by Pedro Urvi
Count Volgren was galloping as fast as his mount could go, with the bloody din of the battle behind him. I must head towards the northeast, I must save my life and get back to Norghana. I can’t let myself perish in this foreign land. I’m too slippery to be caught. I’ll make it! he thought as he spurred his horse on.
He turned to see his escort lagging behind. “Come on, quickly!” he shouted. He entered the forest by a path and slowed down; among the trees, following the path, he felt safer. The battle was far away now, and with it the enemy.
Suddenly a man appeared from behind a tree and came to stand in the middle of the path.
Volgren was startled, but recovered and tugged hard at his mount’s reins. His horse stopped with a neigh. Volgren stared at the man blocking his way and was taken aback. The man was dressed in purple and wore a mask of the same color, with a thin silver line at eye level. There was something ominous about him, and a warning shiver ran down the Count’s back. Danger, clear and present. The man held a short axe ornamented in silver in one hand, and in the other something which froze Volgren’s blood: a skull with two red jewels set in the eye-sockets. This macabre image made him look round for his guards, who were already coming up to him.
A gloomy chant sounded. Its source was beneath the mask of that ill-omened man.
“Kill him!” Volgren ordered his guards.
Before they could charge, the dozen horses reared, suddenly possessed by a terrible fear. One after another, they dislodged their riders.
“What the devil…!” the Count cried. “Get up and kill him! He’s a Sorcerer!”
The Norghanian warriors got to their feet and drew their swords. Tall, strong, battle-hardened sons of the snows. Volgren knew there were no better warriors in all the north. The Sorcerer was as good as dead.
“These,” the Sorcerer said, with a gesture behind him, “are Red Arrows. The elite archers of the Dark Lady.”
And as if out of nowhere a dozen men in lightweight red armor, with scarves of the same color hiding their faces, appeared behind the Sorcerer.
“I think it will be very interesting to find out who comes out victorious from this encounter.”
“Kill them all!” Count Volgren ordered.
The Norghanian soldiers charged.
The Red Arrows nocked their short black bows in a single move.
The massive Norghanians took three steps forward, swords and axes held high.
The whistle of the arrows cutting through the air rang in Volgren’s ears.
The Norghanian warriors fell dead, each with an arrow in his forehead.
The Sorcerer pointed at his men with his axe. “An impressive exhibition of skill, was it not? Incomparable archers. They always fill me with pride. But my Master waits, and I must carry out his orders.”
Desperately, Volgren tried to flee. He wheeled his mount round and spurred it, but the horse was struck by a dozen arrows and fell dead instantly. The blow was painful, but Volgren recovered and drew his sword. Before him stood the Sorcerer, with the Red Arrows beside him.
“I am Count Volgren, Sorcerer! Tell whoever you serve that I wish to discuss the terms of surrender.”
“I know perfectly well who you are, Norghanian. My name is Narmos, Priest of the Cult of Imork” ‒ he gave a small bow ‒ “and my Lord Isuzeni has ordered your death.”
“No! Wait!”
“My Master requires your death, and your death he shall have.” Then with a wave of his axe he cast a spell, and night fell over Volgren.
A terrible pain began in his stomach, as if all his organs had rotted all of a sudden. He fell to the ground, gripped by a dreadful agony.
The last thing Volgren heard was the words of the Sorcerer.
“Take out his heart while he’s still alive. Our Lord Isuzeni has ordered it thus.”
Haradin stared at the battlefield. Thousands upon thousands of soldiers lay dead on that great open area among rivers of blood. The spectacle was so chilling that the Mage had to close his eyes for a moment so as not to be overwhelmed by the bestiality and desolation of it all. The battle was over, the black army had swept away all opposition, and now only death reigned on the battlefield.
“It’s… it’s… appalling…” Aliana managed to utter.
“Death, blood. Horrible, yes,” Asti said.
Iruki was looking on coldly. “The Norghanians have got what they deserved at last.”
“How can you say that?” Sonea said, sounding horrified. “There are thousands dead. It’s horrendous, it’s insane.”
“I say what my heart feels,” Iruki replied without flinching.
“And this is just the beginning,” Komir said. His gaze was fixed on the victorious black host, which was retreating to the sound of war-drums into the forest it had appeared from. Behind them it left a sea of blood and corpses.
Haradin’s gaze lingered on the young Norriel. A feeling of fear and helplessness came over him, because he too thought the same.
Somewhat south of the battle field, Cenem was gazing at the corpses in satisfaction. A smile was hidden behind his violet mask. His Lord and Master Isuzeni would be pleased with the success of the mission he had been entrusted with. The hundred Red Arrows accompanying him were finishing off the few survivors of the ambush.
“Sir, he’s still alive.”
“Bring him to me,” Cenem ordered.
That treacherous scorpion had survived his spell, and the attack of the Red Arrows.
Two of the Arrows dragged the wounded Nocean into Cenem’s presence.
“I see you’re still alive, Mulko.”
“Let me go… and I’ll load you with riches…” Mulko muttered.
“Riches are not much use if it means losing your life in exchange for them. In my case, if I were to let you go, a death full of suffering and never-ending pain would await me.”
“But you can’t kill me! I’m Mulko… I’m the Regent of the North…”
“I know who you are, viper. My Master has sent me to cut out your heart.”
“Noooooo!” Mulko shouted, but Cenem slit his throat with his ceremonial axe.
“Take out his heart,” Cenem said. “Master Isuzeni requires it.” He turned his back on the dead man and went out laughing.
Sacrifice
With dusk came quiet. The army of the shadows disappeared as it had arrived, and on the great open expanse there remained only a sepulchral silence watching over the thousands of corpses which were already beginning to decompose. Komir could make out little in the darkness by now. With his heart uneasy at the events he had witnessed, he withdrew with the rest to the camp in the highest part of the city, in front of the Royal Castle. Haradin considered that a night’s rest would do everyone good, since nobody knew what dawn would bring.
Komir could not sleep. He feared for the life of his companions. He did not even want to think about the possibility of anything bad happening to them. The grotesque massacre he had witnessed on the battle field had affected him. The invincible Norghanian army and the glorious legions of the Noceans had been horribly, mercilessly annihilated. Something which would have been completely unimaginable just a day before.
The warmth of the fire comforted him, and the nearby presence of Aliana on the other side of it helped to calm his spirit. He saw Haradin leave and wondered where he might be going at such an ungodly hour. He did not yet completely trust the great Mage; behind his friendly manner he was keeping too many things from him, things Komir was anxious to learn. He might be nothing but a simple Norriel, without refined upbringing or education but he could tell when someone was only telling him half-truths. And that Mage might be very powerful, but Komir’s instincts were not fooled, he was keeping important information from him, the reasons for which he did not know. He thought of following him, but he was too tired
He glanced at Aliana’s beauty and his spirit began to relax. The Healer glanced at him shyly from time to time, but did not dare start a conversation with him. Komir could n
ot keep his eyes from her, for her beauty rivaled that of the sky itself which on that evening, dotted with thousands of stars, seemed to cradle them. Thinking about Aliana, overcome by that strange exhaustion, he fell asleep. A voice began to whisper in his ear: Komir… Komir… Komir…
The voice was vaguely familiar, rough and cold, and although at first he could not identify it, the pain his body began to feel reminded him that this experience was already familiar. An image intruded all of a sudden into his mind: Amtoko beside a silver pool, inside a strange cave decorated with enigmatic runes. The Silver Witch was trying to communicate with him through the blood link that joined them.
“My summons seems to reach you more easily now you’re closer to home, young Norriel.”
“Now I understand the exhaustion… I’m glad to see you in good health, Amtoko, although if you’re contacting me, I guess it won’t be good news…”
“Ah! Well, well, what little affection you must have for this old Witch if you take her for a bird of ill-omen! Even though there’s something in what you say…”
“What’s up? I’m listening.”
Amtoko sighed. After she had gazed at the pool for a moment, her wrinkled face shadowed.
“The moment has come, Komir, your destiny is on its way to be fulfilled. I have seen what is to happen in the pool of visions. The lives of thousands of people are at stake, the survival of our people hangs from a thread. A thread which Destiny is manipulating. The moment has come, my dear Norriel.”
“I know, Amtoko. I’ve witnessed the power of evil. I’m prepared to confront it, whatever the consequences. I’ll face it and confront the darkness and terror it brings. I’ll fight to stop it. I’ll fight with all my strength, to my last drop of blood. My only hope is that courage doesn’t fail me.”
“It won’t fail you, Norriel bear. You’ll rise firm as a cliff before the black sea of pain and suffering. You’ll fight, no matter how remote and unthinkable the chance of victory, and when all hope seems lost you’ll stand tall and serene, for your heart is strong and noble, and will not fail you.”
“Thank you, Amtoko. Your words fill me with hope. If you’ve come to check whether I’m ready, the answer is yes. I’ve been preparing for this day for a long time.”
“I have come for that, young warrior, and for something else. Before you face evil, you must face another test, a test of great importance for your soul. Listen to your Norriel heart, as it will guide you along the path you must follow.”
“So I shall do, Amtoko, so I always do.”
“Before I leave, let me tell you I have performed an ancestral ritual of safeguarding. I have taken a great deal of preparation and time over it, sacrificed rams whose blood has soaked the sacred altar, but this old Witch knew the day was near, I felt it in my bones. It is a ritual of great power, and through it my magic will try to protect you, Komir.”
“Thank you, you’ve always helped me and I appreciate it from the bottom of my heart.”
Amtoko smiled with an amused twitch of her mouth, dismissing this.
“I’ll take my leave with one last piece of advice: when everything seems lost, remember who you’re fighting for, remember why you must fulfill your destiny.”
Komir nodded.
“May the three goddesses protect you, warrior!”
And the image slowly vanished from his mind.
Komir slept, and his dreams turned into nightmares.
With the first light of dawn, voices of alarm rang out. All woke and armed themselves in haste, fearing an attack. They hurried to the outer wall with hearts beating, filled with uncertainty and with fear galloping madly in their hearts. But when they reached the wall and looked out, expecting to see the enemy army, what they saw instead froze the blood in their veins. Where the night before tens of thousands of fallen warriors had lain, now all that remained was an empty field dyed red.
The corpses had vanished. All of them.
A dreadful silence fell over the entire wall. The watchers caught their breath at the sight.
“No… it’s not possible,” Aliana said as she gazed at the empty plain.
Sonea rubbed her eyes in disbelief. “There were thousands… where are they? They can’t have disappeared…”
There was a look of surprise on Asti’s face. “Not hear anything in night…”
“They’ve used magic… very powerful magic,” Haradin whispered.
“To what end?” Komir asked uneasily.
“That I don’t know…”
A murmur in which unease and disgust were mingled came from the Norriel. That sinister scene was not in the least to the liking of the superstitious highland warriors. They did not understand what had happened, and to them this unimaginable disappearance could only mean maleficent witchcraft.
Beyond the forests, half a league to the east of Rilentor, Isuzeni, with the gleam of victory in his slanting eyes, gazed on the thousands of corpses hidden in the great ravine. Gleefully he imagined the surprise and dismay on the faces of the defenders of the city when they discovered the disappearance. It had required a great deal of magic and a massive combined effort to make all those corpses vanish during the night without being noticed. But they had done it. The preparations for the grand ritual were almost finished, and Isuzeni, following his Mistress’s precise instructions, was making sure everything was in perfect order. He had divided the corpses into five groups, as the rite required. Each group had been piled inside an enormous circle whose circumference followed the limit of the shed blood.
Isuzeni climbed a low hillock. From the top he gazed at the shape he had created with the five sinister circles. Perfect. An inverted five-pointed star, inside a great sacred circle which contains it, just as my Lady requested. At the end of the five tips, the bleeding circles with the corpses. Truly impressive, not just for its enormous size but for the devastating power of the ritual the Dark Lady is about to perform, he thought gleefully.
Isuzeni gave the signal to his thirteen disciples, acolytes of the Cult of Imork, who now went to the center of the pentagram. Isuzeni saw them march solemnly, walking slowly in twos, with the thirteenth closing the column. They were dressed in long dark red tunics decorated with golden emblems. On their chests they wore the shining head of a golden skeleton inside a circle, which was formed of two intertwined snakes whose heads faced each other: the symbol of the Cult of Imork. Capes of black velvet with the golden symbol embroidered on them hung down their backs. When they reached the center of the pentagonal star they stopped and waited in silence. At the sight of his acolytes Isuzeni felt the sweet prickling of pride. Surrounding the ill-omened representation of the star of death, thousands of soldiers of the Empress’s army awaited the events in the most absolute and ominous silence. A silence of fear and death.
And the moment arrived. The Dark Lady, making her appearance, went straight to the center of the inverted pentagram. She was dressed in absolute black, with small intricate decorations in red. She wore her body-armor, black as a moonless night. As she walked, her body swayed with the perfect balance and grace of a goddess. But though her seductive figure might melt men, her incomparable and lethal beauty would drive them insane. The long jet-black hair, soft as the touch of a summer breeze, the beautiful pale face with huge eyes black as night, the aura of sensuality and power which surrounded her, captivated anyone who dared glance at her. And daring it truly would have been to do so, since a mere glance brought with it the punishment of death. Her beauty was as incomparable as she was deadly.
When she reached the center Yuzumi, raised her arms to the heavens as the thirteen acolytes formed a circle around her. She cast a spell using long modulated phrases of power. Isuzeni watched the scene in awe, possessed by the envy of the man who yearns in secret and never manages to act. Above the pentagram a dark cloud began to take shape, and little by little the sky darkened as if a great storm were approaching from the mountains. The light dwindled, and soon there was only the sinister shadow of a threatening
black sky. The sacred ritual to Imork, lord of death, begins. A ritual of such magnitude that never before has it been witnessed, Isuzeni thought, his eyes not missing a detail of what was happening.
The Dark Lady continued her spell, spreading her arms and giving out a black flash of power. From every one of the thirteen acolytes there flowed a grey energy, which issued from their bodies and sped towards Yuzumi’s chest. The Empress’s body tensed as she received the flow of vital energy from the Sorcerers.
Isuzeni sighed; his acolytes were being sacrificed to enhance the Dark Lady’s power. Only thus could his Mistress bring the grand ritual to its culmination. The first of the acolytes soon died, his life sucked from him. The sacrifice continued until all thirteen acolytes had fallen to the ground dead, without the least drop of life left in their spent bodies. A pity. So faithful, so obedient… But the Dark Lady’s wishes must always be fulfilled, Isuzeni thought, not without a touch of bitterness at the death of his disciples.
Yuzumi, charged with the energy of the thirteen acolytes, began the great ritual amid an oppressive heaviness. She pronounced long words of power, crying out to Imork, lord of the dead, and at last he replied with a deafening blast of thunder followed by a bolt of lightning which zig-zagged through the gloom. Instantly a powerful black flash burst out from the Dark Lady’s body.
She’s entered communion with Imork. Death now is power, and that power will unleash death. Isuzeni swallowed hard.
The five circles containing the corpses shone with the intense red of the shed blood. The Dark Lady cast a slow spell, as though this were some arcane litany. When she had finished, the great circle which contained the ritual pentagram shone powerfully red.
The thousands of watching soldiers knelt in terror.