by Jason Jones
“How by Mount Maonell?!”
“I need you to… handle them alone, for… just a moment.” Shinayne spun full circle, parrying and disarming seven ghost blades with her shortsword, then cutting through all seven undead wielders with her longblade. Seven skulls hit the ground as dust and ash erupted, yet nine more came to take their brethrens’ place.
“Ye’ insane?!” Azenairk looked around quick. Twenty or more to his left, twice that to his right, both sides pushing past old pillars and stone to reach them. The southern chasm he had caused was impassable, yet behind him to the north there were a hundred massed to kill the elven woman. They rushed, slipped on the wet dead grass, yet the mob of remnants was unstoppable
“Ready?” Shinayne backed up to a stump of pillar, leapt ontop of it, and then jumped to a higher part of the old outpost foundation. It cracked a little below her feet, the dead swarmed, and she leapt into the air again. This time, right into the middle of the gray horde.
“Shinayne! No!” Zen yelled as she leapt from sight into the night, lost in the middle of hundreds upon hundreds of reformed dead soldiers. Surrounded, the dwarven priest swung his warhammer and family shield like mad.
“Ahh! Hah! Die again ye’ devils! Vundren save us!”
Two cuts caught her legs, another her elbow, then three more across her back as she landed from her airborn somersault into the unending mass of spectral blades. Slashing right, two fell, then left with her off hand, and two more went down as her ancient swords cut through weak dead flesh at the neck. She parried twice, then ducked another onslaught, and dove ahead into another roll. Her elven speed and the obscuring dust of the fallen hid her movements well. She rose with her blades cleaving wide, dropping five more into their silent eternity. Shinayne stood face to face with the orange glowing eyes of the banshee.
Zen’s back was against a pillar, he smashed another skull and raised his shield to block the ashen eruption. His light radiated across their expressionless faces which raised their small shields again, then his hammer took its toll in that moment. He had nowhere to go, surrounded on three sides, then his shoulder was pierced, then the other, cold steel that cut and froze the wound. Zens ear was nicked, then his cheek, there were too many.
“Devour her!” The dead soldier with the orange glow of mist in his sockets shouted his command, the only one that seemed to be able to speak, and his sword thrust forward at the elven woman.
Just as the scimitar drove ahead, two elven blades crossed over it. The steel was stronger than the other weapons of the dead and it screeched upon contact with her mated blades. In one quick motion, too fast for human eyes, her shortblade struck down twice, then her longblade swung up and knocked the scimitar high. Just as Elicras struck the scimitar loose with a third cut, Shinayne stepped forward quick and Carice slashed clean through the neck. Silence screamed as the lightning flashed. The skull hit the ground and Shinayne closed her eyes.
Twelve swords from dead hands cut, slashed, and lunged for her from every side. Just as she knew that she was dead, she was covered in ash and dust. Shinayne looked to the skull at her feet, the orange light flickered out, and the screaming mist shot back toward the ravine as hundreds of skulls hit the ground that very second. All of them.
“And that! Ye’ demons! Ahh, hah! Oh aye!? Ye’ too then, arrrghhh!”
His eyes were closed, wounds stinging from nicks and cuts galore, swinging in rage and desperation. Zen was hitting nothing but falling dust, yet he dared not stop.
“Azenairk, it is over.” Shinayne sighed out loud, feeling the blood trickle through her chain links in many a place. She took a knee at the base of the hill, caught her breath, and looked to the cloud of dust and spread of skulls in the silent night.
“Ain’t never over! Keep fightin’ now! I’ll save ye’ Shinayne! Aaargghh! I’m comin’!” His warhammer and shield caught more air, more dust, and he fell forward onto a knee after tripping on a skull.
“They are gone, priest. I took the leaders head, they vanished. Stop swinging.” She waited for him to open his eyes.
“How the hells?” Zen looked at the thousand skulls around the hill, rolling down it, and the cloud of ash that loomed in the dark of night.
As Shinayne shook her head and smiled, the orange light flared in the ravine a mile south. The same screams, the same moans on the wind that was not there, and then she saw them, again. Ten sets of orange glowing eyes shone in the blanket of midnight, and thousands of skeletons crawled up the ravine with them.
How dare you…
Shinayne shuddered, the whispers were now the cacophony of many thousands in dreadful hollow anger. She saw the glow from the ravine flare, casting the reforming skeletons in orange light, their shadows elongating across the broken field a half mile below the hill. The elf blinked, a tap on her shoulder from the very quiet dwarf at her side broke her awe.
“How did ye’ know that killin’ the one with the fiery eyes would stop the rest of em’?”
“I did not, not for certain.”
“Are ye’ mad? We should be dead.”
“I had a hunch, a feeling is all.” Shinayne still stared, the gray glow of flesh from the netherworlds taking form over innumerable skeletal remains far to the south.
“Ye’ are insane then. Brave, deadly, but insane. Ye’ dove into em’ on a hunch? We coulda’ been killed, elf.” Zen gulped, now staring south at the thousands of forgotten corpses taking unearthly form atop the glowing ravine.
“It worked, and we are alive. Had I not done something, we would not be talking now.” She sheathed her blades, felt the cold lacerations on her arm and legs, eyes never leaving the sight to the south. The orange mist vanished once more, the screams erupted from the ruins, and faint footsteps of a far off army of the dead could be heard through the pattering rains. This time, much louder than before, many more steps sounded as thunder.
“I see ten sets o’ glowing eyes ahead, coming this way. Ye’ not thinkin’ o’ fightin again, are ye’?” He started to back up slowly, the awe of the scene drew his focus and sense away, captivating his mind with the glowing eyes so far off.
“No, we need to get to the others. Why do you ask?” Shinayne was pondering how they would ever get past such a force, even with their friends here.
“I ask ye’ to make sure ye’ still have some sense. If ye’ had said yes, me hammer would have to knock ye’ out and I would be carryin’ ye back is all.” Zen shook his head free of whatever was trying to keep his attention on the orange lights. Half mile and closing, the stomping was louder, he heard the clanging of steel like an echoing mine in the dark.
“This was your idea, Zen. Get rid of your light, time to move.” Shinayne blinked, long and slow, also realizing the glow was compounding with the whispers, seemingly inciting her curiosity.
“Aye, let’s go then. Vulthdre!” He waved his shield over his hammer, the world grew darker, and the unholy orange flares grew closer.
Infidels must pay…
Shinayne and Zen turned and ran back toward the ridge, in the dark of night, thousands of soldiers from the grave behind them. Aching, wet, bleeding and tired, they ran toward the ridge of the Temple Way. Into the lowlands, through the bare forests, then up they climbed into rocky sandstone cliffs. Neither stopped to look, neither of them spoke, only ran as fast as their legs and breath would allow.
Green light from a cavern entrance shone like a beacon of salvation to the weary daredevils. Stumbling with exhaustion, Shinayne and Zen shook Saberrak and James as they came close to Gwenneth, who merely looked up over her tome. She raised and eyebrow to them as they roused everyone with heaving breaths.
“Second thoughts?” Gwenne smiled.
“Aye, and then some! Ye’ wouldn’t believe what is out there! Anyways, no time, need to…get..ready! They’re comin’!” Zen huffed, grabbing for his armor, tossing through his things in frantic fashion.
“Azenairk…” Shinayne whispered toward him.
“What is
going on now?” Saberrak stood, reached for his axes, then stretched and huffed.
“Thousands…thousands o’ the dead…heading this way! Ten banshee with em’! Get ready!” Zen had his breastplate on and was working on strapping his greaves into place.
“By Alden, did you two go out alone?!” James crawled over to his chainmail armor and blade, scrambling, trying to get armed as quick as he could.
“How far are they?” Gwenneth snapped her fingers, the staff of Imoch whipped from the wall into her grasp, the book floated onto her bedroll and blankets.
“Zen…” Shinayne whispered once more.
“Bout’ a mile behind us at most, we killed a few hundred, thousand maybe. Shinayne, ye’ tell em’ then. Tell em’ we found Mooncrest!” Armguards next, belts tightening, he spun around to find where he had dropped his shield and hammer.
Gwenneth stopped at the edge of the cavern and turned back to the dwarven priest with a questioning glance. “Zen, you and Shinayne left about three minutes ago. How…?”
“Zen, my wounds are gone.” Shinayne whispered louder, still amazed as she looked to where her injuries from the ghastly blades should have been, where they definitely were. There were none to be seen.
“Well I be bleedin’ outta both shoulders, me ear, look, look at me face then!” Zen hefted the heavy blacksteel weapon and stood next to Gwenneth.
James and Saberrak walked slowly to their dwarven friend, looking in the light given by the staff, there was not a mark on him, nor one drop of blood.
“You don’t have a scratch, dwarf.” Saberrak flared his nostrils.
“Aye? Look here…then…my…” His face went white, not a cut, and he knew there were at least eight that should be there. He recalled the cold blades, the warm blood running on his cool skin, the rain, the dead, he was confused.
“We were gone for hours…fought hundreds…saw …thousands more… something…I do not like this place.” Shinayne T’Sarrin breathed deep to calm the chill that was climbing her spine.
“Not possible…it’s not…” Zen grabbed his hammer and moons symbol and prayed.
“What did you see, Mooncrest?” James looked to Zen, then Shinayne.
“Aye, and fought a banshee…leading an army o’ the dead….fought hundreds….we did…” Zen looked himself over, he was barely even wet, where moments ago he was soaked through.
“No, you were not gone long enough to make it from here to the Temple Way. You just asked me to watch the others while you scouted ahead. I have only read two pages since you left.” Gwenneth looked out the cavern into the dark. She heard whispers in the pattering rain, a howl from far off, and saw lighting that made no noise. But no army of ghostly dead.
“Shinayne, what is happening?” Zen felt sick and cold.
“I do not know, it was real, I feel cold, Zen.” Shinayne felt for her cuts, nothing, not one mark.
“Stay together, no matter what. No more scouting ahead.” Saberrak huffed and gripped his axes.
“Agreed. Still, something is out there. I assure you, and it knows we are here.” Shinayne walked to the edge, blades out, and stared into the blackness. “It spoke to us.”
“Saberrak, take the left side of the cave with Shinayne. Zen, over here with me now. Be ready.” James drew his blade and waited with vigilance. He nodded to Gwenneth who had already taken her spot back behind them.
For long hours the five stood still and silent, waiting for what Shinayne and Zen said was surely behind them. Their weapons drawn, eyes keen, listening to every sound near and far. They were prepared for any whisper, to face any army or voice, anything at all.
Yet in the pitch of quiet night, nothing came. As the black turned to a dark gray in the west to mark the rising sun, the winds began to rise in strength, and only far off approaching storms could be heard.
Princes IV:I
Castle Valhera
Valhirst
Chazzrynn
The Prince of Valhirst rubbed his temples with his thumb and finger, the stress of so much ongoing had quite a pain shooting across his brow and down his neck. Thousands had arrived to the western fields and hills outside his city, the dozens of banners belonging to King Mikhail Salganat and Chazzrynn could be seen from his battlements. He had expected three thousand or so, yet five legions or more there were, all preparing for siege. Forces from Loucas, Addisonia, Vallakazz, Silverbridge, and even Thurick and Hurne had answered their king. Johnas was not intimidated in the least. He held the heir prince, he had the coveted prize of the field, and had no intention of giving it up. The bay was his, the borrowed Harlian naval force was mostly settled in, and his city had nearly five legions in surplus now. On the morrow, after his threatened fortnight passed a month of continuations, Bryant Salganat would hang from his walls to bless the battle. That was if Mikhail did not send the crown into Valhirst and submit, which it appeared, he would not.
Now however, as ill timed as could be, the impatient and bewitching Lord Koligail had arrived from Devonmir to settle affairs. An emissary from the Caberran courts had tracked Johnas down and was awaiting answers as to his motives in Harlaheim. Then, as if his plate were not full enough, rumor had come, via the warlock mirrors, that King Phillip had threatened war upon Willborne, prematurely, after what was supposed to be a meeting to discuss an alliance.
An armed guard of men with Lord Valistor Waylen were insistent guests for the past three nights, inquiring as to the reason Johnas was so involved with another kingdom. Sapphire of the East had reported that Crimson of the North was no more, Balric D’Vrelle and the fugitive once-king Richmond the Second had not surfaced, and rumors pointed to the possibility that Kaya T’Vellon may still be alive somehow. The Prince of Valhirst forced words out despite his troubled mind craving but a moments’ peace.
“Jehrale, our men are ready?” Johnas whispered to his left, to his older brother, scarred with acid upon his face decades ago, to hide his features. Their late mother wished him believed dead, and so he had been, to the world that knew no better. “We are ready for this siege?”
“They are, even the Harlian forces. Yet the last ship never arrived. No sign of it. Lost somewhere near a cluster of islands between here and Taberlo.” Jehrale paused, waiting to see if the emissaries were listening in. They were not. “This siege will fail, and Bryant’s death will not cease it, or bring the crown faster. Yet, if it were me, I would hang---“
“Scout ships, nothing reported?” Johnas was only mildly concerned at the loss of three hundred soldiers from Harlaheim. He had enough in place to take the crown.
“Nothing, likely it took water and made for land to repair and---“
“Not that, I could shit with more care than I have for three hundred Harlians. Scouts, any naval movements from the king? Does he make to surround us in the bay, or solely by land?”
“No, none, we bought the loyalty of the captains there. Lord Koligail awaits your answers to the Devonmir dispute, brother. His presence is unnerving at best.” Vermillion of the South stepped aside for the visiting lord of the Three Devonmir Damned, and for his older brother to finish their dealings.
“Very well, but I was much enjoying the view. Do you think Mikhail sees the bodies hanging from the walls and wonders if one is his son?”
“Surely, my Prince, surely.” Jehrale peeked over the edge, noting the still dangling corpses rotting in the morning gray, remnants from Bryants failed attack.
“Lord Koligail, your terms are surely elevated due to my obvious current entanglements. I will agree to half the amount requested.” Johnas nodded to Vermillion of the South and received a nod from beneath the hood of his brothers black cloak. Johnas looked down from his high vantage upon the armies to the west and the wet green landscape of eastern Chazzrynn. Catapults, rams, cavalry, archers, his eyes wandered the five legions massed to the west of his city walls. He knew that his time to ride out and greet was soon approaching.
Black shrouds of his ornate burial robes whipped in the winds
of the Valhera catwalk. Koligail felt not the pleasure of the breeze, the touch of sporadic rains, nor the warmth of the morning on his flesh, little as was left. He turned slowly and glared his red eyes toward Prince Johnas. He spoke in hushed tones from beyond the grave.
“And the minotaur? He has taken many of our most profitable, we have need of replacements.”
“Only if your support to Harlaheim’s new king is doubled. Chalas Kalaza is a butcher beyond compare, as I am sure you have seen firsthand, and valuable to me and mine.” Johnas looked through his peripheral vision, as the sight of the red dry flesh over bone was disconcerting. He knew well enough of the deals and curses the Lords Three of Devonmir had met with long ago, he needed not a reminder of their appearance or their demonic allegiences.
“And the fugitives, there are many that wreaked havoc and have seen too much. Lord Trehad has found trace of the five with the Lazlette woman to the west, but what of your rogue members? The body of Kaya T’Vellon was not among those that Lord Maroguille has risen for research, she was not buried among the shallow graves he had dug. Kaya lives and knows too much of us, to your failure.” Koligail’s whispers and hisses held arcane dark power as he spoke.
“The White Spider is handling our own, all loose ends will be cut, and my new kingdoms will see it done above ground as well. Do not mention failure to me, cursed one. Remember who it is you are talking to.” Johnas sneered as he felt his blade throb at his side, warning him of things it was concerned with.
“You realize, soon to be king of several kingdoms, that my brothers of the shroud and I have lived past many mortal rulers. Your politics do not frighten us below, in Devonmir.”
“Be that as it may, all things end Koligail. Even you. When I have Chazzrynn, Harlaheim, and Willborne massed in force together within a few weeks time, I will invade your arenas with thirty thousand men. Now, are we finishing our business or no?”
