by Isaac Hooke
He used that as his cue to act, and he pulled himself up from the trench. He stepped forward, leaving it behind him. After striding a few paces into that barren, muddy no man’s land, he halted. He stared across at the opposite trenches. So far, everything was quiet. The calm before the storm.
“Vorgon!” he shouted. “I challenge you!”
In answer, arrows arced across the field from the night elves. He held up the dragon scale shield Agantas, king of the Metals, had given him. Streams of darkness also came his way, sent across by the black mages of the opposing side, and he quickly leaped back into the trench. The deadly magic darted past overhead, missing him.
He glanced at General Rashan. “Guess we’re going to have to do this the hard way.”
32
Malem sent forward the three hill giants he’d bound from the forest. They carried thick oaks in front of them as shields. Behind them were Khaan and Ophid, with Hansel bringing up the rear in a wedge formation.
As those monsters took to the field, different horns blew across the Alliance ranks. Infantrymen flowed onto the field, forming a column behind the monsters. Meanwhile Alliance archers remained on the front, and sent arrows arcing down into the enemy trenches.
Black smears of magic erupted from the trenches ahead, and smashed into the trees the hill giants held as shields. Pieces along the edges broke away upon impact, whereas those that hit the center parts sent black veins traveling outward. Those veins left a path of disintegrated bark in their wake, but the oaks were otherwise too thick to allow any harm to come to the hill giants at the moment.
The Metal Dragons joined the attack, raining death down from above. Abigail and Weyanna were with them. Black streaks of magic launched upward at the new threat, and the dragons dodged in between releasing deadly streams of liquid flame. Below, oraks set aflame screamed as they scrambled out of the trenches and attempted to run while their burning armor baked their bodies.
Malem took to the field, along with Xaxia, Gwen, and a contingent of human mages. They raced forward amidst the infantry, surrounded by armored men on all sides.
The hill giants crossed the no man’s land and reached the trenches ahead, which were manned by oraks. The smaller monsters attempted to flee, but were usually trampled or struck by the trees, which the hill giants used as clubs. One of the giants scraped its oak into the furrow formed by the closest trench, causing the occupants to emerge en masse. Just in time for the basilisks to turn them to stone. The few that didn’t transform into rock were the stronger orak mages, dressed as ordinary infantry, and those were promptly snatched up by Hansel’s tentacles and crushed.
There were more trenches furrowed into the ground beyond, and the Metal dragons lit up the occupants in waves. Enemy mages in those trenches managed to launch streams of dark magic at the incoming attackers; the hill giants, who had ceased using their oaks as shields and instead wielded them mostly as clubs, screamed as the black veins crawled up their flesh. But the impacts, while painful, weren’t enough to kill the big creatures, and only enraged them further.
A few of the enemy mages created earth elementals and sent the lumbering forms toward the hill giants. But the Metals created fire elementals to intercept them. The earth beings were unable to harm those flaming entities, whereas the latter were hot enough to melt away parts of the earth elementals, and successfully staved them off. Enough time for dragons to swoop in and hoist those elementals into the air with their talons, and crumple them.
The basilisks continued to turn most of the weaker minded foes to stone, whole units of them, so that soon the field was littered with the statues of the enemy, both in and out of the trenches.
Malem had reached the enemy line by then. The trenches were profuse here, and he leaped over their furrows to fight on the narrow aisles between them. He weaved between the statues of oraks, sometimes shoving one or another into a trench to get at an enemy. Balethorn hummed thirstily, hungering for the dragons in the sky, but he ignored its pleas and focused on hewing orak flesh. There was no need to expend energy needlessly Breaking these weak monsters, not when the sword would suffice. Xaxia fought nearby with Biter, while Gwen had taken up a perch on a high point in the aisle between two trenches, where she used Wasp to deadly effect, flinging arrows like a demonic Valkyrie.
He reached out as he fought, searching for Vorgon, wanting to taunt the Balor if he could, or at least announce his presence so as to draw the malevolent creature. But he still couldn’t sense Vorgon at all. Either the Balor masked its mind from him, or it was far away still. Vorgon changed the location of its camp nightly, and cloaked the area in illusion, so that even though the Metals sent scouts to search for the Balor, they could never find it. Only when Vorgon moved, or attacked, was the evil Balor revealed.
The mountain dwarves began to flood the battlefield from the south, and the night elves the north, in a flanking maneuver. Black dragons from the enemy ranks also took to the skies and attacked the Metals in force.
But then Ziatrice’s dark troops joined the fray. Her orak soldiers and mages cut into the dwarves on the ground, while her four black dragons breathed acid into their ranks from above. Ziatrice herself fought at their head in all her dark majesty, black mist flowing from her eyes, her halberd, Wither, swinging constantly and sending up sprays of blood, her dark chains pulling any dwarven mages she spotted to their dooms. The blades of her skirt whirled as she spun and dealt death to all around her.
Mauritania’s army also joined the fray to the north, driving into the night elves. She was at their head, wielding those two daggers of hers, which were equivalent to short swords given her size. She had told him the names of those daggers: Helter and Skelter. They were endowed with an arcane magic that allowed them to pierce any armor, even Duramite, and when wielded together, they granted their possessor an increase in speed and stamina, and boosted any innate magical abilities.
Mauritania’s eyes glowed a bright emerald as she fought, and she occasionally launched green streams of magic at her foes, disintegrating them in waves. She teleported, too, evading blows, or surprising opponents. She used the ability sparingly, along with her other magic, because it was extremely draining.
The Eldritch around her winked out in turn, using their invisibility to dodge foes and slay them at unawares. There were whole lines of night elves that fell to unseen blades. The Eldritch couldn’t maintain their invisibility for long, unfortunately: they began to appear, at first as green silhouettes, their outlines becoming brighter with every second until the monsters were fully visible. Soon all of them fought in full view of the enemy.
Incidentally, Mauritania couldn’t turn invisible. She never explained why. It probably had something to do with her half Eldritch designation, or maybe the ability was limited to the males of the species.
Malem shared stamina with the women bound to him as needed. Abigail and Weyanna seemed to be flagging slightly, so he transferred some from the hill giants, for example.
He parried a blow from a large orak that unexpectedly came at him, and killed it on the rebound, but was suddenly hit in the side. The impact shoved him off balance, and he fell into the trench beside him. Something heavy landed on his hips, and he spun about to wrestle his foe: another orak. He tried to Break it, but it was one of the stronger-willed. Such oraks were a rarity among the soldier class, given Malem’s current mental prowess, but bad luck happened to the best of us.
The orak slid its grimy fingers just above the dragon scale gorget that covered his neck, wrapping them around his bare skin, and squeezed. Malem flung out an arm, searching desperately for his sword, which he’d dropped in the mud somewhere after landing in the trench.
The orak smiled. “Kill you.”
Stars began to spangle his vision. He reached up, wrapped his hands around the orak’s head, and shoved his thumbs into its eyes. The orak grimaced, squeezing its eyelids shut, and tightened its own grip around his throat.
The orak jerked suddenly, and b
lack veins began to snake up its face.
Malem released the creature, which had gone limp above him, and rolled the body off of him.
Rathamias gazed down from the aisle next to the trench above. “You’re welcome.” The orak mage stalked away. Over its chest armor it wore a tunic in the purple and red of Ziatrice’s army, so that none among the Alliance would attack it. In theory.
Malem scooped up Balethorn and clambered out of the trench. The oraks around him were all stone statues. Khaan was nearby. The basilisk, too, had apparently sensed his distress and had attempted to come to the rescue, but Rathamias had beaten Khaan to him.
Malem sensed the fall of one of his hill giants then, and he drained the monster, killing it before the connection could sever and boomerang back on him. Since he had extra slots freed up, he reached out and found three weak-minded oraks huddling in the trenches nearby. He Broke them and summoned them to his side, where they fought for him and guarded his back.
He glanced toward where the hill giant had fallen. It was amid the thick ranks of oraks ahead, where the fighting was at its most intense. Troglodons had joined the ranks there, as had a few night elves and dwarves. The enemy units were purposely attacking their own Troglodons, splitting the ectoplasmic creatures in two, and rapidly multiplying them. The Alliance mages took down as many Troglodons as they could with their magic attacks—magic was the only way to kill a Troglodon—but they had difficulty keeping up with the almost exponential rate of growth. Meanwhile, the Troglodons spread out, engulfing the defenders—soldiers and mages alike—excreting gleaming white skeletons after digesting them.
Some of them broke away toward Malem. Though they had one big eye mounted at the top of their otherwise shapeless bodies, most were immune to the basilisk’s gaze. Some turned to stone, thanks to Khaan, but the remainder approached. Beneath their translucent skin he could see the bodies of Eldritch and humans in various states of digestion.
And then all of them imploded.
Nemertes landed among their splattered remains, its huge body stretching across the field of battle. The ancient blue unleashed its terrible light magic, causing large swaths of the enemy to implode where they stood. Ghostly tendrils of yellow light unfolded from the dragon in all directions, stringing between oraks, night elves, dwarves, and Troglodons. The instant that light touched an enemy, the stricken foe collapsed in upon itself like crumpled paper.
Nemertes stepped forward, driving a wedge deep into the ranks ahead where the fighting was the most extreme. Not even powerful mages could resist its attack. The enemy fell in great sweeping rows. And Nemertes laughed.
But then a humongous flaming ax plunged into the ancient blue dragon from above as Vorgon took the field. Nemertes’ entire right side was split open, and its right wing severed. The dragon screamed, and unleashed blinding waves of white light at Vorgon, but the Balor was unaffected.
Vorgon stepped forward, intending to crush Nemertes; the injured dragon tried to flee, but was too slow, and Vorgon planted its huge foot on the blue’s back and pinned it, like a cruel man might restrain a wounded dog with his boot. While holding down the dragon like that, the Balor struck down with its ax again, cutting deep into the neck of its foe, and Nemertes, oldest dragon in the world, died.
Stunned silence ensued across the field of battle—the combatants on both sides had paused to watch. But that silence lasted only a heartbeat, and both sides took up their fighting anew. The enemy fought stronger than ever, thanks to the presence of Vorgon. Their morale was no doubt boosted, but he also had the sense the individual units were trying to impress their master.
To the Alliance’s credit, none of the human soldiers fled. And Mauritania’s soldiers also held fast to the field of battle, as did the survivors of Ziatrice’s dark army. They were counting on Malem to see this through.
He still didn’t sense Vorgon, even though the Balor was clearly visible—the creature was masking its mind from him after all, then.
Vorgon stepped forward balefully, swinging its flaming ax down upon the defenders with each step, killing tens at a time just as easily as a farmer scythes wheat.
“Where are you, Breaker?” Vorgon boomed. Its voice, though extremely loud, sounded almost musical. “I’ve come for you.”
Malem sought the Darkness inside of him as Banvil had taught; he had had much time to practice that seeking during the journey to the front lines.
When he found it, he sent a message.
Open the portal, Banvil. It’s time to fight.
He waited, watching as Vorgon slowly approached, but Banvil didn’t obey.
Men and Eldritch fell in waves.
Banvil!
Nothing.
Shit.
The Alliance mages and the Metal dragons launched a barrage of attacks against the demonic creature. Fire, earth and rock elementals joined the fray, and pummeled it alongside the magic and flames. But the enemy units rallied, and swept back those mages, and the dragons; there were simply too many oraks and Troglodons, and too few Alliance mages and dragons. Rashan hadn’t been joking when he had said the ranks of good had been close to breaking, because Malem was watching that breaking right now.
Vorgon hadn’t yet released any of the black magic from the underworld, relying instead on its ax, and its size, to kill. It was conserving its strength. Wanting to stay on the field of battle for as long as possible. It was clear that Vorgon hoped to finally crush the defenders that day.
The defenders were forced to retreat before that terrible blade. They raced across the no man’s land toward the safety of their front lines and the magical traps the mages had lain to further protect them from Vorgon.
Malem joined them in their flight, running alongside Eldritch and humans alike.
Halfway across the no man’s land, a portal of infinite darkness appeared directly in front of him. He swerved aside at the last moment, almost tumbling through it. He tripped on a dead body and landed on the ground next to the black tear in reality.
He scrambled to his feet and focused on that portal, backing away as he did so. Men dashed by on either side of him, shoving him as they ran, sometimes roughly, but he ignored them, concentrating on that portal. His oraks stood guard around him, joined by Gwen and Xaxia.
Slowly, the doorway to the Black Realm expanded. As it grew in size, the fleeing defenders were forced to race around it, and a great wind kicked up, gusting across the field of battle. Malem was forced to plant his feet in place to prevent himself from being bowled over by it.
And then finally, when that portal towered over the land, Banvil appeared, wreathed in red flame in counterpoint to Vorgon’s blue. The Balor stepped through the portal at a crouch and then stood to its full height, moving quickly and with purpose, trampling the enemy ranks, and striking them down with its great sword. It headed directly for its nemesis.
Red flames met blue, burning sword met blazing ax, and the battle of the century ensued.
33
Malem wasn’t sure quite what to expect. The two seemed equally matched at first. Banvil was fresh and rested, whereas Vorgon, though bigger, seemed wearier.
Banvil parried a blow from that fiery blue ax, shoving aside the weapon and scoring a blow with its sword on the riposte. Vorgon staggered as a dark wound opened in its thigh. That gash seemed to stir something inside of Vorgon, because the Balor roared and struck back with renewed vigor.
And so the two great blades clanged back and forth as the demons vied with one another. The stakes were the world.
Malem shrunk the portal as they fought, and blocked Banvil’s retreat. The dark gateway soon winked out. Either the Balor won this or died. There was no running, not anymore.
Let Banvil have a taste of what I experienced when I traveled to the Black Realm to greet it.
He hoped that by closing the gateway and cutting off all retreat, the Balor would be driven to fight all the harder. There was nothing more vicious than a cornered wolf.
As the gia
nt pair moved about in their deadly dance, they trampled any bystanders from both sides that were foolish enough to remain close.
Streaks of dark magic erupted from Banvil, traveling into Vorgon’s chest, causing welts to appear. Vorgon returned the favor, sending dark blurs in answer, inflicting similar welts in its foe.
As they fought back and forth like that, Banvil began to flag. Vorgon scored blows on Banvil’s upper arms and chest, and even cut open the Balor’s cheek.
“Fool!” Vorgon roared. “You should have remained in the Black Realm where I left you.”
Troglodons raced from enemy lines to join the fray, alongside dire wolves and tigers, and scallions, too. They harried Banvil’s feet, while black dragons swooped in, breathing acid in the Balor’s face.
The distraction allowed Vorgon to score a major hit, this time deep in Banvil’s side, and for a moment Malem’s hold on the three oraks next to him wavered. As it did with all the monsters he gripped. He couldn’t sense the women, either.
Banvil had fallen to its knees, but managed to raise its sword, deflecting the next blow, and scrambling to its feet. As the Balor arose, once more Malem could sense the women, and his grip tightened on the monsters.
Malem was well aware that if Banvil died, he would lose all of his power. The Balor’s most recent brush with death, and the effects on his ability, had simply served as a reminder: it was in Malem’s best interests to keep the Balor alive. Not to mention it was also in the world’s best interest.
He reached out to the women bound to him.
Abigail, Weyanna, we have to stop those dragons! Mauritania, your Eldritch can make a difference here. Ziatrice, if you have any dragons left, now’s the time to use them! Come to Banvil’s aid!
Never thought, in all my years, that I’d be helping a Balor! Abigail sent.
He sent Hansel forward, along with the basilisks and his two remaining hill giants.
