by Paul Drewitz
Bahsal looked around. He wanted to draw the enemy out, and he wanted to see what he was going to engage in conflict.
“Dunmer clan!” Bahsal roared at the dwarves, “With me!”
Bahsal charged toward the gates, no more than debris piled into the opening. A small section of the dwarve army charged behind Bahsal. They rushed into the gate, axes biting quick and deep, mauls tearing. A hole opened, and quickly Bahsal threw a torch through. There was an animal hiss on the other side.
“So they are here!” Bahsal cried with satisfaction.
The other dwarves let out a cry having been the army to succeed in causing the first casualty. The hiss of pain from the other side fired Erelon’s army into action as they heard the news. They charged the walls, throwing up ladders. Ballistae were set up and readied to fire bolts, and the giants picked up speed. Dwarves already lined up, ready to climb the siege towers, to move closer to where their axes could reach the enemy. The riders of Samos along with a strong number of Elven cavalry rode up to where Bahsal led an attack on the gates.
A small group of elves joined Bahsal, sending arrows through the holes growing in both size and number. The arrows flew over the heads of the dwarves, disappearing into the darkness of the tunnel. Bahsal heard as a few struck the rock of the walls, but even more thudded as they sunk into flesh. Grism and Auri led a surge up the siege towers. They rushed into the wooden columns that had stairs encircling the inside walls. Arrows struck at the towers. But the thick wood chosen by the dwarves deflected the goblins' arrows. A giant metal broad head attached to a shaft the thickness of a man's leg burst through the wall, pointing at Grism's skull, spraying his face full of wood fibers.
"Must be an angry ogre out there," Grism said, smiling while looking down at Auri.
Two ogres smashed through the gate’s barricade, sending the dwarves backward. Goblins flowed from among the ogres, who went down quickly as the cavalry charged, spears flying into the huge monsters. The dwarves were back on their feet, leaping into the goblins, shoving the enemy backward.
Bridges fell from the siege towers, grabbing the wall's summit, cracking stone, and causing a puff of air and dust to shoot out from below. As the wizard’s army surged forward, the wraith’s army appeared as if born from the ground. Mostly the army was trolls, ogres, and goblins. The strange creatures born of magic had yet to appear. Grism and Auri both led a charge on top. The enemy tried to set the towers on fire, but the young, heavy timber was protected by spells and would not catch. The torches would hit and the oil would burn up, filling the air with smoke, but the fires would sputter, cough, and die. Erelon’s army continued to pour out.
Auri and Grism rushed across the bridge between the tower and the wall of Mortaz. Grism looked down. He could see the helms of other soldiers milling around.
"Long way to fall," Auri stated as he looked back.
"That is no joke," Grism growled as he leapt off the bridge and brought a hammer smashing into the knee of a goblin before bringing it back up and crushing its face.
Auri lunged forward with his own sword, ramming it through the belly of one goblin. Picking up the fallen enemy's sword, Auri tossed it so it was buried between the eyes of an ogre.
"Keep up," Grism bellowed to the men following him. "We are going to the tunnel. Pin the army in there, between us and the dwarves."
The men kept filing out of the tower. Grism guided them to form a protective barrier around the bridge. More kept pouring behind. He felt the pressure grow to the point he could no longer hold it back, and his army exploded from behind him. They surged forward. The goblins were forced into each other, a conglomeration of soldiers tripping each other, twisting together until they formed a knot that did not know if it was fighting or retreating.
A wizard blew on his flute, and from the sky, hawks descended, rushing the enemy looking like a dark cloud.
“See?” the wizard said, turning to the man next to him, “You should have brought your animal friends with you.”
The man had smoothed, rounded features, “I have no need for animal friends,” he said as he fell to all fours, changing into a lion. In one bound, he brought an ogre crashing to the earth.
“Ugh, skin changer!” the wizard said in surprise.
Auri carried a sword and a shield strapped to his arm. As he glided around, he showed why his clan was known as Mystic Sword. No enemy could seem to move close to the weapons master. Auri’s sword sliced through the enemy, dropping them without a sound even before it seemed that they were in range of the weapons master's blade. The blade went in and out. It did not ring.
Hestler followed Auri, never leaving the prince of his country. Hestler's loyalty was so great he would die protecting the prince. In his hands was a large hammer for smashing through the enemies. Down upon the skull of a goblin, crushing its scrawny neck, the next moment, the hammer went through the knee cap of some huge ogre, shredding it through sheer force. As goblins tried ducking below the arching hammer, Auri’s blades slipped in, leaving small but deadly cuts.
Auri twisted with his large sword splitting a goblin in half. He lunged forward, spearing another. As he drew his sword out, the hammer of Hestler fell, crashing into the creature's skull so that its eyes bulged from it's sockets. The large man worked beside Auri as if he were in the warrior's mind, as if he knew exactly which move to make to maximize his potential to help his prince. He kept the enemy off Auri's back, always protecting the flank, allowing the skilled warrior to push against the enemy.
Grism charged in, smashing at the enemy with his shield, lunging, parrying, clinching. Grism did not hesitate to grab a goblin and throw the enemy to the ground. He stomped at its skull before grabbing the shaft of a spear. Its head had been broken off, but Grism rammed the broken end into the goblin's throat. He slashed at another with a short thick knife before dropping to the ground to wrestle. It was not elegant, but it was effective. He rolled over and over with one, grunting as sweat sprayed from his body. He butted his helm twice into the face of a goblin that went still and then clumsily crawled to his feet.
“Auri!” Grism yelled as he watched an enemy troll try to board a siege tower, letting nobody else out. If they did come out to face the gray troll, it would sweep them off, sending them to their death.
Auri looked over. He grabbed a spear, and every muscle in his legs tightened as he about threw himself forward into a charge when the voice of Bunkir demanded, “Let me.”
The mud troll carried the trunk of a small tree. His large hand with extra fingers easily wrapped around it. He threw it like a spear. It collided with the gray troll, hitting it square in the side of its chest, forcing its body to twist backward awkwardly. The gray troll tipped, its back arching while its arms flailed in a circular motion in a desperate attempt to catch anything stable. For a moment, it seemed about to regain its balance. Then it slid on backward, off the bridge and into the air. The wind whistled as it slipped around the beast's body, tickling the few long hairs. Then its body hit the earth below, breaking, its life leaving.
The cavalry charged through the gates, Yalen leading the way, swinging low on his horse as his sword cut into goblins on his way through. The necks of the goblins came up above the body of his horse, a perfect height for cleaving. He swung one way and then the other. The goblins were thin. The dwarves had already charged through, leaving only a few confused goblins, standing, wondering how they had so quickly lost the narrow tunnel.
Once Yalen reached the open plain of the first tier, the elf switched to a long bow and charged toward the main fight. His horse tore at the ground as he pulled a long arrow from his quiver. He notched it and then pulled back on the string before gently raising the tip, releasing the arrow to fly over the dwarves who had pushed the enemy far before him. Several times he release an arrow, each time dropping the tip of the arrow a little as he drew closer. Finally, the elf’s horse smashed into enemies, sending them flying to the earth. The bow disappeared as the elf grabbed for a swor
d at his waist. Bahsal was a little slower as he came by foot after staying behind to give some last minute orders.
Bahsal turned to an elf and grabbed him by the front of his shirt, "Take a few more elves, dwarves, and a couple mud trolls. Guard the front gate. Make sure that the enemy does not close it behind us. I want to be able to retreat if we become desperate."
Bahsal charged to the battle, breathing heavy from the run, looking far in front where his brethren had forced the enemy's army. A goblin charged, and as it neared, the dwarve grabbed it by its skull and, using his hip, threw the goblin forcefully over the edge of the wall. The amount of enemy soldiers was small. Many had been killed, but Bahsal knew that this was only a small fraction of what the enemy actually possessed. A great number of the enemy forces were out fighting the country of Samos. As Bahsal reached the main battle, the fight was over. None of the enemy had retreated, all had fought until dead.
“Okay,” Hendle was saying to his fellow generals, “We need to pile the bodies at the front of the valley for burning and set up camp.”
Bahsal walked up, “We need to leave a guard at the entrance to the valley to alert us. There is the chance of the enemy soldiers returning from Sirus. I also am advising that the siege towers be pulled apart and brought to this tier and that we also camp here. We fought for it, and we won. No point in giving it up without a fight and then fight for it again tomorrow.”
“What happens if we get pushed back tomorrow and leave the towers behind?” Hendle asked nervously.
“We are not getting pushed back,” Auri said vehemently.
The sun was setting as Hendle oversaw the disposal of the dead bodies of the enemy. It had taken several wagons and the rest of the day to pack off all the dead. A green blob of fire rested on the dead and at first seemed to die. But suddenly the fire exploded to life. Little pieces cascaded through the air on fire as they flew, consumed before they could touch the ground. The bright green fire darted in and out of the bodies, surrounding, biting and chewing. Quickly the bodies dehydrated and then slowly turned to powder until the fire finished consuming the flesh. Hendle raised an arm and a strong gust came from the West.
“In two days there will be an eclipse,” a wizard told Hendle. "The best time to cast the most powerful magic."
But Hendle completely ignored the remark as he said, “They only played with us today. I wonder what tomorrow will bring.”
"Wonder if the eclipse will help them or us," the other wizard muttered.
Chapter 17
THE rock speared its way into the sky, towering lonely above the landscape, raised long ago from the depths of the earth by the great power of the Humbas. Everything around was still dead. This place had begun to hold an infamous position in the chaotic mind of the wizard. It cast a black shadow on the ground and in Erelon’s mind as the two men approached. Other pillars stood in a circle like silent sentries into a world beyond, which could only be reached by those who commanded great knowledge in the magical arts.
One man, dressed in an off-white, light linen tunic, stepped from his horse, slipping off with ease and lightness of body. The one behind stayed on his own mount while holding the reins to a pack horse that trailed behind. The giant rock was to their left. They had approached from the southwest, easing around the magnificent sculpture. The round table of stone still sat visible on the east side of King's Time. The first man led his horse to the one still mounted and handed him the reins.
“Easton,” came a rough voice from Erelon who stood on the ground.
The earth had been baked so that it was almost stone, and only what was left of the prairie grass kept the round table from bleeding into the earth’s floor.
“Stay here and take good care of Draos. I received him from Chaucer. He is old, but many good years are left to him,” Erelon finished.
Stepping to the pack horse, Erelon rummaged in a pack and took from it a round bundle of black cloth. Quickly, he again stood by Easton. The old wizard knew this could well be the last he spoke with the young man. For a moment they stood silent, just enjoying the bond of brothers that they shared. It seemed a long time had passed since the battle at Mortaz, their fights in the bar, or even when they had met at Sine.
“Be quick now,” Easton said jokingly, “I have a woman back in Sine that I promised to go back for.”
A few more moments of silence passed, and he then added with more seriousness, while still trying to lend some levity to the situation, “You know, you could also always come. I mean, you would probably be busy reorganizing Mortaz and Suragenna, as well as political policy with the other cities and races. But we’re brothers, and you’re always welcome. You’ll need a vacation after this mission.”
“No,” came Erelon’s serious reply, “That is a job that I am afraid will be left to others, those who will follow behind me, those of a younger, a newer generation.”
Erelon sighed sadly and, shaking his head, added, “This new generation you partly belong to. But as the quest I sent you on, to the land of the Humbas, has increased you beyond your years significantly, you also, in a way, belong to mine, the one that with me, will die.”
“It will not be dead,” was Easton’s angered reproach, “Festor will still be here.”
“He is not of my generation, but of the one before, a better one than that which I come from,” Erelon replied solemnly again.
“That’s great,” Easton started, regaining his composure, “If you leave it to the next generation to restart, then you can go with me to Sine.”
“Be careful of this life you lead,” Erelon warned, “The life of the wizard, the true wizard, of those that have great power and responsibilities, will often be a lonely path. It will be a life of trails which only they travel on. Already you have changed and are not the same man who I first met at Mortaz or the man who met me at Sine. If the choice is still left to you, you would be wise to choose the life that you want, the one you will not regret living out as you age.”
As Erelon talked, a storm began to move in from the East. The clouds were black. A bright, white streak ran out before the clouds. The wind picked up and began to kick around dust. The clouds went screaming past, rushing toward the Seaward Mountains. The white line that was the wind stirring up the clouds seemed to wave to Erelon. But the clouds seemed to run into an opposing force, one that stopped them dead. So the sky was divided, one half the pale blue through which the sun’s power screamed, the other covered by clouds which promised a powerful storm filled with water to quench the prairie’s thirst.
“As a wizard with great power, you often will find that you walk a lonely road. Your only friend may be your shadow, and when your shadow abandons you, you know that you are in a bad condition, a dark place where there is no one to help you out,” Erelon continued, “You will not be able to live both the life of a great wizard and that of an average man. These two will always be in conflict. You will have to choose, one or the other, or always be in peril of losing one or the other as they will threaten and fight each other.”
As the old wizard talked, his mind seemed to travel off, and soon he was mumbling about wishing he still pounded iron in the forge with a large hammer.
After a few moments where Erelon’s mind wandered into the past and future, the old wizard reached into his leather bag and pulled out his memoirs, “Here is my journal. You know what to do. If you find the time, go to Ahzmad. Let him know what happened on the Humban trail so that he can add it to the history of the Humbas.”
Easton did not say a word. It still concerned him deeply that Erelon talked about death, about not surviving the fight. Easton wanted to see the old wizard go into the fight with a positive attitude, but had failed. Easton had thought about forcing the journal back into the arms of his mentor, telling Erelon that he would come back and finish the memoirs himself. But Easton knew fighting the old wizard was futile.
“Perfect!” Erelon exclaimed. “A double eclipse, the sign of hope, of victory.”
&n
bsp; Easton looked up; both moons were going to cross paths before the sun. The sun’s light would outline the moons in a glorious explosion of power, but where the moons rested in the sky, they would only be a black hole casting a shadow on the ground. It was the perfect eclipse. Many races had different legends surrounding the event.
Without another word, Erelon stepped on the stone table. The tips of the two swords drifted below his linen cloak, the color of his mentor, his adoptive grandfather. Over his arm, Erelon also carried the cloak that carried the insignia of the Staff of Saris. Erelon’s boots thudded with every step, ringing out across the prairie. He strode to the center, and kneeling, he set down the black bundle and began to unwrap it with his right hand. Instinctively, his left hand held back the cloak so that he could quickly get at his blade.
A rock of great value was unveiled. It was a geode. The rough broken outer shield protected a clear quartz crystal which contained emeralds, rubies, and amethysts, which glittered within their clear shell. Veins of gold and silver ran a course like an underwater stream through their crystalline home. Great rifts sometimes ran to the very core of the stone, allowing the pure colors of the imprisoned gems to show from deep within.
The old wizard slipped the cloth from under the rock and started walking toward the edge of the stone table. He stepped just beyond it, crushing a few blades of dried grass that turned to powder. He balled up the black blanket and cast it out into the prairie. Turning back, Erelon held his hand out. Green liquid fire spurted forward to settle on the stone, sinking into the great cracks until the whole rock seemed to glow green. First red and then purple burst from the rock, spraying the area with color. There was a thud, and a wave of energy rushed away from the Stone of Combining. The edges of the rocks that had made the rock table were suddenly lined by fiery gold, and the table was covered in the maps of the stars that charted distance and time.
