by B G Mitchell
Sylvania slowly opened her eyes as she felt her head pound. She tried to move a muscle only to find that all her limbs ached She slowly moaned in pain and found a cool glass of water in front of her lips as a friendly hand helped her head up. Once she had drunk her fill, she looked up to see the concerned face of Lathenia, who smiled at her as she opened her eyes.
She then spoke in a soft tone, “I have been checking to see if you’re okay.”
“I felt better,” Sylvania replied in a hoarse whisper. Lathenia adjusted her pillow. It felt rather odd being cared for by the Elf who had been at her inquisition. She knew she should be angry at her or someone for her treatment, and Lathenia was as good a target, but she knew that she was following orders. Before they had lost all contact, the Dark Elf and Surface Elf relationship had been one of constant aggression, and the only one she found that she could get mad at was herself for letting her curiosity get the better of her and leading her down this path. At least part of her felt safe now in Lathenia’s hands for the moment.
Lathenia produced a couple of papers. “I have some good news, Sylvania,” she said as she handed a piece of paper to her. “We have received a letter from your city of Narderba. Apparently they want you back and have offered a large amount of gold for your release. The high council have agreed and they have decided to let Narderba keep the gold as a sigh of good faith.”
She paused for a second as Sylvania looked at the other piece of paper. It was a letter from her sister. Her heart jumped as she opened it up, and as she read it she felt tears falling from her eyes. It was the usual letter about how she hoped all was well and news about the city which sounded good but then it came to the last part that concerned her. It spoke of the growing threat of the orcs, how they seemed to be organising under a leadership of a bald Demon. After she had finished the letter, Lathenia produced a scroll of paper and an ink well as a pen.
“Here, you can reply to her. t should get there before you return as the dwarf trading mission is returning this evening, and we are right now arranging an escort to take you back.” Lathenia paused for a moment and if Sylvania had to guess she had something difficult to say. “There is a story among the surface elves just after the founding of Ellerwyn. We fought the human realm of Gypson since they raided a couple of our cargo ships. We brought the war to an end swiftly and forced a peace on Gypson, and it stayed like that for a couple of months until Gypson was attacked by a powerful human sorcerer who had many troopers under his command. After the Gypson army was defeated, the Gypson princess knew that her father’s kingdom would not survive and his pride stopped him from asking for any help, so she came to Elves and offered them herself in exchange for helping her father. The leader of the elven army a powerful sorceress took up her offer and managed to save the Gypson kingdom.” Lathenia paused for a moment and then continued. “There is a subtle message in that.” Lathenia turned around and looked at the Dark Elf.
“So,” replied Sylvania in a somewhat raspy voice. “In exchange for me, you think you can help Narderba.”
Lathenia nodded. “It would go a long way in convincing the council to send more than a thank you note to your sister. I think I could get them to send weapons and any supplies they will need. This is obviously a big decision, so I will let you think about it tonight, and for what it is worth, I am sorry about yesterday, and I promise if you stay that won’t happen again.” She then left, leaving Sylvania alone.
In her cell, Sylvania weighed the options she had before her. Maybe there was a possibility of escape, but she suspected a sorceress such as Lathenia had ways to stop her from leaving and wouldn’t look very good if she gave her life for the city then ran away. Besides Lathenia did have some visual charms, but she did help in her interrogation. She slowly picked up the notepad and started to write.
Dear sister, I thank you for your letter, and I think I have found a way to get supplies off our cousins that would greatly benefit the city. She stopped writing. This was not going to be an easy letter to finish.
As she left the cell, Lathenia must admit she was feeling a bit guilty about giving Sylvania such a choice, but she knew it was the right thing to do. They had also included in their letter a request for help with a possible orc attack, and she knew she could get the help they needed from the high council if she invoked the story about the Gypson princess and Sylvania decision. She knew that she was doing the right thing in the long run and if that got her Sylvania so much the better.
The small farming house was a good place to rest. The only problem, according to Gary’s mind, was the previous occupants had disappeared under strange circumstances, and it was already getting dark. Their journey here had been uneventful, and Throegerod had turned out to be a good guide and correct about the lack of patrols once they had reached Blackfoot hills. Bloodhammer also recognised the terrain from his younger days when he would run trading missions to the humans.
He looked around the house. It had a fireplace and a stove next to it, a rough wooden table as well as four wooden chairs, and a stone sink with a couple of wooden buckets. Bloodhammer came down from checking out the second floor, followed by Throegerod who put his bag on the table, which also contained the food for the journey. He then started breaking up the bread and handing out the rations of a piece of bread and cheese. That was one thing he did miss: the food, like going into a fast food restaurant to get anything he wanted, and now he wanted a burger with cheese.
“Well,” said Throegerod, interrupting Gary’s thoughts, “there is a well outback, so at least we have water.” Bloodhammer grunted his reply as he ate his bread.
“Well,” replied Gary, realizing he was the only one interested in talking at the moment, “so what is the plan then.”
“We rest up for the moment,” replied Bloodhammer, his mouth half full with bread. “And we shall go shortly once it gets dark, as no doubt there will still be patrols about, and the last thing we want to do is get spotted.”
“Or killed,” injected Throegerod as he stood up. “Yes a couple of hours here then moving on.”
Suddenly the door smashed open and in stepped three guards, all of them were wearing a metal medieval helmet, had a pike each and wore a metal breastplate as well as metal trousers with a chainmail undercoat. “Hold it right there, this house is under the protection by the local Enforcer, and you are under arrest.”
As Gary and Throegerod stood up in shock, they noticed that Bloodhammer had vanished under the table, unnoticed by the shouting guard. He knew what to do next and grabbed his sword as the head guard turned to him. “Hey, I know you, you’re the one wanted by the grand necromancer.” As the guard moved closer by going around the table, he suddenly seemed to trip, and Throegerod then grabbed a small, round ball from a pouch in his belt and threw it on the floor in front of one of the remaining standing two guards. Gary then jumped on the table with his sword out and swung down and was rewarded with the sound of metal hitting metal. He then pulled his sword back and slashed again into the blinding smoke bomb in the hop of hitting something. This time he got a scream of pain which was cut short with a gurgle when he pulled the sword free. He then stepped back from the smoke to see that Throegerod had pulled a small crossbow from another pouch and had mange to hit one of the other guards who had tried to get towards him, the guard quickly collapsed obviously the crossbow bolt had been poisoned. He had a look at his target to find the guard was lying dead on the floor, covered in blood mostly coming from a sword wound in his neck.
As the smoke cleared, he looked down. The man was defiantly dead. He then looked at his sword. It was covered in the man’s blood, it was an odd feeling he had taken a man’s life for the first time. Sure, he had destroyed an entire city of demons, but this was different. Here was the actual evidence of his crime laying in front of him, and those where demons, this was a human possibly with a family. He at the very least had a mother or a father. He felt his shoulder being tapped and turned. It was Throegerod
“Hey,
I have been trying to get your attention. We have to go, no doubt they will want to know what happened to their patrol.”
Gary glanced at the dead guard and then grabbed his bag and followed Bloodhammer and Throegerod out of the door.
The view impressed Zargon. He was atop a hillside on his hell steed, which was a skeleton horse with red, flaming eyes (and without a special padded saddle, is one of the most uncomfortable things to ride on ever). He also wore steel armoury plates on his chest and legs with spikes in it at various angles, and he was overlooking Largarthas fortress, and in front of him is what impressed him the most. It was his own army, which had grown and now contained over forty thousand demons. In past times there had been more, but many had been lost in the initial blast or with the sickness that followed. Luckily for him, most of the princes had seen where the wind was blowing, especially since he now had the support of Zateria who was keen for him to finish his war so he could focus on the wayward dark elf city.
A legion of arches behind the may battle lines opened up, sending a hail of flaming arrows towards the fortress which was a octagon with eight large, round towers at each side and a large square keep in the middle as well as a gatehouse which was shaped like a skull with the mouth being the entrance on one of the sides (demons view on decorating is you can never have enough skulls). In front of his army was a collection of covered battering rams followed by a large section of infantry driven by their princess also on their hell steeds. After them were the arches, then after that was large trebuchets, and behind him was the bulk of his cavalry, over two thousand demons waiting for their moment to strike. The trebuchets stopped first, now within range of the fortress, then the archers as the defender sent a load of projectiles down to the battering rams. The battle sounds increased and were quickly joined by the dead and dying. He could see one of his lieutenants managed to get the archers to launch a barrage at the enemy castle which, when they landed, caused more screams. He smiled at the carnage below. It was glorious. A group of trebuchets launched their projectiles and, thanks to magic provided to him by Zateria, the round projectiles exploded on impact, sending bits of stone flying everywhere and adding to the carnage. Another barrage smashed into the wall, causing a loud boom and even managing to cause one of the walls to collapse.
From here, he could see a division of his infantry rush past the battering ram and clamber up the rubble only to meet the forces of Largarthas in blood combat. A third barrage of trebuchets this time focused on one of the side walls away from the combat and hit their target, causing another wall to collapse in a shower of masonry. This was his chance. He let out a cry of pure savageness as he kicked his steed into gear and began the charge, followed by the rest of his cavalry. He held his sword up high and continued his bloodthirsty scream for victory as he picked up speed down the hill, kicking up red dust as he went. Once they reached the site of the destroyed wall, they met the infantry who had rushed to defend the breach at full speed, and they were quickly scattered as the steed ran down any infantry man who did not manage to run. Their horses managed to rush over the rubble into the fortress, and the bulk of the now retreating infantry, Zargon swung his sword wildly into anyone below his steed and was often rewarded with a bloody scream and the splatter of demon blood.
By the time he had reached the keep, his sword was covered in gore and most of the infantry had been slain. He looked towards the other breach and saw some of his riders in their battle state had started to carve a blood path toward their infantry, and by now, most of Largartha’s remaining infantry were in a blind state of panic, and some attempted to flee back to the keep which had already closed and bolted its main door. They were easy prey, and Zargon gladly joined the slaughter.
Once his men had secured the ground and outside towers, which did not take long as most of the defenders had tried to either flee the keep or were already slaughtered, a battering ram was carried over the rubble and brought to the front of the keep with its defenders still throwing down any missiles they had. Once in place, it hit the heavy, wooden doors with a dull thud as archers lined up behind, picking off any defenders who dared to poke their heads above the battlements.
The door was going to take time, he thought, as he steadied his steed. He noticed something out the side of his eye, and he turned to see a beautiful, dark elf female followed by a couple of succubus. It was Zateria herself. He turned his horse to her and performed a bow and said in a proud voice, “As you can see, the battle is almost won, thanks to your magic.”
“And the fact you heavily outnumber the defenders,” replied Zateria in a cool voice. “Remember,” she continued, “you would not have most of the princes’ support if not for my help.”
Zargon nodded. “Of course, my lady.” He then heard the sound of wood breaking and turned back to the battering ram. He could see there was a small breech as an arrow came flying out, hitting one of his men in the neck. A couple of archers returned the favour, allowing the battering ram crew to pull back the ram and slam into the door, expanding the breach, allowing a couple of his men to squeeze in only to be quickly slaughtered. But after another bash with the ram, the door gave way, allowing his men to rush in and start attacking any of the defenders.
He jumped from his steed, bloody sword still in hand, and followed them in through the breech inside the entrance hallway. It was turning into a full on brawl. He gladly joined the fray and swung his sword into some poor lesser demon, spilling his guts on the floor. He then swung at another target with the same success. He felt the bloodlust fill him as another victim fell to his sword. He swung wildly and madly, hacking a gore filled path towards the throne room, followed by many more of his troops.
At the throne room, their progress was stopped by a bolted, heavy, wooden door as Zargon knew Largarthas had remained a coward to the end. He bashed the side of the door with one of his shoulders. Another one of his soldiers joined him, and he could feel the door creak under his weight every time he hit it, and he did not even notice the pain. He wanted blood. Finally the door gave way with a satisfying crack, and he kicked the wooden rubble away and stepped into throne room, which had a solid wooden chair at one end on an elevated platform. On the platform sat Largarthas, succubus concubines seemly not too concerned with the conquering army. On the throne sat Largarthas, an old demon with a short, grey beard and grey hair on his head. He wore a golden cloak and shiny, silver trousers. He grabbed his large sword by the throne, stood up, and step forward.
A couple of Zargon men moved forward. He put his hand up to stop him. It was his right to slay this pretender. He raised his sword and swung it down to Largarthas, only for it to be stopped by Largartha’s sword. He swung again and again but was blocked. Angry, he let out a kick, hitting Largarthas in the knee and causing Largarthas’s balance to falter. He then swung down again, hitting Largarthas’s sword with all his fury and forcing Largarthas to step back. Seeing his chance, he kicked Largarthas again and swung his sword in to Largarthas’s side and was rewarded by a sharp yell as his sword cut into Largarthas’s sword arm, forcing him to drop his sword. He then wrenched it free and hit Largarthas in the neck, partially decapitating him.
Largarthas’s last word was a bloody gurgle as he fell down to the ground, dead. Zargon smiled he had at last succeeded, and he alone would rule the damn plains as the one true demon king. He suddenly felt a sharp pain in his chest. He looked down to notice a sharp, black spear pointing out of his abdomen covered in his blood.
Confused, he heard the voice of Zateria say to him, “Thanks for the Dammed plains. It took you long enough.” She then twisted the spear and violently pulled it out of him, sending pain into every corner of his body. He then felt his world go black.
Zateria looked down at the corpse of Zargon and smiled. He had given her the Damn plains, but it had cost many potential demon soldiers and had taken too long. Besides he was merely a male, not worthy in her grand scheme. She waved the succubus concubines out of the way as she stepped over Zargon�
��s and Largarthas’s fresh corpses and took her seat on the throne that had just become available. The remaining soldiers, no matter what side they fought, kneeled, sensing that if they did not, their lives would be very short indeed.
There was much to do. She had the bulk of the demon army now at thirty five thousand under her control, and no doubt that number would be thinned out as she took care of anyone would who would dare to oppose her. Inside it frustrated her. This is not the Damn plains. She wanted weakened by warfare and the magic of the stranger from another dimension, one thing that would cement her rule and make her feel better was a solid victory.
She turned to Draconia. “See how far Zargon has gotten with his orcish army in the mortal realm. Soon I want Narderba.” She looked over her bowing troops. “Tell the Narderba exiles to prepare a worthy avatar,” she continued.
Draconia nodded and cleared her throat before replying in a very respectful tone, “But, my lady, to prepare an avatar will take them time to make sure the host chosen will not die.”
Zateria smiled. “A valid point, but the first born female of house Arnea will be able to be my host in just a week, as that is what I have destined for her. I believe her name is Althenian.”
As the dwarvern convoy had at last come to a complete stop inside her house compound, Lucinda looked at it and admitted she was impressed. Sylvania had promised to get their Elven cousins to help, and she had made good on that promise. The dwarves where delivering about fifty modern flint lock rifles and enough gunpowder for a thousand rounds on each rifle.
A dwarf handed her a small paper pamphlet. She opened it up to find it was in a broken form of dark elf but still legible enough for her to make out there were instructions on how to load, clean, and use the rifle and included diagrams. She gave the instructions a glance. It seemed simple enough. Hopefully this would give her warriors the edge they needed, as her patrols had stopped finding orc warriors to skirmish with, and she suspected it was the calm before the storm.