by Ben Stovall
“We’re almost there,” he whispered. He despised how his voice wheezed and shook.
Alaka nodded. “We can make it, ralkar,” she replied. Inaru shuddered at the Orvok word, a term of love and respect he’d only had memories of hearing from his mother. Despite being unable to remember her face or anything else about her, he remembered that word.
It imbued him with the resolve he needed. He turned to his ragtag gang. “The breach is just ahead,” he said, his voice returning to its deep, sturdy baritone. “Let’s go remind the necromancers we’re not dead yet.” His companions nodded and raised their weapons. Inaru turned away.
There were four of them.
The first of them was a man named Damian. Inaru knew of him because he’d had a small dispute with an orc which Ellaria managed to resolve. The soldier from Daralton was battered, bruised, and bloodied beyond measure, but he offered his hand and lifted an orc up off the ground.
The orc was a woman, once of the Dark Ravens. She carried an array of daggers and two shortswords that she used as if she’d been born with them. Her leg had suffered a wound, but despite it she moved with grace and fluidity only matched by Torvaas or Rhu. She wore her hair shaved down shorter than Inaru’s, but its brown coloration shone through regardless.
Next to them, Brokil dusted his tabard off as he rose. He’d been knocked to the ground in the melee, yet still held his own. His shield had been dented and scratched beyond counting, but the dwarf showed no intention of setting it aside.
Lastly was a man from Frost Hearth who carried a spear in his hand and a blade at his belt. His head was covered in a dull mane of black hair that had begun to gray at his temples. The locks tumbled around his shoulders wildly, and a beard of the twin shades grew from his chiseled jawline.
Six, Inaru cursed. We were just shy of forty when we left. Cringing at the number he began to move forward. All their footsteps fell uneasily from exhaustion. The warchief felt he’d collapse in a huff despite the surge of energy. But the sounds of battle echoed around them. He whirled on his band to find nothing engaged them and had to take a moment to listen more carefully. The fight had broken out north of them, and from the familiar clatter of bones crashing onto the ground, it sounded like the defenders were winning. With a mighty roar Inaru led his forces into the fray, meeting the onyx skeletons from behind and emerging from their ranks to find a rather large host of men and women in silvery armor. Despite their helmets, the elves of Aelindaas were instantly recognizable.
General Ranuiin stepped forward, and offered him a hand, surprise evident on his face. “Warchief Inaru, I didn’t expect to see you—or anyone, for that matter, within the walls.”
“My comrades and I were in the infirmary when King’s Way fell. Bastards caught the forces from behind when they opened to send more for medical aid. We’ve been scouring the roads to stop the skeletons from … expanding their numbers,” Inaru said, shaking the elven general’s hand.
Ranuiin nodded. “As expected my gate faced the fewest invaders. When I heard, skeletons had made their way inside I left a captain in charge and came to root them out, as you have. Between the lot of us I daresay we’ve been successful.” Silence stretched between them. “I doubt the northern gate has need of us. My soldiers and I will see you back to the infirmary and take up the battle there.”
Inaru felt like he could weep. He merely agreed with a single nod of his head. Without another word, the company set off southward, walking in a loose formation without an ounce of cohesion between them.
✽ ✽ ✽
Ulthan’s boot fell on an icy twig that cracked loudly from the weight of the paladin. His band had come across a stretch of woodland without a single body on it. He wished the absence of violence hadn’t made him uneasy. Ulthan held a fist up, and everyone stopped moving behind him. Concentrating, he heard wheezing from the brush nearby. With quick, long strides, he was there, brushing the branches aside, an orc was revealed to them. His armor was in tatters, and his wounds were grievous. He was not going to be alive long.
“Rhu,” Tyrdun grimaced. The dwarf’s eyes grew misty as he knelt beside the orc.
He coughed and struggled to breathe. “There,” he pointed westward, further into the woods. “Powerful necromancers … Too strong for us …”
“Rhu, be still,” Tyrdun begged, his voice wavering. “Someone help him!” The company looked on in sullen silence. None of them could. Not even Ulthan.
“They called themselves … the Exalted. Be careful, Tyrdun,” Rhu wheezed.
“No! We’re going to get you aid! You’re not going to die here!” Tyrdun squeezed the orc’s arm hard.
“Tell Inaru … tell my warchief that … it was an honor. That I died knowing … knowing my people were in good hands …”
Rhu grew limp. Tyrdun wailed as he passed. Ulthan didn’t know the orc, but he could tell a good man had been lost. He placed a calming hand on the dwarf’s shoulder, and he rose shortly thereafter. Tyrdun’s face hardened into a scowl. He looked up at Ulthan.
The auzixian only nodded. “The fourteen of us must handle these Exalted.” The assembled agreed with a chorus of murmurs. “On me, slow and quiet. We don’t want them to know we’re coming.”
Crouched low, the group snuck into the woodland. The deeper the soldiers got, the more bodies they found. Some had trails of blood-covered dirt that led westward. Others were still embedded with blades, their corpses stuck to the ground or the massive trunks of trees. In all, there were at least twenty bodies, and not even one of them belonged to an invader. Under his breath, Ulthan swore.
With Tyrdun close behind, he ducked behind a tree. Voices and the stench of death and blood permeated the air. Ulthan gazed around the trunk of the tree to find a band of no less than thirty men and women. All of them wore tabards more intricate than that of the soldiers all around. The eyes on the skull glowered red, in an obvious display of arrogance, unafraid to allow others to know the cloth coverings were magical. Eighteen of them wore armor underneath the iconography – black metal plates that seemed to grow darker in the moonlight. Five, however, wore more intricate sets of armor that were adorned with metal shaped to look as bones. Hoods were draped over facemasks that were covered in scales of the Dark One’s hide, causing shadows to fall from their covered faces over their bodies.
The other seven were in robes that were not actually separate from the tabards. In fact, the displayed embroidery was even more intricate on their chests, with swirls of purple arcs that were alight like the night sky, symbolizing their power. They, too, were adorned by the shadowy scales of their patron dragon.
And they were casting a spell. The sorcerers stood in a circle as they chanted, arcane energies whirling around them into a crystalline nexus that floated above the ground.
Without hesitation Ulthan signaled his men forward into the fray. The armored guardians met them and their steel clashed. Two had decided to battle the auzixian, and from the corner of his eye he caught Tyrdun with three. The dance continued for a long time before either side suffered a loss. The first death was a half-elf defender. He fell on the floor lifelessly and the man who struck him down rushed to continue the battle.
Ulthan lunged with his blade forward and managed to dent one of his assailant’s breastplates. The man staggered from the blow, and he pressed his advantage, knocking the man’s helmet off with a secondary slash. Ulthan brought his shield to bear against a blow from his other opponent. The strike was powerful, with force behind it that he couldn’t bear, his arm vibrating from the hit. The now helmetless man capitalized on the opening provided by his partner, and his sword slammed into the protective plates that covered Ulthan’s back. He reeled from the blow, taking a long step forward before surprising his enemies with a retaliatory attack. His sword sang as he whirled around, cutting into his foe’s unprotected head. With a nimble sidestep, Ulthan dodged the remaining man’s strike and thrust his blade through his sternum.
Glancing around, Ulthan asse
ssed the battle. Other than the half-elf, one of the dwarves, an elf, and a man from Daralton had fallen in battle. The soldier of Frost Hearth had felled three on his own and was rushing to attack another from behind. Tyrdun had killed one of the invaders that assaulted him, broken one’s bones so badly he could not fight any longer, and was looking for an opening in the last one’s form to finish him.
Ulthan began to move to end that battle for his comrade, when the forest shook beneath him. The crystal the Exalted had been empowering was vibrant with the power of the arcane energies that had been forced into it. One of the robed figures stepped forward, pulling their hood down to reveal a feminine face and long fringes of ashen hair. “You are too late, soldier of the sun,” she claimed. “Our work is done. The precious marble of Gandaraar will fall this day.”
“This is far from over,” Ulthan resolutely answered.
The woman cackled. With a snap of her fingers, the five soldiers bearing dragonscale facemasks moved forward. Acting on instinct, Ulthan’s group split into pairs. The auzixian found himself standing beside the warrior from Frost Hearth as a large beast of a man approached them. The shadow-masked invader stood a head and a half above Ulthan and his partner. He held his hand out, open palm, and an onyx blade no shorter than five feet materialized in his awaiting arm. Without a word, Ulthan and the northman rushed to meet him in battle.
✽ ✽ ✽
Inaru nearly collapsed. Krolligar had succeeded, the gate still stood. The pride and thankfulness were nearly enough to send him to the ground to weep with glee. The large wooden doors swung open, and he rushed outward with the elves and Alaka at his side. They were surprised to find that battle was over. Not a single skeleton was assaulting Souhal’s forces. Bones covered the ground in numbers uncountable, but the battle was over. We won!
When he found Krolligar, he couldn’t resist the urge to throw his arms around him. Inaru was glad his brother returned the embrace, even though it hurt like hell when they squeezed each other. “How?” the warchief asked.
Krolligar pointed to the Dark One’s bulky, unmoving body. “Shortly after Rhu made it there, the forces ran into the woods. Seems like they killed all the necromancers,” Krolligar shrugged.
Inaru smiled wide. Any moment now his comrades would return. He couldn’t wait to see every one of them, to remind them of his love and respect for them all. He wanted—
Something is wrong, he realized. Despite Krolligar’s assumption men were not pouring out of the woods to return to the city. No one was making their way back from the crater the dragon had made when he landed. There wasn’t even a hint of movement on the horizon.
Inaru nearly collapsed once more when he was proven correct. Over the line of trees, a purple incandescence lit the sky. All around them, bones began to rattle and writhe together. But they did not form into the familiar, humanlike frames the forces of Souhal had been fighting for the last hours. Some seemed to melt from the magic, fusing with other bones to form a tougher, longer, sturdier piece. The blackness of it all whirled around and around until a form was made.
The bones had created amalgamations larger than ogres. Ten feet tall, four feet wide, each adorned with three skulls where the head would be and carrying the largest weapons the lumbering behemoths could find—or simply reinforcing their fists with more and more bones until they were the size of great hammers.
“Shit,” Inaru swore. The men and women all around began to take cautious steps backward, some even sprinting toward the ajar gate. “Swords up, you bastards! On me! Get in formation, now!” Inaru yelled. Krolligar and General Ranuiin echoed his words, winning aid to their flanks as the golems charged forward. The massive bone beast trampled six men with ease before it was slowed enough to be forced into a fight. Inaru’s axes smashed into its bones, but they seemed to do little to the monster’s hardened sternum. A massive skeletal fist slammed into a soldier on his left, sending the man crashing to the ground. Inaru responded by striking the arm with both of his axes, a crack the only sound of victory before the onyx golem thrust him aside with a gesture.
Inaru bumped into an elf and they tumbled to the ground together, rolling around in the muck for a fleeting moment. The soldiers had reformed and were returning to the battlefield, and Inaru barely managed to lift himself and the elf from the ground before they were trampled by their allies. The warchief leaped forward to strike at the golem who had tossed him, scoring his axes into its bulky frame. Storm’s rune flashed brightly as electricity surged through the construct. The monster’s right arm ejected from its torso and one of its three skulls flew into the air from the magical strike. A hole remained in the skeletal beast’s side, but it yet stood and continued to batter the defenders with its left arm.
Inaru grimaced. He could tell his unenhanced axe would do little, if anything at all, to the bone golems that now fought them. With a heavy heart, he threw the weapon aside, knowing that it would more than likely be the last time he’d see it. With the unencumbered hand, his assault against the beast with Storm quickened. After another four blows, the rune flashed again, and lightning seared the monstrosity apart, scattering the bones to the wind. A quick cheer went up as the men saw that the golems could in fact be defeated—despite the cruel truth that it was unlikely any of their weapons had a chance to do the same.
With a mighty bellow worthy of a warchief, Inaru surged onward, Storm held in two hands as he crashed into the oncoming golems.
✽ ✽ ✽
“No, no, no,” Ellaria pleaded. “NO!”
Joravyn only grimaced. He was not fond of the discovery either. The massive skeletons that now rushed toward Souhal were a sight unwelcome, and not only because of how exhausted the mage was. With a gentle hand, he grabbed the elf’s shoulder and pointed toward the battlements. “We need to get up there. We’re sitting ducks out here, and the golems seem to be pushing toward King’s Way. We need to get the mages there.”
“What makes you think they haven’t all expended themselves? Or that they haven’t died?” Ellaria asked. Her voice quavered. Her arms hung loosely by her sides, the fingers barely able to hold her bow. Her chin nearly touched her chest. There was no hiding her exhaustion. Or his.
“If either of those things are true, then they’ll need me even more,” Joravyn said.
“I … I don’t know if I can …”
“Ellaria, please,” Joravyn nearly cried. “I need you with me. I can’t do it alone. I need to know that one of us will see through this.” Tears fell from the mage’s eyes. Joravyn couldn’t help but think that the others had shared Fanrinn’s fate. That the necromancers yet assaulted Souhal meant there’d been a problem in the forests. The forces at the gates were being overwhelmed by the golems. The mage couldn’t help but worry his comrades had met their ends. Joravyn couldn’t bear to worry about another one of his friends. Not now. Not when Souhal needed him most.
Ellaria nodded, blinking tears from her own eyes. The elf and the mage quickly crossed the battlefield, circumventing the fighting as best as they were able. As they approached, the battle became centered on the King’s Way’s gate. Only two or three golems fought at the other two on the wall, and Joravyn didn’t see any of them make their way to the other two nearby entrances. Closing in on the northwestern, Ellaria and Joravyn employed their talents into the unsuspecting backsides of the golems. Arrows and blasts of magic slammed into the assailants. Joravyn groaned loudly as one of the monsters exploded. Magic ripped the beast apart from within and sent the hardened bones flying all over the field.
A torrent of pure arcane energy crashed into one of the golems from the wall. Joravyn smiled, glad that at least one mage still lived on the battlements. The magical blast washed over the monstrosity’s bones and left nothing of them but dust. Hammers and arrows and all manner of other weapons slammed into the final golem, breaking the bones and sending it crashing to the ground. Joravyn felt a numbness in his fingers, knowing he didn’t have much left. But he would give it all.
> The soldiers at the gate moved aside as they approached. Pained groans and yells permeated the air, and the defenders rushed to find the wounded and offer them what aid they could. Without a word the pair entered the city and climbed the tower to the walkway above. There, a woman with curly brown hair in deep red robes greeted them. “I’m glad you were here, Red Watch,” she said.
“I’m glad you were,” Joravyn chuckled. “Do you know how many other mages can still fight?”
“Not for certain, but with you and me I can’t imagine there are more than eight.”
Joravyn nodded, frowning. “We need to rally at King’s Way. There were only three of those bone giants here, but there’s more than thirty there. They need our magic.”
The woman nodded in agreement. She fiddled around in her bag for a moment before withdrawing a small crystal that shone with a purple gleam. She held it to her face and spoke softly into it, “Mages of Souhal, this is Sifa Lokton, Second Sorceress of the Souhal Academy. All of you that are able are to rush to the King’s Way gate. If this city is to have a chance to survive, we must be the ones to save it.” Sifa blinked as she finished. Without another word, she stowed the stone in her bag. “Come on,” she bid them, “we must go.”
The three of them rushed down the walkway that sat atop the marble façade of Souhal. Rangers would rise as they approached and follow them to their goal, recognizing the purpose with which they moved. Before long, their march was four abreast and ten rows long, the men counting their arrows and bolts as they strode onward. The first mage their group met with was a young elf, even by the standards of human society. No doubt his talent had worried his parents, and rather than fear for the safety of themselves in their own home they’d shipped him to Souhal’s academy. It made Joravyn wince. The youngster’s teeth chattered as he joined the procession, though Joravyn could tell it wasn’t from the cold. Sifa placed a caring arm around his shoulders as they moved forward, calming the boy. It was all any of them could do.