by RG Long
Jerius knew the name, but not what the general looked like.
A large, very scarred man stepped forward. Jerius could see why this man would be respected, but something was off. He didn’t wear the same uniform as the other generals he had spoken to that day. This man was a captain. Jerius almost opened his mouth, assuming that the famed general had lost his life and this captain had taken rank, but it wasn’t so.
The scarred man made a motion to a younger looking man. Younger than Jerius. He wore the gray stripes on his arm that denoted him as a general. Jerius couldn’t believe it. Every other man he had met today had been twice his age at least.
How had this youth become a commanding officer? Was he the one who had commanded troops in the Disputed Lands and led battalions to victory against the speakers?
“I am General Oranius,” he said in what he probably thought was a commanding voice. Jerius had to hold back a smirk. The boy’s voice nearly cracked as he said the words. The longer Jerius looked at the boy in front of him, the younger he looked. The priest held himself up as high as he could and puffed out his chest.
This general, he would be able to convince without worry.
“I bear a message from the king: the wall is to be abandoned. Head back to the inner defenses and remove all your soldiers from atop the walls. The priests of Ladis will be delivering Prommus from ruin.”
A soldier laughed, but no one joined in with him. Jerius surveyed the room and could tell that most of them probably felt the same way that lone soldier did. Each of them, to a man, looked at the general in the tower. Another cannon blast shot past them and blasted against the mountains behind them. The tower shook slightly, but no one blinked.
“This message comes from the king, does it?” General Oranius said. “I’ll need to see the paper orders, prophet.”
“Priest Jerius of Arranus,” Jerius said, inclining his head. He was a high ranking member of the Temple of Ladis. He did not have to bow to a general. It was only a good gesture to do so. And he was feeling himself run out of goodwill.
“Priest Jerius,” the General said, correcting himself. “I will need to see His Majesty’s seal before I perform any duty other than the one he commanded me to: defend the wall.”
Jerius nodded and took from his arm, a paper signed by the king himself. Regis had been reluctant at first, but he had given in. There was no way they would win this fight against Isol in this manner. The heretics had already taken down two cities. Prommus would just be another notch on their belt.
Unless they did something.
General Oranius was scanning the letter with a furrowed brow.
“I do not see the King’s seal here,” he said, handing the paper back. “I will not remove my men unless the order comes from the king. This is the central wall and the gatehouse of Prommus. I will not abandon my post or my liege at the command of a Priest.”
With that, he gave the paper to the broad, scarred man and turned back to the tower’s balcony where the battle was still unfolding. There wasn’t much of a struggle from the Isolian side of things. Only a few companies of soldiers had gone out to meet the invading army head-on. They had met much the same fate as the crumbling wall had but in a much bloodier and terrible manner. After those companies were shattered, no more were sent.
Prommus appeared to wait it out.
And slowly lose its defenses in the process.
Jerius brought his attention back to the general. Pointing with his robes hand, he indicated the troops that were retreating off the walls and moving inside to the inner walls of Prommus.
“The rest of the army is already following the orders of the king,” Jerius said, looking back to the general. “I suggest you do the same.”
Oranius took two very deliberate steps toward Jerius and the soldiers who stood in the room with him tensed. Jerius did his best to remain calm. He was a priest, after all.
“I do not take well to being ordered around by a temple lackey,” he said in a low growl.
“Then listen to its High Priest,” came a voice from behind them.
Jerius smirked, not needing to turn to know who spoke. Oranius stepped back and bowed his head, though Jerius could tell it was not out of respect, but an obligation.
The high priest outranked all but the king himself.
And Jerius knew there were plans for that as well.
“High Priest Regis,” Oranius said. “You must understand that my orders come from the king.”
“As do our own,” Regis replied. He looked regal in his ornate robes and High Priest hat. His stare held as much hatred for Oranius as the general held for him. The two stared at each other for just a moment, and Jerius wondered if the general would be as obstinate as he had heard he would be.
Oranius seemed like he was going to open his mouth when the noise of more people ascending the stairs came from behind them. This time, Jerius was curious who would be accompanying them in this room that was beginning to feel very cramped.
“We are ready to serve, High Priest,” came the feminine voice of a temple guard. Jerius kept his smile inward at the sight of thirty or more temple guards coming up the stairs. Luca was a part of the group as well. She made no indication that she saw Jerius, and he didn’t look her in the eyes.
She was his servant, and she was in her rightful place. That was all that mattered.
Looking back to Oranius, Jerius could see the man seething at the sight of the guards and the priest and the High Priest all standing before him.
He knew he was cornered.
“And what does the king command of me?” Oranius asked with his teeth clenched.
High Priest Regis took a step forward.
“To rid this land of the heretics and magic speakers who would threaten to undo the efforts and ideologies of the Theocracy,” Regis answered. “To ensure that they never again affront our great nation and that we succeed in what the almighty Decolos intended to do a thousand years ago.”
“That is my purpose here,” Oranius began to say. Regis held up a hand to quiet him. To Jerius, it looked like Oranius was deciding if he and his men could really take on the thirty temple guards and get away with it. He looked livid.
“But you have so far been unsuccessful,” Regis continued. “The great Decolos foresaw a time when the armies of the Theocracy would fail and that we would need to call on a power higher than men can reach.”
“Our deity certainly has knowledge beyond that of mortal men,” Oranius said.
Jerius knew the young man was offended. He was being told that he and his army could do little to repel the Isolian invaders. On the one hand, he had to see that it was true. The Isolian cannons were ringing out shot after shot at the city of Prommus. They couldn’t take many more direct hits without allowing the army to come unhindered into their capital.
On the other hand, Jerius knew it bothered the general to be told that he could do nothing more. Especially one as decorated as he was.
“Indeed,” Regis replied. “Now, this tower is where we will begin our necessary steps to rid ourselves of the Isolians. You are free to leave, or stay if you wish to witness the victory of the Theocracy!”
The scarred man made a scoffing noise but quieted with a look from Oranius. He bowed and moved aside, letting Regis step towards the balcony.
“Jerius,” he said, not looking behind him. “Prepare the ritual.”
Pulling the ancient tome from his robe, Jerius laid it upon the stone table that was in the middle of the room. He turned to the page he and the high priest had studied for countless hours the week before this moment. Putting a finger down on the correct page, he read aloud.
“Blood for the driving out of the heretic and purging the land of the Speaker. Blood for the one who is in exile. Blood for the return of the scourge of the rimstone. Blood for the fire of the sky and the destruction of the time yet to come.”
“What is this?” Oranius said as he took a step forward, looking at the book that Jerius w
as pointing at.
Jerius paid him no heed.
“Blood of the strong to call the strong,” he finished. “Blood to call the ones from the dark above into the light beyond.”
“Now!” Regis commanded.
As one, they obeyed.
Jerius pulled a knife from within his sleeve and shoved it into the unprotected armpit of Oranius, drawing out a gasp of pain and surprise from the decorated general. His soldiers moved forward with cries of rage, but the temple guards were spilling into the room, swords in hand and fire in their eyes.
Jerius watched as the expression on Oranius’ face turned from anger to pain to blank as blood poured down his hand and onto the floor of the tower.
And out on the plains, a flash of purple light lit up the night sky.
11: Crumbling
Another blast from the cannons on the plains in front of Prommus sounded out as cheers rose from the Isolian camp. The city was falling to them and their magical power.
Octus stood with arms crossed, a look of passivity on his face.
“Why do you hate it so much?” Yada asked him. She had been brought to the front where she could see the devastation better and was reclining on the couch. Octus didn’t reply at first. Though he knew he would be punished if he didn’t respond soon, Octus revelled in the idea of making her wait to hear from him,
It was a small bit of rebellion that he could afford at the moment.
“I do not enjoy death and war as much as your soldiers do,” he said, while not looking at her. Another blast shot down a large tower from within the walls of the city. Cheers rang out from the soldiers as they watched it fall. Octus knew that Speakers would walk into the city and reconstruct that same tower in hours. It was wondrous to behold. And terrible.
Those same speakers would clear the streets of the dead bodies of the defenders. They would carelessly lift them into piles and then burn the dead as other soldiers collected their possessions.
Having seen this play out twice, Octus was sick of the sights.
He wanted very badly to do his worst to Her Holiness and then search for his niece.
He would do anything to know she was safe.
“But you were a soldier in the wars against my people once,” Yada said. “You fought bravely, I’m told. You were a hero to them.”
“I’m no hero,” Octus replied. “Does Her Holiness require anything?”
He heard a dry chuckle from Yada. He knew what that meant. She was on to him.
“I’ll not dismiss you until I’m quite satisfied you’ve seen enough of your capital burned to the ground,” she answered back.
Octus breathed but did his best to keep the sigh from making noise. He knew that he could be punished for such things. He had been in the past when Yada was in a foul mood. Fortunately for him, she had been in high spirits ever since marching to Prommus. The campaign had seen some trials, but when it involved taking the cities of the Theocracy, Isol and Yada flourished.
Another blast of magical energy shot out from the ranks of Isol and shook the castle walls. Octus looked down from the chaos. He knew it would not be long before the capital of his country, the one he had fought for and bled for, fell to these horrible wizards and heretics.
“Eyes up,” Yada said with jubilation in her voice. “This will be our final stroke.”
Octus looked over at the women he hated so much. She had her hand in the air as if to signal something. The blue crystals weaved into her hair glowed menacingly and made her eyes shine with the same reflected light. The hair on Octus’ forearms stood on end as he felt the air around him charge with power.
But it wasn’t the kind he had become accustomed to since being forced to march alongside Isol. This power felt...foreign.
Screams rang out as, from above, purple streaks of light came shooting down at the troops gathered outside the city of Prommus. Cannons began to explode where they stood as the points of light slammed into them. Speakers dove from the wreckage and soldiers began to run this way and that. Some towards the purple lit craters that had been formed, others away from them.
The demons had returned.
“Get those cannons pointed at the beasts!” Yada was shouting. “The demons! Shoot them!”
Octus was having none of that. Even though such a strategy had worked against one, there were no less than twelve of the demons who had landed in their ranks. Perhaps they were all too aware of how the cannons were used against them and were ready to seek revenge.
A massive purple blade came down on a cannon that was powering up to fire at the new threat. As soon as the demon’s weapon hit it, demon, cannon and all the Speakers who were around it were engulfed in a purple and orange explosion.
Octus felt the ground underneath his feet tremble. He crouched to better keep his feet underneath him and found that he wasn’t the only one having trouble standing up. Yada fell backward onto him, losing her place next to the couch she had been sitting on, she ended up in his arms.
He had to restrain himself from snapping her neck as soon as she touched him. Of course, three blades came shakily down in his direction as soon as she had fallen. For a flash, he thought it might have been worth it to end himself to end Yada’s miserable life.
But he thought of Olma. In that brief moment, her face flashed before his eyes, and he relented. Roughly, he stood Yada up on her own two feet. She must have felt his brashness because she shoved herself away from him as hard as her frail frame could.
Then he watched her as she observed the devastation all around her. The Isolian army was in disarray. Soldiers and Speakers were running in all directions. Prommus lay nearly defeated in front of them, but there was now a more pressing issue in their midst.
She huffed loudly, then looked over at one of her generals.
“Sound the retreat,” she ordered. “Get the troops away from here. Leave me a team of Speakers.”
“Your Holiness?” the general asked. Octus could see the confusion on her face.
“These demons have denied me my prize,” Yada replied. “If you think I will sit by idly while they decimate my armies, you are mistaken.”
With those words, an eruption of blue poured from her jewels as she reached out a hand towards the nearest demon.
Octus shielded his eyes as a blast of power shot toward the towering demon and another explosion shook his feet. He only had a small twinge of regret at being grateful he didn’t kill Yada.
12: No Opportunity Wasted
The army of Isol was fleeing to the east. Just the sight of it pleased Silverwolf greatly. She found herself cheering the demons on to more destruction. The more they thwarted the plans of Yada and her armies, the easier their job became.
But there was something else about this as well.
And Silverwolf would not waste this chance.
“I suppose we should get ready to track them,” Serinde said as she stood behind Silverwolf. From her crouching position, the assassin was glad that her elven companion was behind her. That way she could roll her eyes as much as she wanted.
“Of course we’ll have to track the army,” Silverwolf said, standing to her feet and stretching her limbs. From their vantage point behind a large grouping of rocks, the city of Prommus stood proudly against its mountainous anchor. Isol was fleeing in large groups, and the demons were being tormented by a group of Speakers who were casting a furious barrage of spells at them.
Silverwolf knew they couldn’t keep this up forever. Even magic had its limits.
And that meant there was a slight possible chance that they could make a break for the gates.
“We need to get into the city,” Silverwolf said, locking her eyes on the hole that was opening up in the lines between the gates and the army.
“Wait, what?” Serinde asked sluggishly.
Silverwolf should have known. The elf was not one to think on the fly when there was a plan already in place. Hopefully, she wouldn’t take too much convincing.
“Ho
lve’s order,” she replied. And with those words, she decided to walk towards the gates. The ground was hard beneath her feet. Shaking slightly, but hard. There were no shreds of grass or vegetation anywhere. The army had taken away every evidence of life on the plains in front. Fitting, Silverwolf thought. Isol wanted to take all life in Ladis. They nearly did.
If it weren’t for the demons.
“Holve didn’t say anything about...”
“He only told me,” Silverwolf said. “Keep up.”
“Something that important,” Serinde began to argue.
“Is what we’ll discuss later,” she countered. “Right now we have demons to get around.”
The purple beasts were still engaging Isol’s remaining forces, which Silverwolf was keeping an eye on, but the majority of them were heading right for the middle of the explosions and blue spells that were erupting from the back of the camp.
Dawn was breaking and the last bits of the night were flying away before the suns began to peek out over the horizon. That gave them precious moments to cross the plains and get to the wall before any guards could see them.
Silverwolf was hoping the fireworks would provide enough distraction so that she and Serinde could crawl over the wall and get in. An army may not be able to find a way, but surely two competent females could.
“Holve wanted us to chase down Isol,” Serinde said as they paused by another large outcropping of rocks. “He didn’t know they were heading for Prommus for a fact.”
“And if our journey did take us by the city, he gave me a job,” Silverwolf said. “Now shut up. There’s one of those things coming our way.”
It wasn’t entirely untrue. A hulking monstrosity was near them, but he wasn’t paying attention. Silverwolf assumed it was a he, at least. How could one tell?
“It isn’t looking this way,” she said. “Let’s go.”
“Go where?” Serinde questioned.
“Into the city,” Silverwolf answered as she pushed off the rock and began to sprint towards the stone walls of the capital. They were only about two good sprints away from the wall at this point. She felt the cold air bursting in and out of her lungs as her feet hit the ground and she continued to get as good a leg as she could.