The War of the Pyromancer

by P D Ceanneir

  Telmar charged forwards and hacked off one hand with Basilisk, but the Helbringer used its other hand to clutch his sword arm. The king tried vainly to break its tight grip, but it was no good. Therefore, he did the only thing he could. He shouldered it hard in the chest and both of them fell through the Door, tumbling away into the inky void beyond.

  The Battle of the Firelands

  “A damp ground surrounded by broken dykes and stunted elms. A right evil place to fight a battle.”

  Extract form Prince Kasan’s memoirs after the Battle of the Firelands

  1

  Lord Ness placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder as I looked down at the stone plaque on the mason’s work bench. The design of swirling knots and intricate latticework was exquisite. The earthly shape of the lettering of my father’s name and his date of birth, and death, added to the whole ensemble.

  I had commissioned a skilled mason to make a small stone cairn in honour of my father and this plaque was to be set into its centre. The cairn itself was built near the scene of his death. Of course, getting there with a war on was a problem.

  ‘I think your father would have liked the sentiment,’ said Lord Ness, who had only arrived back from a lengthy stay on one of the islands of the South Sea Horn a week ago. I suspect now it was the same island sanctuary of the Lycans. Of course I never asked him, because of my memory loss at that point. He was not the only Ri to arrive here at Fort Curran in the last few days. Soneros Ri had arrived with over a thousand Falesti, each equipped with their famous war bows. Gunach, and a hundred of his axe-wielding dwarves, had accompanied him. Seeing the mischievous smiles on the dwarf’s faces lifted my spirits. A day after their arrival, Lord Huron, the Red Duke, and his son, Lord Rett, Master of the Rouge, arrived with over fifteen hundred men. Lord Huron was a famous war leader of days gone by and a close friend of my grandfather’s. His son had all the hallmarks of being just as famous. At that time he was only in his fourth year in the academy, but already a great swordsman, unbeatable in combat. When he became the Red Duke, Lord Rett was to become my closest friend and advisor.

  My Aunt Cinnibar, and her personal entourage of Havant Guards, had appeared over a week ago. Finding a place for them all to stay was giving me an administrative headache. Therefore, I split their forces and sent most of them ten miles to the southeast, were my brother Prince Hagan had his own host ready to lend aid to Captain Elkins Horsed Infantry. Lord Huron and his horses I sent to the northeast to patrol the lower heights of the Haplann Hills.

  I nodded at Lord Ness’s words. ‘I think so too, if only I could remember it all,’ I said sadly. The Ri remained quiet, he knew that my memories of the battle were missing and no matter how much he probed with the Thought Link, he found nothing. Telmar had hidden his secrets well, very well.

  I looked up at the mason, an old man from Caphun. ‘The brilliant work here is proof of your skill and craftsmanship. Thank you, sir.’

  He bowed. ‘Your majesty is gracious.’

  Ness Ri and I left the mason’s bower hut and walked towards my quarters. The winter thaw had come early even though we were barely a month into the New Year, the slush squelched under out boots. We weaved our way through the hubbub of fort life. Soldiers and engineers rushed about everywhere. Most were moving stores onto carts ready for the move east.

  The main gate to our right opened. My pikemen guarding the entrance stepped to one side as a dozen equestrians bearing the livery of my brother, Prince Hagan, trotted through them. I changed direction to meet them.

  The leader of the cavalry troop dismounted and stomped towards me. Like the others, he wore light mail with padded leathers underneath, long cavalry boots, which had padded tags over the knees, and greaves on his wrists. He was also filthy from being on horseback for several weeks. The soldier was tall with a light brown beard, which I knew he usually trimmed daily, and light brown eyes. When he pulled back his coif and padded cap, his hair was short and greying at the temples.

  Both he and I gripped wrists in friendship. ‘How fare yourself, Powyss of the Hoath?’ I asked him.

  ‘Fine, fine, nothing that a hot bath and a hearty meal would not put right, your majesty,’ said the tall soldier. I wrinkled my nose and looked from his wind-ruddy face to scan his dirty apparel.

  ‘I think the bath should be a priority,’ I said jokingly, and his return laugher was genuine and infectious. Captain Powyss, or Powyss of the Hoath, as he termed himself when I first met him at the academy, even though he had very loose family ties to the Lords of the Hoath lands, was a remarkable man in many ways. He was still an apprentice of the Rawn Arts despite having attended the academy for six years longer than my brothers and I. His instructors classed him as an Elamentalphobe, a term used for an apprentice that lacks total control over a particular element. In Powyss’s case, he could not fathom the intricacies of the Fire Element. A common enough problem in most new students, but Powyss had had to drop down a few years before he was sure he would be able to govern his emotions to pass the Canndali.

  He was such an amiable, laid back person that I and Hagan liked him instantly, in fact, he and Hagan were in the same year in Fire Training and became close friends ever since. What Powyss lacked in his control of the arts he more than made up for in his skills with a blade. He was by far the greatest swordsman in the continent due to his training at Hoath fencing schools in his younger days. In the years that followed he would become the Champion of my brother Hagan when he took the Sonoran throne and would later become more famous as one of my son’s Paladins-knights in the second civil war.

  ‘What news of the east?’ I asked him.

  ‘Telmar’s host is moving,’ said Powyss and my eyes widened at the news. ‘They have left the safety of the Wyani Highlands and are now trying to cover their movements in the forests at the eastern border of Haplann and the Dulan Plain.’

  ‘Any news of Prince Kasan, captain?’ asked Lord Ness.

  Powyss shook his head. ‘None yet, my lord, but if he is following his own plan he should be marching into that forest now to meet the enemy.’

  ‘Then we have no time to waste,’ I said. ‘Apologies my friend, but you shall have to forgo that bath. Go to the quartermaster and get provisions and fresh horses, once you have done that then ride hard and fast to Hagan and tell him to move east. I will give you until nightfall, and then my men will march also.’

  Powyss bowed. ‘Very well, majesty.’ Then he was running towards his men and shouting orders.

  I turned to Lord Ness. ‘Master Ri, will you go to Lord Huron and tell him of our move. I require his grace to flank Telmar from the north. We need to box him in as best we can and hope Kasan is in position.’

  ‘I will, sire,’ said the Ri. ‘Godspeed to us all.’

  2

  Moving such a host was a logistical nightmare. In the end I ordered the men to travel light and only take food for four days, mainly because I wanted to move fast and any cartloads of provisions would only slow us down. I left a token force at the fort to guard the gateway into the Rogun lands.

  Telmar’s army moving out of the safety of the Wyani Highlands confused me, but I wasn’t to learn until much later why they did so. Captain Elkin, with his army of Mounted Infantry, had continued a relentless barrage of attacks on the Vallkyte army in the highlands. He had begun his campaign with fifteen hundred men and was now down to eight hundred and fifty battle-weary souls. The onset of winter had taken its toll on the horses, but at least the men had something to eat when they died.

  Villain Hearn’s book, Elkin’s War, details much of the events of that campaign. The brave men of the Mounted Infantry conducted sporadic attacks on key Vallkyte positions. With so few men, Elkin’s tactic was to hit hard, run to the next position, and then hit hard again. Count Talien was so convinced that an army occupying a huge front from the mountains was pushing towards them from the southwest and attempting to encircle him by trapping him in the lower valleys. Reports of a large host camped
to the west of the Wyani Hills- commanded by my little brother Hagan- may have also contributed in his decision to leave the safety of the highlands, especially when it was being augmented by Cinnibar’s Havant Guards later in the conflict.[13]

  In the end Jarl Olav and Count Talien could not wait for the king any longer, so they made the fateful decision to move. At the end of the month of Jarrod, Telmar’s army marched into the woodland that stretched along the border of Haplann and Dulan, using it as cover. Unknown to us at the time, Prince Kasan’s host had already entered the forest and was moving west. Within a few days he would engage the enemy long before my men arrived. By this time Count Talien realised his mistake in leaving the high ground, but by then it was too late.

  Elkin and Kasan had joined forces days afterwards and now plugged any route through the passes back to the highlands. The Vallkyte and Wither army resolved to march into the Haplann Hills, but Cokato, when he found them, admonished his father and the count for their stupidity in moving away from safety. The narrow valleys in the hills now teamed with Kasan’s men. Any attempt to move into the hills would be tactical suicide[14].

  Strong attacks from Kasan’s War Wolves in the east were taking their toll on Talien’s host so he took his soldiers from the cover of the forest in the hope of bringing Kasan and Elkin out into the open. He went west and then south in order to avoid patrols from Fort Curran; little did the count know that my army and I were already on the move from that direction and would reach him within days. His main objective was a narrow strip of hilly land through the lower marsh, called the Fallows, which fringed the sage grasslands of northern Haplann. Once his host got there then he would be able to keep Lake Furran on his right flank and make for the safety of the Tarridun Ridge.

  Unfortunately for Talien my little brother, Prince Hagan and his small force blocked that route.

  Hagan’s scouts had been following the enemy since they broke out from the cover of the forest and he knew of Talien’s intent to make for the ridge, so he decided to make a stand. It was a brave act given that he was grossly outnumbered; his army untried in conflict, and the Vallkyte king’s host was, so far, undefeated.

  Before the count made a move he sent his cavalry, under the lords Sandbrea and Edgemuir, to scout ahead. Lord Withermorne he sent northwest to support their right flank, but they ran into the Sonoran Lancers sent by Kasan to patrol the northern slopes of the Haplann Hills. The silver-armoured Lancers were taken totally by surprise by Withermorne’s Heavy horse, in their light grey livery, and were forced to scatter and fight in small units near a small hamlet called Siskin. The Sonorans had to endure repeated attacks by the enemy but, thankfully, the Red Duke and his mounted and armoured men-at-arms arrived in time to charge into the fray and send Withermorne’s men into an undignified rout. Withermorne himself died as he shouted orders for his men to retreat into the hills, and they were left scattered for miles along the route. The Vallkyte army moved so fast over the Haplann lands that it took Kasan’s men the better part of the next day to clear the forests and march in pursuit. Captain Elkin, with the remainder of the Mounted Infantry, rode southwest to inform my younger brother of the approaching Vallkytes, but he was already in position[15].

  On the dawn of the fifteenth day in the month of Feran, 2985 YOA we would all fight in a great battle, a battle that would rival even the most bloodiest engagements of the Dragor-rix Wars.

  3

  Telmar opened his eyes.

  He was lying face down. Cool blue-green grass lay soft underneath him. He groaned, not only due to the fact that his body felt battered and bruised, it did, but also because he knew he was inside the Nexus.

  The Bard Leif EricsonHe remembered falling through darkness, Harlequin’s silvery glow the only light around himself and the raging Helbringer as it thrashed about under him while they both plummeted with its guttural roar echoing around the inky void ringing in his ear. He remembered the swirling kaleidoscope of colours blazing into existence around them, offering depth and dimension, and then a blinding orange rift opened to pull them in. He experienced the sudden feeling of gravity and the jarring shock on his body as he hit the ground.

  Over to his right, close to the edge of the floating Glemmarstone Island he lay on, the Helbringer whined and mewed pitifully. It flapped about on its side with Hendrix’s sword still in its guts. The thing had used up the Rawn Masters life force and had reverted back to its shrunken old man form, too weak to stand. Telmar ignored it and picked up his own sword lying beside him.

  ‘Very well done,’ said a voice. Telmar turned to see Cronos sitting cross-legged on a rock that had red lichen growing on one side and waving throngs of purple flowers standing tall behind him, making it seem as if he sat on a high-backed throne. The strange blue-skinned spirit had a whimsical look on his face.

  ‘You have closed the Cycle,’ he said.

  ‘Cycle, what Cycle?’ asked Telmar.

  ‘The Cycle of Life, the Dragon Lane energy moves along the matter conduits at a slow and steady pulse. With each pulse the walls of the conduit weakens enough for the likes of the Helbringer to extract volatile dark energy from it. You, Telmar, have just stopped it until the next pulse.’

  ‘When will that be?’

  ‘Oh, about another couple of hundred years or so, possibly,’ said Cronos, waving his hand as if the answer was irrelevant.

  Telmar rolled onto his back and laughed. Cronos watched him with a half-smile.

  ‘I just bet your master is very upset right now!’ said Telmar through chuckles.

  Cronos pointed off to his left. ‘He is a tad annoyed, yes.’ In the distance, many miles from them, a strange flux of rippling energy was blooming out of an island; it was so immense that even the Glemmarstone islands around it were shaking and breaking up as they were thrust away from the anger of the Earth Daemon.

  ‘It would be best not to linger,’ informed Cronos, ‘he will detect your presence when he finally calms down. Although it may well take several millennia before he does.’ He chuckled with little emotion.

  Telmar stood and approached the Helbringer. The little creature scowled at him and growled. ‘I just have to take care of this thing first.’

  ‘That would be difficult,’ said Cronos, who had suddenly materialised beside him. Telmar was used to that trick by now. ‘Your part in the My’thos’s plan is now over; you have saved your home. The Helbringer is a Demigod and his destiny is set. Others will determine his fate. In the future another Demigod will be created to combat the worst that the Earth Daemon can send against man.’

  ‘You’re talking about the Blacksword, yes?’ said Telmar.

  Cronos nodded. ‘There is a Grand Plan of the My’thos that has been eons in the making; the Blacksword is only part of it, albeit a crucial part. You have done your bit to help them.’

  Harlequin disengaged himself from the emerald cradle of Basilisk and floated above the Helbringer, who tried to swat him away with slow pathetic swipes of his clawed hands.

  ‘Cronos is right,’ he said. ‘I know the future and you are fated to return home and finish what you have started.’

  Telmar took all of this in with a twisted smile on his face. ‘Still, I would feel better if I did this…’ he took three quick steps forward and kicked the Helbringer in the stomach. The thing made a strange noise as air escaped through his nose and mouth. The force of the kick sent him high above the ground and over the edge of the floating island. His drawn out screech issued for several seconds as he tumbled into the lower domain of the Nexus.

  ‘Damn, that felt good!’ he said.

  Cronos stepped to one side, waved a hand, and the Door appeared before him. For some strange reason it did not appear threatening to Telmar any more, in fact he was starting to appreciate its beauty.

  The white door opened and Cronos bowed as he made a flourish towards the opening. ‘The fastest way home, your majesty,’ he said.

  Telmar walked up the steps to the threshold, Cronos and Ha
rlequin following. The king took one last look toward the distant destruction and smiled at the massive chunks of ejected debris that came from the area of the Earth Daemon’s stone circle.

  ‘That’s some tantrum,’ he said before turning away to go home.

  4

  ‘Stand firm!’ shouted Prince Hagan Cromme to his men as the combined might of Lord Edgemuir and Sandbrea’s light cavalry ploughed into them with shocking force.

  My brother had picked an easily defendable spot to hold the enemy back. The small brooks running off the higher ground of the Fallows trickled into an area of wide boggy land and then through a shallow ravine. Hagan’s soldiers guarded that ravine, hoping that the soft ground to his front would slow any horse charges and that the narrowness of the hillocks to either side of him would create a bottleneck. He placed his Rogun Pikemen in the front line, three ranks deep, and left his archers on the hillocks to protect their flanks. The Havant Guard and Gunach’s dwarves, under the command of the Countess of Sonora and her captain, a beautiful but stern female Ri called Jynn, were left in reserve.

  Edgemuir and Sandbrea were not concerned about the boggy ground. Their ponies had been born and raised on marshland and the soft earth did not impede their speed too much. The bottleneck and the archers were the main problem, and their tactic was to strike hard in order to disperse the prince’s men before turning again for another charge.

  Several tons of sweat-lathered horseflesh crashed into the static line of defenders. There were a few minutes of pandemonium while horses spilt their blood onto the pikes and collapsed to form a wall of flailing hooves. Many pikemen fell under the onslaught or were kicked to death by the panicking mounts of the equestrian multitude, but they held back the enemy and then the archers let loose to send arrows into the tightly packed cavalry as they flanked their right side.