Jon’s entire world shrank down to encompass only the foe directly in front of him. The time for commanding his troops was over. He plowed through the elven lines, deflecting glancing blows and mauling the smaller elves who crossed his path; eventually his momentum slowed, and he paired off against a muscular elf directly in front of him. The elf swung at his midsection. Jon parried the blow and drove the point of his sword directly into the elf’s chest. The elf looked stunned, and Jon knew he had killed him. He withdrew the sword in time to block a downward swing that would have split his head in two. Jon pitted his strength against his opponent’s and deflected the blade off to the side. He brought his weapon gracefully around in a sweeping arc as he went down on one knee and cut the elf’s legs off at mid-shin. Jon lunged to his feet and moved on to the next enemy.
Jon couldn’t focus on anything other than dodging and swinging. He had no idea whether they were winning or losing the battle, but he did unconsciously take note as to how many of his fellow soldiers were close by. Every soldier that was worth his salt used this unconscious skill to stay alive. It was the only way a young soldier grew to be an old soldier, for a soldier who found himself alone on the battlefield soon found himself dead on the battlefield. As Jon had sprinted toward the elven lines, all of his men had been with him. Jon had left some of them behind as his rage initially carried him through the enemy lines, but as the combat continued, he began to feel more and more alone. With every opponent he faced he felt a little more isolated. His men were still around him, fighting by their captain’s side, but Jon could feel the momentum of the fight turning away from them. As the battle progressed, Jon had to move faster and faster because the blades were coming closer and closer, and in greater frequency. He parried blows as fast as he could, but he was no longer on the offense. Instead, he found himself fighting to stay alive. He managed to spare a moment between opponents to look around and saw that the nearest soldier was thirty feet away. His men were unconsciously pulling back.
Jon fought on, but it was no use. The elves were too many, and he knew he was a walking dead man. It was no longer a matter of whether he would fall this day, but a question of when. If that is my fate, then let’s see how many I can take with me.
Suddenly there was a loud cry that rippled up and down the lines. Jon had heard this sound of pure agony on the battlefield before, but never so concentrated in a single moment. Jon ducked under a swing meant to separate his head from his shoulders and looked on as many of the elves in view gripped their chests and fell to the ground. Jon looked back toward the main body of his force, wondering if the Sorcerers had cast some sort of spell, but he saw nothing. He looked back in the direction of the elven city and saw many more elves clutching their chests.
Combat spontaneously stopped as both sides looked on with horror. At least one in three elves was now lying on the ground in uncontrolled agony. As Jon looked on, it seemed like it was the officers and strongest elves that had been struck down, while the less robust among them seemed unaffected. Jon looked on, mystified, as the strongest of the elven army withered away with old age and died right in front of him. Some of the elves on the ground seemed to fight the transformation, and rather than grow old and die, they simply lay on the ground unconscious.
Jon did not know what had just happened, but it didn’t take long for the fight to resume. Now that one-third of the elven army had withered away, Jon watched as his men took the fight back to the enemy. The remaining elves were so much fewer in number, and so panicked as to what had just happened, that many of them broke and ran. With a renewed spirit, Jon’s men began to push the enemy back. What had started out as a pitched battle, where Jon’s army had fallen into a trap, had now turned into a rout.
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Gram collected his thoughts by looking down at the First Heir’s feet at the base of the sacrificial slab. Then he moved his eyes up to Devin’s face, and finally he looked up at the statue of Evona. It was time to begin.
“Evona, I invoke your everlasting hatred against the elves of Armena. Use the royal blood that courses through this First Heir’s body to destroy them all so that victory may be yours.”
The earth shook as lightning leapt forth from the eyes of the marble statue and electrified the sacrificial slab. Devin’s body tightened and convulsed uncontrollably against the pain. The lightning then left the slab and lanced out in a hundred different directions toward the granite pillars surrounding the altar. The magic-users chained to the pillars screamed out in pain as the electricity passed through their bodies. The lightning stopped, and Gram pronounced the arcane words that began the first phase of the spell. When the words were said, Gram continued.
“Demon of Despair, Ruler of the first and most powerful level of hell, I call on your hate of all that is good to wipe out the elves of Armena, who are the strongest and most likely to oppose your destructive power.”
At first nothing happened, then Gram noticed the shadows underneath the sacrificial slab grow longer and begin to take more distinctive shapes. Out of the earth rose two Shadow Demons, one on either side of the First Heir. The Shadow Demons had bright red eyes and talon claws. When they opened their mouths to shriek, fire and ash spewed forth in addition to their blood-curdling cry. The Demons reached into the earth, and each pulled out a spear made of shadow and darkness. On the end of each spear was a metal tip that was so hot it glowed a reddish white. The Demons pulled back their spears and simultaneously thrust forward with a mighty strike. The tips of the spears dug deep into Devin’s right and left sides and he screamed out in desperation. A few moments later Gram heard a chorus of screams coming from across the temple. He looked up and saw a Shadow Demon standing next to each of the magic-users tied to the granite pillars, with a shadow spear sticking into each victim. Gram closed his eyes and said the arcane words necessary to complete the second part of the spell. He pronounced each word with perfection before moving onto the third and final component.
“Seker, I call upon your power as God of the Dead to hasten Armena’s destruction. May your kingdom swell with the righteous souls of those who are about to fall.”
Gram opened his eyes to find a large white skull floating several feet in front of him. Everyone standing in the altar room knew the skull was Seker’s holy symbol, meaning a small part of his power was here with them now. The human skull was three times the normal size. It faced away from Gram and stared directly at the First Heir. The skull opened its mouth and shrieked like an animal about to gorge on a feast. Gram spoke the final arcane words to set the spell into motion. The skull began to glow with an unnatural light. The light grew in intensity until everyone in the chamber was forced to cover his eyes or look away. Then the skull lunged forward and exploded on impact with Devin’s chest, creating a low-level explosion that rippled forth from the sacrificial slab – altering time and space as it went. The shock wave passed through Gram in an instant, stripping the magical energies that made up his soul, and slammed into the magic-users tied to the granite pillars. Everything the wave passed through was thrown back with bone-crushing force, save for Gram. Gram felt the wave of raw power pass out of the altar room and slam into the rock that made up the Underworld, cracking the foundation and shaking all of Tellus to its knees as it propagated forward.
The chain reaction had begun. No one could stop it now, not even Gram. The Talon Guild wizard lost his balance and was unable to hold himself up. The spell had left him utterly drained. He fell forward and stopped short of the stone floor only because his torso landed flat on the sacrificial slab. His face smacked the hard stone. Gram managed to find the strength to lift his head in time to see the spell begin to take shape.
Devin threw himself over and over against the chains that bound him. It looked to Gram like the First Heir was in tortuous agony, being torn apart from the inside out. Devin’s body went completely slack, and he fell back against the hard granite of the slab, unconscious. Gram watched with satisfaction
as Armena’s pride and future withered away with old age in a few moments and died. Just like that, it was over. Gram could not control his body as he fell off the side of the sacrificial slab and fell hard to the floor. Gram could not lift his head to observe, but he knew the rest of the magic-user prisoners were experiencing the same fate as the First Heir. The combined power of Gram’s focus, the First Heir’s royal blood, and the raw magic potential of the prisoners formed the powder keg of deadly power that was rippling through Tellus. The spell would not kill every elf, but it would kill the strongest, the bravest, and those most likely to stand in the Talon Guild’s way.
Though exhausted, Gram was completely satisfied. The Cataclysm spell had gone off exactly as his research had indicated.
It did not take long for Keth to appear above him. The huge half-orc reached down and picked him up just as a normal person would pick up a small child. Gram could hardly form a coherent thought, but he did notice several of Keth’s men standing nearby. Gram fell in and out of consciousness as Keth and his men carried him back to the priest’s private chamber. They laid him down on the priest’s bed to recover, while Keth’s men from the warrior caste watched over him.
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The demi-god known as Venal fought with his mortal followers deep in the bowels of the Underworld. Things were going even better than he expected. After leaving the throne room of the pathetic new King of Armena, he made his way to the recently sealed entrance to the Underworld near the ruins of Coria. Word of his arrival spread far and wide, drawing elves from all parts of Armena to his cause. Even Venal was surprised by the passionate response to his arrival. This time there would be no stopping them. Live or die, Venal was determined to see his everlasting war with the Krone come to its inevitable conclusion.
His army threw open the collapsed entrance to the Underworld and destroyed the few Krone assigned to guard it. From that starting point he moved ever deeper into the Underworld, destroying any opposition that presented itself. Infern’s End, Ooltul, and Abaddon had already been destroyed before the army retreated to the surface. Venal and his Black Legion of Tellus took Perdition and Gehenna shortly thereafter. After only a few days, Venal found himself pressing toward the walls of Evox, the last freestanding Krone city, with his army by his side.
The Krone were pure evil and needed to be wiped off the face of Tellus, but there was no denying they were excellent fighters. Their plight was made all the more desperate knowing that if they lost the city of Evox, they would be a scattered and divided people for all time.
Oh, how Venal longed for that to be true. He could see the future so clearly, even though he was mortal at the moment and did not sit on his godly throne. They would take the final Krone city, and the last bastion of organized resistance would crumble. For all intents and purposes, the Krone would be no more. Oh, he had no doubt he would spend the next several centuries hunting down the stragglers, but victory at that point would be a given. The future was his for the taking. Life could finally begin anew. Perhaps he would find out what else life had to offer besides hatred and revenge.
First, he had to finish the task at hand by killing every Krone defending Evox. There was a chance Evona, or some other god in her pantheon, would directly intervene at the last moment to save the Krone, but he doubted it. In fact, he doubted it so much that he had staked his life on victory over the Krone by descending to Tellus. Evona would not dare directly intervene in the Underworld. She knew, just as he did, that if either of them died on Tellus, they were dead for all eternity. Evona was too much of a coward to take that chance.
Venal marched on Evox with his followers all around him. He let arrow after arrow fly, and each Krone he killed warmed his heart. It felt good to be mortal again, even for a short time. He had forgotten how great he was with the bow, even without his godly powers. His army was being attacked from all sides, but it was nothing they could not handle. He targeted the towers and walls of the city as his men used ladders and a battering ram to circumvent the walls. It was only a matter of time before the walls were breeched and the gate thrown wide.
Venal watched with joy as his men scaled, until, without warning, a number of elves fell off the ladders and plunged to the ground. The battering ram, which had been beating against the front gate with a slow but steady rhythm, suddenly stopped as many of the elves fell to the ground and clutched their chests. The battle spontaneously stopped as both sides looked on with a sick fascination as elf after elf fell to the ground in intense pain. Venal stopped firing and took in the state of his army. Every other elf in his army was on the ground writhing in uncontrolled pain. What’s more, the best soldiers in his army were the ones on the ground suffering.
Venal had no doubt the timing of this sickness was not a coincidence. Evona must have found some indirect means of bringing down his army without physically being on Tellus in the Underworld. Venal watched helplessly as every elf on the ground either went unconscious, or withered with old age and died.
The Krone wasted very little time, either in awe or in remorse, after the last dying elf fell silent. They surged forward and threw the remaining elves off their city walls. Venal resumed loosing arrows at an incredible rate, but the Krone were appearing faster than even he could fire. His army fell back and rallied around their god, except that he was not a god at the moment. His divine powers were limited, and the enemy was pressing forward. He did not think he could stem the tide of the enemy’s attack, nor could he transport himself back to the safety of his heavenly kingdom. He was in the fight of his life, and this time there was no option for retreat.
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Calim watched helplessly from up in his tree as one of the best Philosopher agents, an elf he had known for forty years, withered of old age and died. Calim looked on as his lifeless body fell out of the tree and hit the ground with a bone-crunching thud. All across the battlefield, the sounds of metal striking metal were replaced with screams of pain. Calim had seen more than his share of death over the years, but even he wanted to cover his ears to save what was left of his sanity.
The screaming slowly subsided, leaving the humans looking across the field at the elves, with one in three elves lying withered and dead on the battlefield. Then Calim heard the heavy clang of metal on metal as one of the human soldiers swung at one of the elves who was still alive. Then another human soldier swung his sword, and another. A few moments later, the battle resumed almost as if nothing had happened, except that the ground was littered with withered elf soldiers and the tide of battle had shifted. The humans pressed forward, gaining ground one foot at a time.
Calim had seen many battles, and he could see the ripples in the pond even now. The battle had turned into a race against time. He sighed as he realized he never seemed to have enough time. He drew another arrow out of his quiver and shot it into the branches of a tree farther up the line. The arrow lodged into the tree a mere foot away from another Philosopher agent. Calim turned around and did the same thing in the opposite direction. Then he climbed carefully down the tree, trying not to be noticed by the hordes of humanity passing by. He knew all up and down the line that his fellow Philosopher agents were doing the same thing. The arrows were the pre-arranged signal if things turned badly against the elves.
Calim reached the ground unnoticed and scanned the forest. He could already see the battle lines shifting. The remaining elves fought on, but the heart of their resolve was gone. They had just witnessed a third of their number fall, and they knew they did not have enough soldiers to hold back the enemy. A battle they had been handily winning was quickly turning into a rout. Calim stood by his tree for a while trying to pick his route and his moment. When the moment came, he sprinted toward the city of Ash and the relative safety of his elven brethren. He slashed and parried as he ran, cutting down everything in his path until he arrived safely behind the lines.
He jogged to the northeastern part of the city, and walk
ed into the designated meeting house where several Philosopher agents had arrived ahead of him. Calim wanted to wait for the rest of his agents to arrive, but there wasn’t time and he didn’t know if the stragglers were still alive.
Calim asked the obvious question. “What in the seven hells happened out there?”
One of the seven elves who made it to the meeting house answered, “I have no idea. We had them on the run. With the Philosophers shooting from high in the trees, the army launching volley after volley from the city, and the Council of Wizards hitting them in the rear, victory was ours for the taking. Their lines were in complete chaos.”
A second Philosopher said, “I admit the plan was working, but that doesn’t matter now. What matters is that one in three of our fellow elves is dead on the battlefield.”
Calim answered. “It wasn’t just those fighting that withered and died either. I noticed several dead civilians on my way through the city.”
The first Philosopher asked, “So what do we do now? How do we defend Ash?”
Everyone turned to Calim, waiting for the senior Philosopher to tell them what to do. Calim was normally a decisive individual, confident, and almost always correct. But not this time. Too much had happened for him to see clearly. Calim shook his head and replied honestly, “I’m not exactly sure.”
Calim heard a new voice from the back corner of the room. “I will tell you exactly what we are going to do.”
Calim’s head snapped to the back corner, where he saw Council of Wizard member Invis and what looked to be two other Council members. In his long history with the Philosophers, Calim had seen and spoken with Invis only twice. This was the third time.
Invis stepped forward to join the conversation. “We do not have much time. The Armenien lines are beginning to crumble. So here is what we are going to do. The city of Ash is lost.” There were gasps and murmuring at the sudden admission of defeat. “I have learned that Evona, along with the Talon Thieves Guild, has executed the First Heir of Armena and taken one-third of our nation to the afterlife with him.”
Do the Gods Give Us Hope? Page 48