“They have a scrying orb from Astralode, he should help guide them,” he explained.
Gladius knew well of Marin’s prowess, she had been allowed into the Golden Sun taskforce as a young girl on recommendation by Astralode. She had proven herself time and time again in battle, killing trolls, werewolves, an ogre; her magic was very impressive.
Gladius considered her the daughter he never had, and now she was a young woman he was proud to call her a comrade.
He wasn’t particularly pleased that she had gone along with Umbra but he respected her decision, even if he thought Umbra was untrustworthy.
“I just have a very bad feeling,” Fletcher shivered. They reached a diverging road marked with an old wooden sign, dismounting to read it.
Darkwoods Outpost was to the left and Road to The Dying Lands was marked to the right.
“This is a no-brainer, Greed lives in The Dying Lands so we go the other way,” Fletcher chimed. “Only problem is, the residents of Darkwoods Outpost aren’t allies of Myst City at all! They were deserters during the Twilight Wars. They have killed many of our diplomats!”
“We seem to have no alternative. Hopefully they won’t resist our passing if we are discreet,” Gladius hypothesized, stroking his beard.
The soldiers of Darkwoods Outpost were supposed to come to aid The Capital when Greed attacked. Gladius had witnessed the town crumble and was one of the lucky few to escape; their allies had left them to die.
Gladius, resentful of their cowardice, was uneasy traveling though their shadowy territory.
“Let’s go!”
He and Fletcher lashed their horses’ reins. The horses sped onward into the sinister woods.
TWENTY SIX
The ruins of The Capital hummed with activity. The ghoulish legions of the demon lord Greed patrolled endlessly through the ruined landscape of The Dead Lands. Evil was stirring as the demonic plotters debated their next move.
Greed was slumped in his golden throne, another treasure he had accumulated over the centuries. He cleared his throat and a silence fell upon the stone chamber. “The vampire’s performing exactly how Apathy predicted,” Greed chuckled as he stared into the scrying orb nestled in his hand.
“Once he reaches Lust’s temple she’ll strike a deal in our favor and we will be able to control him,” Affluence added.
The demon lord Greed turned to face his advisors, rolling a coin between his claws. Their twisted bodies and unsightly appearance were as withered as the land surrounding Greed’s haunt.
His leading advisor, Affluence crossed his arms and grinned evilly. “Not long now my lord, Umbra will fulfill his role.”
“What about Gladius and the archer heading west?” inquired another advisor nervously.
“They are of no concern to me,” Greed dismissed. “The rebels in Darkwoods Outpost will probably chop them up anyway,” he predicted.
His advisors’ faces beamed with glee.
The ruined castle glowed eerily, illuminated by torches depicting occult symbols. The pale blue lights cast these sinister markings. The moonlight from the exposed skylight glistened off Greed’s prized treasure hoard.
Greed turned to his chief advisor, Affluence. “Begin moving a battalion east, we must keep Umbra on track. If possible we must halt his progress so Micah catches up to him,” cackling, he pointed out the door, the skeleton sentry guards marched out the door mechanically as Affluence followed them.
The long tables of the immense mess hall were covered with brew and red meat. Lesser demons and trolls were stuffing their faces and drinking ale profusely.
“Groll!” yelled Affluence from atop the descending stairs. The mess hall fell silent and the masses stood at attention.
“Yes Sir!” replied a hulking troll, wiping his food-covered mouth. His grey skin was littered with small cuts and scratches. He had a huge gash over one eye and was clad in a leather harness and chain-mail tunic
“Gather your troops and take a squadron of bone soldiers and make your way towards The Lava Fields. You’ll be given further orders to meet with an agent when you are within reach,” Affluence dictated.
Groll nodded at the trolls and goblins sitting around him. A select few filed out after him as he marched out the doors into the courtyard where bone soldiers stood perpetually in formation.
That fool will surely fail, and that’s exactly what we need Affluence thought as he watched the drunken stragglers stumble out the courtyard door to catch up to the division.
Umbra’s scar glowed white hot as he clenched his pike. Black energy crackled around him as he tightened his grip on his weapon. He pivoted his foot in the rock and charged forward to clash with Robyn.
Marin stood nervously on the sidelines.
Why is he being so stubborn? She wondered. She fidgeted uneasily, prepared to step in if the fight looked bad for Umbra.
Robyn dashed forward, her blades sliced through the air savoring their target as they went. Her first blade whistled through the air missing its target, the other rattled roughly on Umbra’s pike. Robyn’s hand throbbed from the impact.
With an adept sweep, Umbra tripped her and stabbed down. Robyn rolled over, dodging Umbra’s attack and swung her sword at him which Umbra jumped over.
The two of them dodged each other’s blows with astounding agility, it was like watching an elegant dance as they flirtatiously attacked and dodged. Intensity grew in their eyes as they finally finished dodging and struck at each other, parrying the blows, locked in a struggle.
The soft dirt below was their arena and they were the fighters. They were locked in a clash to push one another back.
Umbra jiggled and scraped one foot on the ground. Marin’s jaw dropped as she watched the array Umbra scratched in the dirt illuminate. Umbra leapt back as purple light shot up creating a dome around Robyn.
“What is this?!” she bellowed, banging on the now solidified magical surface of the dome.
“A containment circle,” Umbra replied smugly. “It should fade in about twelve hours or so…” he stuck out his tongue mockingly. “Or was it twenty four hours?” he chuckled.
That should keep that psycho off our backs!
Robyn was banging furiously on the magic dome but the impact sound was buffeted, causing only ripples across the purple translucent surface.
“Umbra, that was amazing!” Marin beamed as she ran over to hug him. She held her still wet hand over his bruises and closed her eyes. They healed magically, amazing Umbra. They tiredly walked away to continue their trek.
“You can’t just leave me here!” Robyn yelled from inside the circle. She was banging furiously.
“You can stay there and cool off for a while, catch up on some reading or something,” Umbra suggested, ridiculing her.
“We must make haste, this is unfriendly territory,” Gladius insisted as he and Fletcher both tightened the reins on their horses.
The horses upped the pace and approached a sprint, the sound of their hooves echoed around the dark forest. The noises of the forest fell silent, ushering in a growing tension.
“Look out!” Fletcher leapt off his horse, knocking Gladius to the ground as an arrow whistled by and implanted into a tree. The two of them jumped to their feet and looked around frantically for the hidden assailant.
“Do you see anything?” Fletcher whispered, his eyes still scanning the undergrowth outside the clearing.
Gladius cautiously picked his helmet off the floor and slipped it on over his head. A sinister wind rustled through the trees animating the plume on Fletcher’s hat.
Next Gladius ducked as a black bolt of magic flew past him. He drew his sword. “Dark elves!” he confirmed.
Sure enough, familiar red eyes surrounded them as the dark elves stepped out of the bushes. Their pristine faces and thin pointed ears were v
isible through their thin, flowing dark hair. They were clad in dark leather. Some carried wands, others bows.
They looked fiercely at Gladius and Fletcher with their pale, deathly faces. “Why did you come here?” one demanded.
“To pass,” Gladius responded, tightening the grip on his sword. The dark elves raised their weapons menacingly.
“I take that as a ‘no’ then?” Fletcher inquired as he loaded his bow from his quiver. The archers pulled back their bow-strings, and the mages charged their wands awaiting the command to fire.
“Wait!” ordered a tall, thin elf wearing elegant blue robes, wielding a staff similar to Marin’s. “Outsiders, normally we would kill you, but our numbers are dwindled fighting a terror that has descended upon our lands,” he admitted.
“We implore you help us in our pursuit,” the dark elf continued. The other dark elves reluctantly lowered their weapons and bowed their heads in compliance. Their whispering words were of resentment and frustration.
Dark elves swearing loyalty? Gladius pondered, skeptically.
The winds blew through the woods, the scene remained still. “Should we trust them, boss?” Fletcher inquired with a whisper to Gladius.
“For now,” Gladius responded with a sigh as he returned his sword to its sheath. “What exactly do you want from us?” Gladius asked loudly. He exchanged a subtle wink with Fletcher.
“Come with us, it isn’t safe to talk here, we will talk back at the outpost,” their leader responded ushering them with an outstretched hand.
Fletcher eyed him suspiciously as he slowly lowered his bow.
The moonlight highlighted the snowy white bodies of the dark elves as they marched behind their leader obediently. The shady, mysterious undergrowth all around rustled as their small band marched through it.
This must be some terror if this entire battalion is afraid to venture out Fletcher pondered as he walked his horse by the reins following Gladius.
“What is this terror exactly?” inquired Gladius to the closest dark elf.
“Our Master, Lunaris will answer that when we return to the village. This monster’s spies could be watching us right now.” retorted the dark elf in a hushed voice, facing forward anxiously.
“Our fortifications were destroyed from their last assault and we need grunts to help us,” another added.
“Grunts?” inquired Gladius his annoyance apparent. He drew his sword slightly to intimidate the dark elf, who gulped pretending not to notice as he continued forth.
The woods brightened slightly as they reached the clearing nestling Darkwoods Outpost, sure enough buildings were shattered and the town boundary’s palisade was crumbling. The wooden outpost was blackened and awash by roaring flames.
“I have a bad feeling about this,” Fletcher gulped as he looked at the fiery chaos.
What a mess! Gladius thought to himself continuing into the burning town.
TWENTY SEVEN
“Listen up scum! We move out on my command. High Advisor Affluence has issued that we march to The Lava Fields immediately,” Groll, War chief of the Troll division delegated as he marched up and down the lines of troops.
Goblins, trolls and skeleton minions made up the army. The goblins whispered amongst themselves, their grey-green skin was protected by dull iron helmets and armor. They carried rusted hatchets and their slimy drool dripped out of their concealing helmets.
The trolls were hunched over and hulking, their mail armor rattled as they groaned and scratched themselves. They wielded hammers and maces and were deftly trained to smash enemies with little exertion.
The armored skeleton soldiers stood lifelessly in perfect formation, their dull weapons held in identical fashion.
The overcast gloom of Greed’s castle courtyard would instill an eerie sense of dread to even the toughest of soldiers.
Ravens sat atop broken stone pillars spectators to the devious schemes hatching below. The landscape of the courtyard was nothing but brown dirt; the glorious history of this royal castle which now lay in ruins had all but faded.
Greed himself had murdered the king of this once thriving capital and taken the throne. Within the space of a few years the land decayed, the buildings crumbled, even the dead rose to serve Greed. Greed’s very presence there was a plague upon the land.
After the troll and War chief, Groll had briefed his troops he issued his second order: “Once we arrive we wait for the signal to meet up with one of our agents.”
Evil grins of bloodthirsty anticipation dawned on the faces of the troops. The skeleton soldiers’ eyes lit up an eerie red as they awoke to follow their General.
Groll, now wearing his black cape and dark iron armor donned his horned helmet and mounted his horse.
His horse was a conjured hell-steed granted to him by Affluence for the mission. The dark, semi-solid mare snarled and growled with sulfurous breath. Its blood-red eyes glowed eerily to strike terror into those who were unfortunate enough to face it.
Groll adjusted his horned helmet “Move out troops! To The Lava Fields!” the troops cheered at this command and marched out.
The ground beneath them shook from their heavy steps. From the tower above Greed watched with a satisfied smile as he watched the army sweep across the dusty plains around his capital.
As Gladius and Fletcher marched with the dark elves through Darkwoods the woodland around them watched ominously, almost anticipating the carnage to come. Giant spiders crawled into their burrows, the hell-wolves watched intently at the passersby and the ravens above cackled contemptuously. The entire woods seemed to be sizing up Gladius and Fletcher.
Finally the group reached the shattered barricades of the village. Old stone buildings packed together in this small stronghold showed signs of damage, cracks and chips on their walls and shingled roves. The streets were in disrepair and a stone fountain of a mermaid was chipped and cracked, the water trickled out of its wounds.
The group continued marching down this miserable street until they reached an old stone clock tower. The tower bell swayed loosely in the steeple far above.
“Now you have seen the state of our village you must begin to fathom the threat we face in this land,” Magister Lunaris proclaimed once the group stopped.
“What could have done this?” Fletcher whispered in Gladius’ ear, his apprehension apparent.
Easily overhearing Fletcher’s whisper the Magister, Lunaris, answered his query. “The monster that did this we call ‘The Wickerman’ he resides in the nearby willow cemetery. Generations of our people have been buried there and now they are revived to act as his minions, ravaging our town and terrifying our citizens,” Magister Lunaris explained glumly.
The faces of the other dark elves matched his despair. “We are prepared to swear fealty to the crown of Myst City if you will help us rid our lands of this evil,” Magister Lunaris promised.
Gladius stepped forward and slipped his helmet on, “Let’s do this!” he declared which was followed by an erupting cheer. He still couldn’t believe he was working with these deserters.
The wind fell silent as Gladius and Fletcher reached the cemetery with the small handful of dark elves Darkwoods Outpost could spare.
The world around them lulled as they crossed the iron gates at the entrance, the dark elves tip-toed nervously behind, careful to not make a sound. The willow trees dotted around the cemetery were hunched over, swaying silently. The gravestones stood like stone teeth from the mouth of the graveyard grounds. This was the calm before the storm.
All of a sudden the heavy iron gates slammed shut with a loud rattling bang, startling everyone. The group spun around to see that they had been locked in.
The tall barbed fence offered no alternate exit. The iron bars had become their prison. One of the dark elves ran up to the gates shaking it frantical
ly before crying out and falling to his knees defeated.
“We’re all going to die!” wailed another of the dark elves. Gladius who was standing next to him struck him across the face stopping him silent.
“This only ensures we will achieve what we set out here to do,” he barked.
All around the wind began to pick up. The willows pulsed and the brittle brown grass rustled. The moon became the witness to the oncoming carnage.
“Get ready everyone!” issued Fletcher as he loaded his bow with a long silver arrow and tensed the string, looking around with one eye closed and the other keen.
Gladius drew his sword and stood silently, his red cape fluttered behind him in the gale. The dark elves mimicked his defensive stance and held out their swords. Fletcher’s plume and the dark elves’ long hair flickered viciously in the strong wind.
The nearest gravestone cracked and toppled over; the ground beneath them began shaking. A bead of sweat ran down Gladius’ face, luckily concealed under his helmet.
The first rotted hand burst out of the ground grabbing one of the dark elf’s ankles.
“Ah!” the dark elf yelped struggling hysterically.
“Over there!” instructed Gladius pointing at another zombie pulling itself up with its boney arms stripped of flesh.
The grotesque decayed face was crawling with maggots, it was withered to the point that it was impossible to tell if it was an elf or a human in life.
The empty eye sockets lay fixed on Fletcher. Fletcher launched an arrow straight into the zombie’s brittle forearm, shattering its single remaining bone. It fell to the side and it struggled to surface with one arm.
This victory seemed futile considering zombies were raising everywhere, groaning and gurgling. A crowd of them descended on the dark elves despite them swinging their swords wildly. Eventually they were engulfed by the mob and fell under a pile of them.
Their screams were replaced by the gurgling and munching noises of the zombies furiously feasting on them. Gladius and Fletcher continued knocking one zombie after another down. Gladius decapitated them left and right but it was fruitless—they continued shambling on, the broken bodies relentless.
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