He ordered the newly-risen army to attack the wizard. They couldn’t adequately fight, this much they all knew, but the sheer size of the enemy army should be enough to overwhelm the old man. Several Shakilian soldiers stepped into the path of the army and tried to slow their advance.
Lutheras relaxed his grip on the orb, and sat back, watching as the army moved forward. He didn’t realize the effect using the true power of the orbs had on his body. His dark black hair showed small white streaks, and new creases and wrinkles had appeared on his face. The undead soldiers faced dismemberment, but didn’t even seem to notice and pressed on, as if they didn’t even feel the cold steel as it penetrated their skin. Lutheras marveled at the activity. He enjoyed the carnage his own army fell victim to.
The undead army worked their way through the crowd and approached the wizard. The Shakielians put up quite the resistance, but what could they possibly do when facing an enemy who is already dead? Against insurmountable odds, the undead soldiers pushed on, even as their comrades fell again—of course, a sword or bow couldn’t kill them. One could only hope to chop off a limb, forcing the enemy to the ground where they would be useless, and taken out of the battle.
Lutheras watched the mass of undead advance further. They still had a way to go before they would reach the wizard and the orb he brandished in his arms. Lutheras shifted his attention back to the city. The tornado had moved on and passed the city to the southwest. He could see the people of Shakiel attempting to recover, but his troops were relentless, and pushed on with their attack.
Lutheras watched as the flood of soldiers coming from the secret underground tunnels hadn’t let up. He wanted to send a fireball down into the tunnels to staunch the flow. He reached inside himself and tried to pull the energy necessary to cast the spell, but when he searched he found nothing. Frustrated, he tried using the orb. With the assistance of the vessel, he found just enough energy to conjure the spell.
Filled with satisfaction, he sent the powerful blast toward the tunnel, where it exploded and sent flames deep below the ground. The wizard, still protected by a shield, moved away from the tunnel and the incoming soldiers. Lutheras wore a look of irritation. His army marched on the city, the undead moved closer toward the wizard, the tunnels were alight with flame, yet victory seemed no closer than it had hours before. He needed the orb and he needed it now.
He walked over to a dead soldier—one who hadn’t been resurrected—and grabbed a bastard sword. Not the perfect blade, in fact it had the appearance of a very common sword, but he grabbed it anyway. He flipped the worn blade over in his hands, inspecting both edges. This will do. This will do quite nicely, he thought to himself. His skills with a blade were no match for someone of his brother’s caliber.
With the blade in his hand, he marched toward the wizard standing across the field. “I’m going to take matters into my own hands, Eldrin. Keep me protected by the shield.” Eldrin shook his head in understanding.
Lutheras became a target of several of the soldiers who had the duty of protecting the wizard. Several charged toward him. He raised his blade and struck the first soldier. The blade plunged deep into soft flesh with little resistance. He pulled it free, dripping with blood and ready for the next soldier. He enjoyed the feeling of taking lives with his very own hands. He lunged forward and struck, but the enemy brought up his buckler and blocked the blow, countering with a quick blow of his own. Lutheras jumped to the side just in time and dodged the strike. He spun and prepared to send a counter-strike, when a blast of white energy struck his foe. He didn’t even have time to look back and see who sent the blast. The scent of charred flesh filled his nostrils as he continued his march forward. Blood from the sword splattered his face and now dripped down his forehead, stinging his eyes.
He wiped the blood away from his face with the sleeve of his cloak and took a deep breath. He wasn’t a novice when it came to battles, but his involvement usually came from a safe distance. His eyes remained fixated on the orb as he pressed forward.
He had walked within striking distance of the wizard and the orb. Nine soldiers ringed his enemy, offering a last line of defense. He wouldn’t stand a chance against those odds and searched his spark to find the strength and energy he needed to cast a spell. He turned his head in complete disgust at his emptiness of his spark, and looked over his shoulder back toward Eldrin. As if their minds were connected, Eldrin gathered enough strength to rain down fireballs from the sky. Not the most powerful spell Lutheras had ever seen, but strong enough anyway. Of course, Lutheras and the enemy wizard remained protected by shields, but the nine soldiers fell to the flames.
Lutheras wasted no time. He ran toward the wide-eyed wizard who seemed unprepared for physical combat. Lutheras struck forward with the blade, sending it across the old wizard’s throat. Blood flooded out of his neck and the wizard fell to his knees, grabbing at the wound. He tried to yell, but all that came out was a gurgle. Blood trickled out of his mouth as he drew in his last breath and fell over.
Lutheras greedily reached for the orb. He whirled around feeling the power offered from it. His red eyes gazed about the field of battle in joy. He felt a clarity and calmness overwhelm him. He needed to get closer to the soldiers within the city walls. He made his way back toward Eldrin, a wide grin across his face.
“Do you see this, Eldrin? I have it and with very little effort.”
“Well done, my lord,” Eldrin replied. ”Are we still going to take the city?” he asked.
“I’m appalled you would even ask such a question. But of course we’re going to take the city.” His eyes lit up and his lips curled into a grin. “Keep the shield up and follow me,” he ordered.
Eldrin complied and fell in behind his master. He found it quite difficult to keep the shield up as he walked. Eldrin still had an orb in his hands, and Lutheras now carried two. They approached the crumbled remains of the wall, stepping over the dead bodies littering the ground—Eldrin almost lost his footing several times on the slick, blood-soaked ground.
Lutheras scrambled up a pile of stone rubble and took a look over the battlefield. He spotted a cluster of soldiers near the center of what once must have been a courtyard. One of the soldiers wore armor appearing much more extravagant than the soldiers surrounding him and Lutheras suspected he to be an officer.
Lutheras gazed upon the destruction of Shakiel from his rubble-built perch, and admired his work. He spotted the officer—or who he suspected to be an officer—and thought they make this too easy on me. His red eyes were the only thing visible through the thick clouds of dust and smoke heavy in the air.
He held the orb high in both of his arms and let the power overwhelm him. The brown light within the orb swirled and began the now all too familiar pulsating. It shook his body and rattled his teeth. He didn’t know how it would work, but understood what the orb could do. In preparation, he focused his mind and all of his attention on the general standing in the courtyard. The pulsating and rhythmic light of the orb turned solid and exploded in all directions, lighting up the dark and ominous sky.
Clarity filled Lutheras’ mind. He tuned out the distractions from the battle surrounding him and he could see everything. Silence surrounded him and almost caused him to panic. He looked out and focused his attention on individuals. He found he could read their thoughts, not that he could feel all of their thoughts at once, but instead could hear whatever the individual he focused on thought most prominently. He could feel their fear, pain, and confidence. It took some time to get used to and an eerie feeling filled the pit of his stomach. The worst part of the experience, the individual seemed aware of his intrusion into their mind, further complicating matters and building on the panic and fear he felt from them.
He played around and worked to force the mind to accept his presence, taking control of an enemy soldier. He forced the individual’s feelings and fears to the side, and filled him with his own arrogance and control. Lutheras could feel the soldier’s revulsi
on at being violated like this. They could only sit back and watch as they fell under Lutheras’ control. He turned and fired an arrow with his bow into his own soldiers, much to the dismay of those around him who swarmed him and forced the weapons from his hands. The soldier looked wild-eyed and fell sobbing to his knees.
Lutheras exited the man’s mind and left him to the devices of his compatriots. Lutheras hoped the man would be deemed a traitor, and would more than likely find his own death. He felt no remorse or regret for his actions. Instead, he felt joy and exuberance from the successful desecration of the soldier’s consciousness.
He played around with more of the enemy soldiers, taking control of their minds and willing them to turn on their own friends. Many of the bystanders ran in fear, terrified they would be next. Complete chaos reined as soldiers feared not only the enemy’s arrows, but those of their own comrades.
Lutheras left the consciousness of one unlucky soldier, and returned to his own body. He felt pain flooding through him, and found a large headache hammering his brain. He could feel each heartbeat in his mind, and it almost brought him to his knees. He realized his body couldn’t take much more of this, and maybe invading the minds of so many men hadn’t been a good idea after all. He needed to do it one more time, and before his own body gave out on him.
He scanned the mass of enemy soldiers, searching for an officer or high-ranking general. He spotted a helmet with a large, colorful, feather plume. Assuming him to be a general, he grabbed the orb in both of his hands one last time. The pain and agony that riddled his body, went away and calmness filled him. He felt as though he floated above the soldiers, a passing consciousness blowing in the wind.
He entered the mind as confusion and chaos greeted him. He labored and struggled to force the subconscious of the general to the side so he could take over. He looked through the general’s eyes and saw a startled look upon his soldiers’ faces. There must have been a visible struggle when he entered that would’ve seemed odd or confusing to those around him.
He blinked his eyes as he tried to focus, but the general didn’t make it easy; he kept pushing his way forward. Lutheras’ energy waned and it became more and more difficult to maintain control. He knew he needed to act.
He walked forward and addressed the troops. “Throw down your weapons. The battle is lost. Signal the horns,” he said.
He looked around at the soldiers who all appeared dumbfounded. One of the soldiers spoke up. “Sir, give up? You just finished telling us we wouldn’t give in. That they would have to remove your dead body from the field. What has happened to you?” A trickle of blood flowed out of the general’s nose. The soldier peered closer at the general’s face.
Lutheras felt as though he was losing control and he needed to act expediently. He spun around and gazed upon the soldiers. “Who are you to speak against me?” He stared at the soldier, trying his best to put him in his place. “Look around you. The enemy closes in from all sides. The day is lost. There is no use in putting our lives on the line for a pointless cause.” The soldiers sent baffled looks at each other. Some noted the odd gleam in their general’s eye, but couldn’t grasp why he looked so different.
He paused as a ripple of pain ripped through his head. He risked his own life by continuing this endeavor. He noticed no one followed his orders, raising his anger level. “I’ve had enough of this. I’ve given you a direct order and I expect it to be followed. Now sound the horns and let’s end this charade.”
The soldiers still didn’t understand, but picking up on the anger level of the general, they followed the orders and the horns blared throughout the damaged and crumbling city. His vision blurred as all around him swords dropped. He tried to grin in satisfaction as his soldiers breached the now-defenseless walls and took the city. Losing his grip on the general’s body, he slumped to his knees and retreated to his own, relaxing his grip on the orb and crumbling to the ground.
He pried open his own eyes; the pain ravaging his brain bore down and brought tears streaking down his face. He looked through the tear-filled blur and focused on the face of Eldrin who looked perplexed and frightened.
“Master? What…what has happened to you?” he said through his choked throat. Lutheras knew the fright in his trusted brother wasn’t for fear of Lutheras’ health, but he had risked his own life by joining the brotherhood, and if something happened to Lutheras, their entire purpose could be at risk. The brotherhood hadn’t been formed from respect, care, or brotherly love. Eldrin stroked the now gray hair of his master. Lutheras’ face looked well wrinkled now, and he appeared to have aged several years in a matter of moments. His appearance sent chills through the stoic Elf.
“I’ve done it, Eldrin. I’ve taken the city. I convinced the soldiers to surrender.” He coughed as he struggled to hold on and stay conscious. He couldn’t believe the risk he had taken with his own life. His eyesight dimmed and he seemed close to blacking out again. He tried to sit up and focus his attention on Eldrin. “You must take, and hold the city in my place. It is important to our future goals to secure the capital city.” He noticed apprehension on Eldrin’s face. “I don’t have much time. You must promise me you will carry out my orders. If you fail, I fear the wrath of Martul. Promise me you will take the city.” His eyes bled as he pleaded with the Elf.
Eldrin nodded his head, although he still felt confused. “Yes, my Lord. I’ll do as you have asked. I still don’t understand, but you can rest assured your orders will be carried out.” Eldrin felt he couldn’t deal with the anger of Martul on his own, and just the thought of it sent chills tickling up his spine.
This brought comfort in Lutheras’ last moments. “Thank you. You’ve always been trustworthy and I feel a sense of security that you will be carrying out the great responsibility of what I have asked of you.” If there could be a bond between two nefarious, power-hungry men, theirs would count as one.
Lutheras closed his eyes; a wave of nausea overcame his body, accompanied by another shock of pain. He screamed out, digging his nails into the dirt with one hand, and Eldrin’s arm with other; drawing blood from the fresh wounds on the Elf’s forearm. The scream curdled the blood of the Elf and he wanted to let his master go. As quickly as it came on, it went away, and Lutheras’ body fell limp in Eldrin’s arms.
Eldrin felt for his master’s pulse. It felt faint, but his heart still beat. He looked over his shoulder and spotted several Minotaurs. He motioned for two of them to come over. “Carry his body and follow me.” He handed the almost lifeless body over to the soldiers and turned, making his way for the main gate—now battered and almost torn down—and walked into Shakiel to continue what his master had begun.
If you enjoyed The Rising Past, please leave a review for me on Amazon Here
For more information on my writing projects visit http://www.jggatewood.com
If you enjoyed The Rising Past, see how it all began in the prequel from Amazon Here
J.G. Gatewood is the author of the Keepers of the Orbs Fantasy Series. Book 1, The Rising Past, and the prequel, The Unknown Man, have been published on Amazon. Book 2 is currently in progress. Another project, Elves of a Sugar Maple is currently being edited and he is working a serialized novel on Channillo.
When J.G. Gatewood is not writing, he is a full-time Subject Matter Expert and an avid reader.
He lives in Parker, Colorado with his wife of 13 years, and two sons. In what little free time he has remaining, he is usually busy brewing his own beer, crafting his own wine or enjoying a fine cigar.
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The Rising Past: Book 2 in The Keepers of the Orbs Series Page 33
