by Paul Drewitz
All he could hear was a high pitched ringing in his ears as he stood wheeling in circles, disoriented. The creature’s vines whipped, splitting men in half. Other men still living were impaled on the vines and could be seen writhing in pain as they were carried and thrown around. Suddenly, as if the maddened creature first noticed their heavy bodies weighting upon his powerful tentacles, it sent several more vines through the warriors' bodies. Finally, the creature would drop the carcasses to the ground, full of holes where its vines had tunneled.
A tentacle whipped by Erelon’s skull, and again, he was saved only by an unconscious shield. Still, Erelon found himself picking his body from the ground, an angry red welt creasing his forehead. Anger filled the wizard’s entire body. He could feel its heat; Erelon’s body even seemed to begin to take on a glow of its own. Erelon pulled the ice staff from within his cloak and brandished it, swinging it around his head once before shoving it in the direction of the monster. He sent the ferocity of winter towards the creature made of summer’s madness. A ball of ice surrounded by a cloud of cold and crystal dust flew into the creature and disappeared into it. Instantly, the monster hit the ground and died. Its vines went limp, its visage blue and white, ice crystals forming in its cells that had contained liquids. The leaves dried and fell to the ground.
The pieces of reptile and bird quickly deteriorated and disappeared, and the sphere of vines crumbled. From where the core of the boulder of vines had landed, a trunk the size of a great man’s waist exploded. Vines twisted and spun from its huge expanse, again darting among the men, striking down soldiers. Vines rolled across the ground, wrapping around legs, yanking the men to mash them against the wall, or the ground, or throwing them into the forest. Other vines reached from deep within the earth and pulled soldiers into the ground. Other vines spiraled from the trees, darting into warriors, their armor giving little resistance as the vines poked holes through the metal.
More trunks grew up around the core pillar of the beast, all deeply rooted, adding more destruction and chaos as if they were adding hundreds of years of growth to their strength in a matter of seconds. Again Erelon sent a stream of ice into their midst, each trunk falling to the earth, dead from the moment winter touched them. To the ends of the maze of roots they froze, the staff’s power reaching far into the ground.
Erelon stood above the area in which they grew. Deep within the ground he could see vines growing like a mass of wiggling worms.
Stretching his hand above the pile, he grumbled, “Kroch dest Boure.”
Some claim it is a spell, but most agree that curse is a better term. Below his hand, anything living died. It was a curse of death—most magical races had one. It was said that the Humbas knew of one that would have killed the entire earth. The one that Erelon employed was of the dwarves. Nothing from then on would grow there.
This area, below the hand of the wizard, would forever be a black mar upon the world. Even the trees that stretched out over the cursed area dried and disintegrated. The monster died, but so also did that little section of the earth. A wizard had to be careful with such spells. If used too often or too carelessly, great damage could be caused. Here, the disease of death spread like cancer until it ran its course and came to a halt. Yet from then on, nothing would grow there and all animals, men, and plants would avoid it. It was a permanent scar, one that nature could not hide.
Erelon felt his stomach tense as he watched the creature die. The ground caved in a little as the creature shriveled up and decayed. Grass died, marking the path that the curse took, looking like the legs of a crab, spreading, eating the life. But at least the creature died, Erelon thought to himself. No one knew if it would mean death to a man to stay near the spot of such a curse, but unconsciously, every creature avoided it. It was a scar that most would insist even time could not heal. Erelon looked back at the blotch he had left, hoping that the legacy he left behind when his time came to leave this world would not only be one of scars.
Erelon tossed and turned in a restless sleep that left him sweating heavily. He was exhausted, but the unconscious world that he hunted would not come. The major fight had passed days ago, but his body was still healing. The dwarves had not been at that fight and would be disappointed when they learned about what they had missed. Several days before the members of the short stocky race had gone home to see to issues there.
The wizard sat up in bed, tired of fighting his own body. Sweat poured from his face, streaming, soaking his clothes and bedding. He looked around, his eyes trying to see into the darkness. Slowly everything within his room started to come into focus until he could see that all was where it was supposed to be except his door, which was wide open. The wizard remembered closing it before going to bed. Quickly, something flashed by the door. The patter of the creature’s feet told Erelon that it was hoofed and the color of its mass was that of a mirage created by the light of a blue moon.
Erelon was immediately out of bed, throwing on some clothing and rushing out the door. At the foot of his bed always were clothes for emergencies, especially if the army encamped outside their walls decided to attack again.
Erelon swiftly passed through the door in time to observe the creature turn a corner, a corner that Erelon knew would lead downward. Erelon gave chase, silently, smoothly gliding through the halls, tracking the mysterious creature. He descended several flights of stairs, barely catching glimpses of his quarry as it fled. Yet Erelon saw enough to know that it was a faun, or a spirit of a faun, for it was a luminescent blue. It was nothing like any truly living being Erelon had ever seen.
They rushed into the main lobby and on through the door to the outside world. The faun hid below the trees. There was a full moon casting a faint blue glow on all that was in the world, filling it with a mysterious silvery blue glow. The other moon would be hidden behind the mountains.
It seemed that as the moon was covered by clouds, the creature disappeared, and that it would reappear as the moon again came from behind, blessing the earth with streams of silver. The longer the chase lasted, the fewer the moments came when Erelon got to observe the creature. Erelon grew nervous, not sure if the creature was really before him or if it was a mirage, a hallucination caused by the moon, his mind, or the wraiths.
The wizard stepped through a creek which reflected the moon’s light, his boots getting wet and water splashing up into his heavy hanging cloak. From tree to tree he passed, watching the empty forest around him for signs of a trap, of the enemy. The faun’s spirit led him right up to the mountain’s wall, and then it disappeared. Erelon looked around for any physical sign of the faun’s passing, but there was none. The spirit was gone.
Metal slammed against hot metal, which hissed as it sent a shower of the impurities of the molten metal spraying throughout the room. A sharp ring stunned the ears of those who listened, although the short man who worked with the iron did not heed the biting noise as he had grown accustomed to its presence. The heat from the mass of forges in the underground location beat on the two dwarves who watched. They stood on a high balcony, looking on the laboring form of a fellow dwarve.
“He did not ask another soul to help him with the great task,” one dwarve growled low to the other.
“Didn’t trust anyone with a task that has so much importance,” the other responded in the same low tone, as if trying to remain quiet as not to disturb the laborer below, as if their voices could carry over the pounding of metal.
The skin was leather, hard and brown, not from the sun, but the blast of furnaces and the mighty work that was pursued in the vast forges. The heat caused the entirety of the caverns in sight to waver, looking to an unaccustomed viewer as if they might collapse. The hammer rose and fell, time and again, the finished blade pulled from the fire, cooling and turning to a dull black. This was a metal little used by the dwarves and known to no other race. It was being used for a special commission.
Three swords and two spears, each with a complementary shield. Yet thes
e were not the weapons for the average warrior. These were for five of the giants, warriors of the North.
Word had just come that a significant number of giants proceeded from the northern mountains to fight in the second battle for Mortaz, the battle to destroy the wraiths. Five great warriors, leaders among their tribes, were among those giants that traveled. For these honored guests and brothers on the field of battle, the dwarves now made weapons that had no match in the forges of the race of giants.
Many of the giants only wielded clubs and wore jerkins of leather. So for the five distinguished guests, the dwarves made special weapons. The great difficulty came in the obstacle that the dwarves, not being huge, were unable to feel the weapons in their own hands. They were unable to make exact and perfectly balanced blades from past experience, so special caution had to be taken.
The cord of metal slowly was pounded into a fine blade and then honed until as fine as a razor. A handle, twice the length of an average man’s arm, was installed. Two bronze halves, placed about the base of the black metal, were then soldered together. Black leather was precisely wrapped around the handle so perfect gaps were left to allow the bronze to blaze through. Finally, a rivet was hammered at intervals to hold the leather in place. Each rivet was beaten until smooth.
The weapons were massive, and because of the uncertainty in their making, Bahsal had only entrusted their forging to himself. The weapons were to be presented on the day before the march, and the plan was that the following day they were to be used in battle. The metal flattened with each blow. The only décor for the blade was to be the rings from each blow of the hammer. Over two dozen giants were coming.
They might be a little slow mentally, but they understood receiving and giving honor to those who deserved it. Still, they were not as mindless as some led the world to believe. They had not won and lost many a battle against the trolls without learning and gaining experience. Their race still lived and continued.
Again the hammer rang, metal sparks bounced off the walls, the fire leapt and sank. To appease this race, was the thought in Bahsal’s mind. To help give them a reason for coming, especially as Erelon would not be there for them to follow.
Erelon slipped from the saddle of his horse just inside the forest behind the gates of the defending wall.
Auri was there to give him the details of what they knew, “They request an audience with you. They asked for you by name.”
“Who is 'they'?” Erelon questioned, feeling that this could be important even though he knew the answer.
“The enemy,” Auri replied
Only moments before, a runner had wakened Erelon saying that he was wanted at the wall. The master wizard had thrown on his clothes, grabbed his sword, and in a matter of minutes was racing his horse down the pathways of the forest. The enemy had not attacked strongly since being held back in that remarkable battle with the flying monster. They had started several skirmishes, but nothing to create mass chaos. That huge battle was by now several months past.
Now they asked for an audience with Erelon under a white flag of temporary peace. The wizard did not understand what they hoped to gain except getting the gates open. Yet curiosity also consumed Erelon, and as he surmised he had the power to hold back a surge of the wraiths’ soldiers, he considered risking meeting the enemy leader.
“Do you know what it is that I am facing?” Erelon asked, preparing himself mentally for what was to come.
“Some kind of Minotaur riding a monster,” Auri responded, not really understanding what it was that the wizard faced.
Erelon walked before the gates. He loosened his sword in its sheath, adjusted his knives and belts, cracked his neck, and with a nod of his head, motioned that he was ready for the gates to be opened.
Hinges cracked and popped as the huge stone barricades were rolled back, pulled by a team of huge horses. Men were already reversing the chains on the gears before the monster rode in so that they could quickly pull the gates shut.
Erelon looked around him, Durge to his right, Auri to his left, Yalen on the wall. Behind, Erelon knew Grism stood ready. With confidence that his men could handle any attack thrown at them, Erelon turned his attention toward the creature that rode through the opening. A huge creature, part bison, but mostly troll, rode through on a creature that had the body of a horse, but the eight legs of a spider. The minotaur had four arms, the bottom two wielding swords, a white flag in his top left, and a spear loosely held in his top right. Behind his bovine eyes was a light of intelligence, and its body contained the strength of a giant, ugly troll.
“The lords of the keep say that if you will all be willing to give up your weapons, you and those that you protect may join the army of the great lords. Those that do not join the great army of my lords will be allowed to be the last living people. My most merciful lords only ask that the life of one small wizard, Erelon, be given to show the trust and compliance of those surrendering.”
The minotaur gave the terms of its masters, a grin creasing its face as it knew its terms would not be accepted.
Erelon also grinned and stated, “You know those terms I cannot accept.”
"I did not expect you to accept those terms, but I thought maybe the men with you may have a change of heart," the monster laughed.
"I am afraid that I speak for the men with me," Erelon smirked.
“Very well, as you wish,” the minotaur said, and without giving the defenders a chance to change positions, it kicked its steed, sending it flying towards the wizard. Erelon stepped forward to meet the enemy. Quickly Erelon dodged the spider’s legs. The huge creature was above him. A leg slammed into the ground, and Erelon jerked his body back. A giant spear slammed into the ground in front of the wizard. He jerked his right arm back, his feet clumsily moving to keep from getting crushed as another leg from the beast stomped. Easily Erelon stepped around every blow that the minotaur tried to place, a stumbling dance they seemed to engage in as Erelon tripped the steed several times.
As a chain whip flashed before the wizard, he knew it was time to fight seriously. A leg pierced the earth before him, trying to impale the wizard. Erelon’s sword came out and cut through the limb, the exoskeleton crunching as the sword broke through. The creature wailed, and before it could regain its balance, two more legs were gone as the wizard spun around taking two with the same cut.
The steed’s heavy body fell forwards, its chest slamming into the earth and spraying leaves and dirt into the air. All of its appendages were scrambling as it tried to heave its heavy body away from the one who caused pain. Even what remained of the severed limbs struggled, pushing when they touched something tangible and twisting in the air, scattering blood and dirt.
The minotaur dismounted, each of his huge, wide, six-toed feet dropping heavily onto the earth. He dropped a chain whip in the same motion. He looked with anger toward the wizard, but walked to the head of his beast, locking his hands around the whining creature, and gave a sharp jerk and twist, snapping its neck like a twig. The entire body, including the legs, eased and went limp. The troll dropped its ride and turned to face his enemy. He looked at the sword. The blade was magical, its heat and power could be felt a long distance away. The beast pulled two axes and began to madly swing, cutting through the air, but not touching anything. The blades came down, slamming into the earth, casting dirt, though the enemy was cautious to avoid the magical sword of the wizard.
The bovine eyes followed it continuously, not wanting to feel the wrath of the elvish smith cutting into his flesh. Erelon rolled below the arc of one axe, and as the minotaur backed from the elvish blade, the wizard’s lance pierced through its belly. Warm, dark red liquid poured down the troll’s body. The monster had not even noticed that the wizard had picked up the lance.
The wizard held onto the lance, knowing that such a small wound in a giant beast would not stop it. Yet as the wizard held on, he jerked with his weight, throwing the creature off balance. The axes went flying out of the mons
trous hands which were used to break his fall.
Quickly, Erelon was next to the monster, his sword going through both knees, permanently grounding the minotaur. Erelon slipped up the monstrous back, his sword severing the bison’s head from the troll body. The huge mass of flesh collapsed on the ground, casting dust into the air.
Erelon looked towards the gate. It was shut, but something on the other side heaved against it. Inside the gates was a pile of goblin bodies, enemies that had broken through before the defenders could close the gates. Both the men of Auri and Durge gasped for air, tired from their assault against the enemies who had entered.
Sections of rock seemed to explode from the gate as some force applied pressure on the other side.
“Erelon!” the urgent voice of the elf Yalen called anxiously to the wizard.
“What?” Erelon asked, growing uncomfortable as he knew the battle was far from over.
“Something, some giant creature is pushing against our gates. The arrows of my kin can’t pierce its gray rock hide,” Yalen ended with a look that asked Erelon what they were to do.
“We are going to let it through,” Erelon replied with confidence, with resolution.
“Whatttt?” Yalen asked with horror and surprise all at once.
“Just as before,” Erelon responded, “Auri on one side, Durge the other. Have horses ready to shut the gates when the creature gets inside, cut off its help, and escape after it gets in. If it breaks the doors down, we won’t be able to keep anything out. Our only chance is to let in the one and destroy him. Just hold them out for a moment as I get some other men set up.”
Durge and Auri had been close enough to hear the wizard’s plan; both looked at each other with eyes wide in amazement. Yet they did not question the orders but began, themselves, giving orders to their men, organizing for the assault.
