by RG Long
Some turned to see the beleaguered and bloody mob come at them. David even saw some men laugh at their approach. That was the first one he killed. The soldier died with a look of confusion on his face, not knowing that he had been met with the power of the demons.
They were unstoppable. Moving far more quickly than any man who came against them, the army of Graxxin cleared a swath of blood and bodies out from the rear of the army of green. All the while, in his mind, David heard the cry of pleasure.
“YES!” it wailed. “More! MORE!”
He shoved his blade into the stomach of a man who coughed red into his face. He didn’t care. It was for her.
“Why does she scream?” he asked in a scratchy voice. He couldn’t remember the last time he had used it. The man did not answer him. He only died on his blade. So David charged another.
“Why does the woman scream?” he asked the next man he slammed his blade into.
Again, no answer came from him.
He died too quickly.
The man slid off of his blade and he turned to stab another. More and more fell to his blade as he killed and spilled blood for Graxxin.
“MORE!” Graxxin yelled in his head. “More blood, or you’ll hear her screams forever! She’ll scream until you’ve spilled enough sacrifice for me! More! MORE!”
David obeyed.
For the goddess of blood was his mistress.
He obeyed and feared no other.
40: The Prince Arrives
The army of Juttis marched over the hill until it came to its crest. Dram could see the armies fighting below. This was why they had come. It was now that they would act. The Theocracy and Isol would tear each other apart.
And then, after they had fought and killed and worn each other down to the end of their armies, Juttis would overtake them both.
That was Farnus’ plan. To remove both of his enemies with just a wave of his hands after they had killed each other and died fruitlessly on the beach below.
“Look at them squabble,” Farnus said, riding his horse up next to Dram’s. “They fight a battle they will both lose! And we will step in to claim the spoils!”
Dram couldn’t help but agree. The fight below was brutal. Isol sent blast after blast towards the line of the Theocracy. Soldiers marched into death over and over again. But the green of Ladis was not deterred. They had fought the ones they called heretics before. They would continue to fight until the Speakers lost all energy and gave in to the fatigue that would take them.
It was then that the Theocracy would make its killing blow.
And it was then that Juttis would come down on them and kill them all, taking both the Theocracy and the island of Isol for its own. Neither side realized the doom that awaited them, even if they became the victors in this battle.
“This is how an empire begins,” Farnus said.
Dram was sure he wasn’t talking to him specifically. If he was, Dram nodded anyway. There would be time to secure his own throne. Time to discover who and what Farnus had really become. There would be time to understand and to act.
But now it was time to watch their enemies undo each other.
As they watched, the lines of Juttis formed behind them, ready to charge down the hill when given the signal. The captains and generals rallied around their troops. Some of them were recently enlisted from Prommus, being told that to deny Farnus would mean death for them and their families.
It was a messy affair, but one that must take place.
Dram took in a deep breath. As he did so, he felt something change. A spark of energy. A movement of power.
Graxxin stepped out from the shadows of the troops beside him and Farnus. The demon still unnerved him. The other demons began to appear beside the troops as well. Great horned and four-legged beasts that had patrolled alongside them since the long march from the north. When they had come upon Prommus, the demons had stayed behind or disappeared.
Now that battle was upon them, they came back in force.
“The old hag still lives,” Graxxin said, pointing at a spot behind the lines of the Isolian army. It appeared to Dram that this was the place where the beacon of light had originated from. There was a group of soldiers there, holding banners and flags that must be the personal guard of Yada.
“So she does,” Farnus agreed. Dram could see a sneer on his face. Apparently Farnus was just as displeased to see Yada as the rest of the Theocracy.
From the middle of the front lines of the battle, a burst of purple arose. Both Graxxin and Farnus spotted it and turned their gaze down to it. Dram saw it too.
“That’s not one of ours,” Farnus said. “Rayg has not called it.”
“Then who did?” Graxxin asked. “Mine are there.”
She pointed to a spot of devastation behind the lines of the Theocracy, where Dram saw that several in no uniform or marking carved a trail of destruction, overwhelming the rear of the army of Ladis.
“Then what has called it and why is it here?” Farnus said, looking up to the sky.
Dram tried to follow his gaze. He saw that, to his bewilderment, that the Dark Comet had turned from a deep purple to a bright orange glow. It had done so two years previous. It appeared to do the same as it had done then, pulsing out a steady glow.
“Rayg says it is time,” Farnus said. He held up his hand and reached for the comet. As he did so, he began to glow a ghostly white.
On the comet above them, trails of purple began to soar to the ground
Dram watched as these hit the area around the fighting. Some to the north, others into the water below. One by one they appeared with their weapons in hand. The ranks of the Theocracy and Isol recoiled as the demons began to wreak havoc on them.
Then, with a pulsating blast, the blue beacon of light shot up into the sky and then receded. The landscape changed almost immediately as the blue colors that had saturated the view disappeared.
“What the...” Farnus began to ask. He was cut short by the blast of some type of magical cannon.
Two sent shots directly into the lines of the Theocracy, decimating their lines into ruin. Another fired a shot through the chest of a demon to their right. The great beast yelled out in pain, and then exploded into a blast of purple.
Dram could not hear Farnus’ shouts. His ears were filled with the cries of men and the yells of the dying from below. Graxxin’s shrieks of rage, however, filled the sky around them. She leapt into the air and flew towards the place where the beacon had gone out.
In its place, a glowing blue orb had appeared, sending tendrils of magic out from it. The soldiers who had stood beside the beacon now fled from it. Graxxin burst into the orb and a shower of sparks erupted from her claws.
Dram managed to keep his horse in place. Farnus had dismounted.
“Hold the line!” Farnus ordered. “Wait for my signal to charge!”
“What signal?” Dram asked.
In reply, Farnus shot a burst of purple flame into the sky, as he himself began to glow with a purple light.
“Do not fail me, half-brother,” Farnus said as he turned to face him.
Dram could see the glow of purple in his eyes and the look of power that had overcome him.
“Rayg is not pleased with failure.”
41: Unrevoked
The battle was growing more intense with each passing moment. Jerius’ arm was growing weary from wielding his whip and dagger. Several faithful prophets had rallied around him, unaware that the last few who had done so had suffered a terrible fate.
He didn’t care.
It was his own safety that mattered. If he didn’t survive the battle, how could he gain more power? And who would lead the Theocracy and its church then? If hundreds more prophets died protecting him, their sacrifice would be remembered as preserving the Theocracy’s hope.
With another stroke of his arm, another heretic in blue let out a yell of pain that would be his last. The prophets around him fought with a fury. They were defending th
eir high priest. At least they were loyal to their religion even when its nation was crumbling around them.
Jerius looked over and saw a multitude of purple spots on the horizon. He paused just long enough to consider them. He had only called one demon, and a small one at that. What were all of these doing here?
He looked down at the tome of Decolos that was still tucked into his satchel. It was where he had left it and no telltale signs of magic leaked from it.
Then he saw it. Up above them on the hills. An army gathering and preparing to charge. But something was wrong. It was not holding up the skull of the Theocracy, but a different banner. The banner of Juttis.
“Reinforcements?” he said aloud.
The words had no longer escaped his lips than he saw the blue beacon that had lit up the plains grow bright and then fade away completely. The light’s absence had an eerie effect on the landscape. Then the blasts began to ring out. To his right and left, two magical explosions hit the Theocracy lines. Along with sand and rocks, men scattered and died as the magical barrage continued. The demons that he had not called ran forward, threatening the lines of the Theocracy from the rear.
Jerius saw the end playing out before him.
“We must escape!” he shouted.
“There is no retreat!” came an angry shout from behind him.
Jerius looked around and scowled. It was the king and his guard. They had been narrowly missed by the first salvo from Isol. Where was the demon he had summoned and why was it not doing the job he had tasked it with?
“We must wait for the reinforcements from the Disputed Lands!” the king shouted as his soldiers and guards joined with those who defended Jerius. “We must hold them until they arrive!”
A burst of blue erupted behind the Isolian lines, followed by a screeching wail that made Jerius throw his hands over his ears. Another blast and explosion rang out. Blue light again filled the land.
“We cannot fight demons and magic!” Jerius replied. “Not on this scale!”
“It was done for us once before,” the king replied. His guards looked grim as the battle lines continued to close in around them. “Perhaps the gods who gave us their blessing before will do so again.”
“The gods have nothing to do with this!” Jerius shouted.
King Gravis stood to his full height and looked down his nose at Jerius.
“Such words of doubt from a man of faith!” he said.
He would have replied. But his focus had been taken elsewhere. The king was standing in front of him in his regal armor and plate. And yet, behind him came a rush of purple and fire.
Jerius turned to flee, but found his way blocked by the prophets who had defended him from the line. Looking left and right, the king’s guards stood resolute against the tide of Isol that was swarming down on them.
The demon whom he had summoned was crashing into any soldier it encountered, Theocracy and Isol alike. It did not discriminate between army or faction. It killed with reckless abandon.
It destroyed everything in its path as it came for that which it was summoned for. The blades that extended from its hands flew in a dance of death. Jerius raised his whip, ready to defend himself. Gravis, not seeing what was behind him, put up his own sword.
“You dare threaten a king!?” he bellowed.
The terrified shouts and screams of the soldiers behind him must have finally reached his ears. Just as he began to turn around, the demon leapt into the air and sliced wildly with his blades. The king fell before he had time to even pull back his sword.
Jerius was still attempting to get away from the beast whom he had summoned. There seemed to be no stopping him. Standing up from his latest kill, the demon man looked Jerius in the eye. Soldiers who had come near to defend the king lay dead at his feet. Prophets who had been rallying around Jerius had fled or died in the melee to avenge the king.
“I summoned you!” Jerius shrieked. “I command you now! Destroy my enemies! Kill the soldiers of Isol!”
Words made no impact upon the demon. No soldiers from either Isol or the Theocracy moved to engage it or to attack Jerius. The battle had shifted away from this pair after so much death. Jerius still clutched the book of Decolos in one hand and his whip in the other. His palms were sweating as he realized what was happening.
He had sought power. He had wanted authority. He had done anything it would take to attain more and more. He had called from the depths of the darkness a powerful being over which he had no control.
The battle had stopped around the demon who now stared down the high priest of Ladis.
“Blood for the goddess of blood,” it said with a mournful voice, it’s bladed hands reaching out for the one who had summoned it.
Jerius raised his whip.
It was the last thing he ever did.
42: Pul’s Last Charge
The Beacon disappeared from the sky just as Pul thought they were coming close to the place where it had originated. He wasn’t sure if he should take the disappearance as a good sign or a bad omen.
Whatever the case, the tell tale signs of war were unmistakable.
Birds of prey circled up ahead, waiting to feast on the remains of the battle. Large tracts of footprints where previous armies had marched lined the beaches and dry soil all around.
They would soon come upon the decisive battle in this war.
Pul thought it strange.
He had spent most of his life fighting down in the south, convinced that he was making a difference. Or at the very least that their battle had been worth something.
And yet it was going to be in the north where the war was decided, far away from the Disputed Lands the Theocracy and Isol warred over. If Pul had time to consider it more, he would have questioned whether or not it had been worth the effort in the south at all. But such thoughts were the luxuries of those who were less involved or far away in libraries or palaces.
Pul was a captain. He had to think like one.
Looking back over his troops, he saw they were anxiously preparing. It was easy to see on a man’s face if he was ready for the battle or trying to convince himself he was.
Pul had never been excited for war. The men who were made him uneasy. It was natural to see looks of determination on some faces of the soldiers. Those men who knew they had no choice but to fight. Those who decided they would fight well, even if it was not something they desired to do. It was the men who desired combat that Pul stayed away from. He only wanted to serve well and play his part.
And, if the gods saw fit, live to see another day before he was greeted at death’s door.
Trumpets rang out and told them all to stop. Pul put up his hand to command his troops. So often he had been the one to obey the orders. Now he was giving them.
A messenger was riding down the lines of soldiers, stopping at each captain and commander to relay the battle plans. When he rode up to Pul, he saluted and relayed the message.
“Scouts ahead say the battle is already in progress,” he said quickly. “Those are your commands: to remain focused on supporting the rear of the Theocracy line. The companies are to offer support against Isol and Juttis.“
“It really is Juttis?“ Pul asked. The scout messenger nodded and rode away. Pul shook his head. There had been a part of him that had hoped it had been a misunderstanding. A coup within the theocracy. Who had ever imagined such a thing?
The war was more complicated then he had first thought.
If the heretics had allied themself with a northernmost province of the theocracy, then there would be more trouble for the remaining army of the Theocracy.
Pul turned to his men and relayed the message.
“We have an enemy on two fronts,“ he said. “Speakers on one and a rebellion on the other.”
There was more he needed to say. More that ought to be explained. He wasn’t sure he understood it all himself.
“We fought the heretics in the south. We fight them now in our own territory in order t
o stop them from invading the capital of our nation.”
He swallowed hard as he looked into the eyes of his soldiers. Some were young. Younger than even he was when he first began to serve. Some were older. Not many though. The Disputed Lands had claimed many lives.
“I’ve suffered loss at the hands of the speakers,“ he said. “It’s time for us to avenge those we’ve lost and show these heretics we are not afraid.”
Grim faces nodded at him in return. He needed no tears or shouts of affirmation.
War was not some grand affair.
It was terrible and bloody.
And they were going to charge right in.
43: Flight of the Companions
Earlin ran down the mountain while his companions fought back the demons that had appeared at the mouth of the potion master’s cave. In front of him ran those he was trying to help. They were all trying not to fall, but also to put as much distance between themselves and the wolf-like creatures who had come to engage them. Holve, Gorplin, and Master Ferrin were the ones who had engaged with the demons.
Ealrin and and the others were trying to get their companions away safely. Blume was still weak, but managed all right. Jurrin was helping her walk is quickly as they could. Miss Rivius had Olma by the hand while trying to help her navigate the rocky terrain.
“Do you think they’ll be okay?” Jurrin asked as he looked behind him.
“Don’t look back!“ Ealrin ordered. He knew that those three had given them the opportunity to escape. They needed to take advantage of it.
The potion master and Szabo came shambling down beside them.
“Give it up old man!“ the halfling was yelling. “There’s no use in you keeping it!”
“It’s been in my family for decades!” Cecil was wailing. “I’ll not give it up to some strange girl!“
Ealrin had no idea what they were talking about, but the halfling was forcing the potion master closer to Blume and pointing at her with every step.