwarf night-vision, and they never saw anything again.
With no sentry to warn them, the remaining midlander army took to the silent battlefield. When in place, the first dwarves remained motionless long into the morning, waiting for all to be ready. As false dawn lit the far sky, today, it had a different meaning for the Royal House. Some thought it signaled a new future. Dwarves, elves, and midlanders knew that to be true, knowing the Royal House would not like the future that waited for them. Then the silent killing started. Before the first alarm was raised, three hundred thousand black-clad were dead: mithril axes providing the wake-up call. Then mithril tipped arrows rained down miles into the surprised army. As Eric stood on the cliff edge when the first rays of the sun kissed the red sky, he wished Tranquil Fury could view the glory and horror that was happening. With dwarf honor injured, they now sought satisfaction. Elf vented anger through bow and arrow. Midlanders pushed from their homes and their lands now pushed back.
Eric had taken out three hundred thousand, and the evidence littered the front of the battlefield. The west army had to walk through two miles of corpses and buzzing flies before they found breathing bodies, bodies that only breathed for a short period. The walk back to the west gate would be even longer. The black-clad never had a chance to organize
, and instead, chaos was the order of the day. Three hundred thousand dwarves went up the south flank, forcing the invading army to the riverbank, which welcomed them with mithril-tipped arrows. With the congested west cutting off any retreat, the black-clad marched on the pass, greeted by hundreds of thousands of organized midlanders, who declined the advance. The south flank of dwarves advanced north, the west flank of midlanders advanced east. They forced the soldiers to the crowded riverbank where elf arrows provided crowd control, freeing up space for new arrivals. The river flowed red, rising in height by over a foot. From the south to the north shore, motionless bodies peacefully floated away, except for the armored bodies that now called the river bottom home. Late in the morning, the skies turned black, however, not with angry clouds. Instead, it was birds. Waves of Mountain Eagles began to cross the battlefield sky, as each bird struggled to maintain its altitude with the heavy cargo it carried. When their dark shadows glided over the black-clad, the sky elf that rode the mighty bird would signal, and large talons would release one side of the canvas sling. Sharp rocks rained down on the black-clad, crushing their hopes of a victory, both in body and spirit. It was long past noon when the west army started to fall back, which was now a six-hour walk to the gate.
There are two ways to create an army. The first is simple: numerical supremacy. They are harder to train, organize, and lead, but the sheer number can result in easy victory when they overrun enemy positions. While more die, that is why you conscript so many. The second way: raise an army that fights for freedom, for pride, for honor. They fight not because commanded, but for survival, for family, for life. Train them with the help of dwarves and elves. Outfit them with weapons and shields built by dwarves, and then all you have to do is point. An invading army of seven hundred thousand was reduced to less than two hundred thousand. The west army would wait for the remainder to advance, helping to reduce the walking time.
The elves that had taken to the battlefield that night all returned, having never engaged the enemy face-to-face. Twenty thousand dwarves still patrolled the battlefield that night, but in spirit only. The magic gifted by mithril made some of the fierce fighters even braver, invoking a battle lust that drove them into the hordes. Other dwarves, while occupied, watched and remembered those fights, so the bards would be able to record the legends born in death. Midlanders, new to battle, fared worse. Over seventy thousand still roamed the battlefield. Another fifty thousand brought back bloody evidence of the battle. Even though some would live to tell their stories, others would not.
The elves on the riverbank would stay out that night, depriving the black-clad of sleep, piercing their dreams with mithril tipped arrows. Quivers emptied during the day were restocked that evening, and the elves were anxious to make room for the next delivery.
Late in the day, a portal opened that Nur stepped through, shaking her head, she stepped back in before it winked out. John was confused, thinking for sure Gingaar would be able to heal them. Maybe now all they had to do was to get better. Maybe their part was done. Having decimated the black-clad army, if they were still there in the morning, the west army would make quick work of them. If they retreated, it would just provide more sport. It took several hours for Aaro and Bor to return to the cliff edge, and when they arrived, they were arguing over who killed more.
Bor looked out over the battlefield, “Dwarf satisfaction, restore we did.”
John had the students open two portals; one to the town, one to the Earth Mothers, and sent members of the war council to update all. For the first time in weeks, everybody had a good night’s sleep.
Except Mirtza and Gayne, who were watching the night skies, seeing if the young one could capture the magic. Two things happened that night; first, the northern lights came. The sky lit up like day; green, red, blue, purple, orange, and more danced across it when the radiation entered the atmosphere. Magic circled the world, greeted by mithril kites, and guided by mithril chains, it followed to the vast void inside the cloak, embracing its new home. Both were speechless as it was nothing like John said it would be, and if anything, it went beyond what the expectation was. They watched it long into the night, trying to memorize all they saw, because if the youth was right, they looked upon magic.
It was a few hours before sunrise when the second event happened; magic. Even though the first spell was loud, the loudest they had ever heard, it was far away. The second, catching them off guard, was even louder and closer than the first. Being so sudden, they pushed back on their chairs, which tipped over, and they hit their heads on the table, making all go black.
*******
John was up early the next morning, and all was quiet, quiet in a good way. The cook had not brought him his breakfast, and in fact, was nowhere to be seen. When he went outside, his Earth Guard waited for him, and they were quiet, quiet in a bad way.
Careel advised, “We need you at the command post right away. New reports have just come in.”
They had barely started to the cliff face when they saw the Mountain Eagle land. The sky elf jumped off and ran over to John, “We reported to the Earth Mothers. We watched the battle from the mountain high. They told me to bring our news to you. An army marches this way and will be here the day next. Their size matches the one that arrived earlier this day.”
“You told us there were no new threats….” John stopped, “What do you mean the army that arrived earlier this day?”
Careel looked at John, “Elf from the south bank reported when they woke they saw an odd vision. We do not know what their report says. We need to get you to the command post.”
“Sons of bitches.” John ran to the stairs and raced to the top, finding Aaro, Bor, Eric, and the war council standing there. Nobody said a word as they stared at the ground, appearing dejected and hopeless. John looked out to the battlefield. The little army that he last gazed upon the night before was huge. They were far off in the distance, but they were not two hundred thousand. They were more than a million, and another one the same size was a day’s march out.
“What the Hell happened?”
Nobody answered him. In every simulation that he had run, not once did he ever consider an instantaneous replenishment of two armies. He looked to Eric, “Any chance you can call Tranquil Fury back?”
“I don’t know where they are. What’re we going to do?”
It was at this point that a portal opened, and Brook with Arora walked through. They looked out onto the battlefield, “We thought the battle was over, that we won?”
“Yesterday we had. Magic must have brought them here, it’s the only thing that makes sense,” replied John, “Is there any news of Lauren or Logan?”
Brook looked to the ground, which told him everything he needed to know.
“Why do they come? Why do they continue to attack?” asked Arora.
“We examined the prisoners and dead. They all have a very old scar on their right hand, and I think some sort of a Blood Bond influences them. Do you know of anything like that?”
“What do you mean?” asked Brook.
“I think they have sworn an oath to somebody. Just like Lauren can issue Earth Bonds to make people do things, I think they have a bond signed in blood to somebody. Lauren’s Earth Bonds are short and quick. She states an action, and those affected comply. This Blood Bond, because it grants control to the one who holds the bond, they follow blindly. I asked prisoners if I let them go, if they would attack us, run away, or attack Eric. They said they would attack Eric. Even while they watched him slaughter thousands, they said they must attack.”
“John, can you counter this Blood Bond?” asked Brook.
“Sure, give me a month, an electron microscope, a mass spectrometer, a state of the art lab, and oh yeah a month. Then, yes, I can probably figure it out. Could you go out there and ask them if they can wait for a month?” He was pointing to the new army.
A horn sounded in the distance.
“Bastards,” John had no need to look, hear
ing the army begin their advance. Even though they had several miles to move to get to the bridge, he figured they would not attack today, and instead, clear the corpses from the land, making it ready for the next day. Watching the army advance until noon, with no intentions of clearing the field, they marched over the dead bodies. When they were a mile from the bridge, the dwarves began staging into battle groups behind the gate, being anxious to take to the field again. Then the elves on the north bank sent their mithril tipped greetings to the new force, but this day, the arrows failed to find their mark. As they started their deadly descent, they burst into ash. Then, in the middle of the army, the air shimmered, losing its focus. An image of a huge man with a white sash across his body, having a smaller one that covered the lower half of his face, appeared and began laughing.
When a portal opened at the far end of the rock ledge, Mirtza with Gayne stepped through. John had given them several small pieces of the electronic components that Fodu had taken out of the crippled electronics, and he had kept the mates in his pocket, eliminating the distance factor for when they needed to visit.
“It’s magic.”
“Really, Mirtza, do you think I’m stupid, thought maybe I was just having a bad day.”
“John, did you not see it last night?”
“No, last night, for the first time in a week, I slept. Did I see what?”
The words that Mirtza spoke were like he had looked upon a god, “The lights?” He held out the cloak with the mithril pattern sewn inside it. John had made changes to the new cloak, having mithril ropes connected to the inside pattern, that ran up the back of the hood and down through the arms.
“Was it like I said it would be?”
Because he had seen magic, a look of astonishment was on Gayne’s face, “Beyond what you described. We would have been here sooner, but then we heard magic, loud magic. It was so intense it knocked us off our chairs, and we blacked out.”
