“Go ahead, Captain. The Queen’s orders are our priority, and I trust you to get this done.” Lee nodded firmly and saluted Brutus, then turned towards the squad of men before him.
“Bind him!” Lee yelled. “With both chain and rope. If he wakes, give him another blow to his savage head. I want three Guards with him at all times. He must not escape! Take him to the north side of the mountain and tie him to a stallion. He’s coming back to Mizra.”
“We should take that one, too,” Vincent interrupted, indicating Alvard’s dying body only a few paces away. Lee turned around and scowled at him.
“He deserves to stay here and rot.”
“That’s Olger’s second in command,” Vincent argued. “If Olger dies, the Queen will expect someone to brought back in his place.”
Lee looked to Brutus doubtfully. “Do as he says, Captain,” Brutus replied. “Better to have more Noman prisoners of war than fewer.” Lee gave Vincent a challenging stare but complied with the orders anyway.
The Guards maneuvered Olger’s limp body until he was chained up in an uncomfortable pretzel position. Then they grabbed his arms and legs and hoisted him up from the ground. Already, Olger’s jaw was puffy and swollen where Brutus’s fist had made contact, and his head drooped lifelessly to the side. Brutus wanted nothing more than to bash it in till his brains spilled out on the ground, but orders were orders. Then the Guards went to do the same to Alvard until both men were in custody.
With Olger and Alvard now chained up and on the way back to Mizra, Brutus turned around to face the gruesome battleground before him. The orbs of blue flame had ceased, but its effects were devastating. Mangled and burned Noman soldiers lay dead or withering in pain on the ground. Their normally fair colored flesh had been seared off revealing pink, gooey under layers that weren’t ready to be exposed to air. Brutus walked along them, sometimes catching glimpses of the still lingering flame, some cases having burned all the way to the bone. The foul stench of blood, body odor, and rotting wounds was almost too much for Brutus to handle; he was beginning to feel a bit nauseated. The remaining Samarian Guards had gathered in small groups, while others tended to their dead mates on the ground, trying to salvage any lives if they could.
Brutus turned to look over his shoulder at the crumpled slot canyon. What had happened today was similar to what had happened in Center Market with the Queen, although this episode was far more violent. He was shocked, however, when he saw the same being, apparition or not, still standing atop the canyon, watching them from above. This time, the being was making an exaggerated gesture with his arms, almost as if he was beckoning Brutus towards him, closer to the canyon. Brutus didn’t know why, but his intuition kicked in at that very moment, and he suddenly felt very, very scared.
“Men, we need to retreat!” Brutus called out. “Leave our fallen comrades and make way back to the mountain!”
His orders had barely left his mouth when, beyond the edges of the clearing, Brutus could seen an entire battalion of Noman soldiers burst forth from the boundary of the forest. This one was larger and more menacing than the one in which Olger had led. Perhaps the initial round was just a diversion, or the first in a wave of battles the Samarians weren’t prepared for. They were already out numbered, and now even more so from the men they’d just lost.
The earth below Brutus rumbled with their pounding footsteps as thousands of soldiers marched onward, cornering them against a canyon that was now impassable. There were at least five thousand armed soldiers, against a mere few hundred Samarians. The enemy troops were organized into five compact squares of a thousand men, each chanting simultaneously as they marched. Their voices carried all the way through the Sugarpine trees and up into the canyon. Brutus knew there was no way they could stop them, but as Samarian Guards, sworn to protect the Queen and their country, they had to stay and fight.
The remaining Samarian Guard crowded against the fallen rubble of the canyon with Brutus leading the line of soldiers that would charge first. At the back were the archers who would fire arrows from behind. Above all of them stood the man in the shadowy cloak whose dark presence was only known by Brutus. He stood stationary as wind whipped his cloak around his body, but still his hood remained intact, obscuring his face in darkness.
The Noman army had quickly crossed the clearing and entered into the woodsy battleground leading right to the canyon. The battalions were guided by several ranks of men on horseback wielding either swords or spears. The Noman commanders didn’t even halt their droves of soldiers advancing rapidly over the sea of dead corpses. They already knew Brutus’s small army was no threat to them. Three ranks of Noman soldiers advanced into a canter towards the Samarians, spears held out horizontally in front of them so they would strike and kill the Samarians upon impact.
Before the Nomans even reached the halfway point of the battleground, the earth underneath Brutus began to tremor. It was hardly noticeable at first, nothing more than a slight vibration, but the quakes quickly increased in intensity till everything in Brutus’s eyesight was dancing and shaking around him.
His thoughts immediately went to Talan, thinking that the miner had set off some sort of unplanned detonation, but there was no evidence of any type of explosion. Rocks from the piles of remaining mountain fell to the ground, breaking apart into nothing but gravel and dust. The Samarian Guards had hunkered close to the ground, covering their heads with their hands as the earthquake continued. Trees split down the middle throwing splinters of wood in the air. Clouds of dirt wafted up from the ground in dark rolling clouds.
Brutus tried to locate the man standing a top the canyon, but he could see nothing beyond the plumes dust and the gyrating movement of the world surrounding him. He looked across the battleground to see if the Nomans were experiencing the same thing. And then Brutus witnessed something he’d never seen before.
The layers of brown dirt and cool earth had suddenly opened up, pulling apart effortlessly at an invisible seam until a deep chasm separated the space between the two armies. There was a thunderous boom as a perfectly circular hole leading into the depths of oblivion was revealed before them. It was so dark inside the abyss that every ray of light that attempted to enter it was immediately sucked in. A chorus of fear burst forth from the Noman army while the Samarians looked on too stunned to speak.
Again, the ground began to tremor, and the land across the chasm lifted up where it was normally flat. The inclination of the earth on which the Nomans stood was becoming steeper and steeper with every passing second until their horses could no longer keep their footing. There was nothing to hold on to, nothing to prevent the Nomans from falling into the cracked earth. They plunged in screaming bloody murder, and no one tried to help them. No one could help them.
The chasm swallowed hundreds and hundreds of men, extinguishing their lives like the flame of a candle, and Brutus had to turn his head away from the sounds of terror. The earthquake still commenced, and the Samarians remained on their knees, bent over waiting for the quaking to stop. But it only seemed to intensify, and the mounds of rock that had once been the canyon entrance began to tip unstably behind Brutus’s men, threatening to crush them to death.
Small pebbles fell away from the mountain or broke off of the newly created cracks. They showered the men like hail during a thunderstorm, but soon the small pebbles became large rocks, and they were sliding down the mountain at intimidating speeds. Brutus looked up just in time to see a piece of rock all the way at the top break away from the unsteady canyon and plummet directly towards him. He spun his body so he was pressed up against the broken canyon and waited for impact, while the sounds of the dying Noman army reigned in around him.
Chapter 27
Two days after Evangeline recovered from the fever that left her bedridden, the Queen stood watching the Noman Overlord through a small window in his prison cell door. Captain Lee Atwater and a squad of Samarian Guards had delivered the near death Overlord to her the previous day, as she h
ad instructed, yet he still didn’t wake. She’d had him detained in an old prison cell above ground, because somehow Talan’s planned detonations had destroyed some of Mizra’s underground dungeons.
Olger had been stripped of his lamellar armor, shield, and weapons. He was shirtless and bloody, and his arms were restrained behind his back and handcuffed to the wall. Evangeline watched his lungs struggle to rise and fall as he breathed, and his face was badly bruised from battle.
The more Evangeline watched him, the more she hated him. He’d used her, taken advantage of her pride and precarious situation then used it as grounds to invade Samaria. But Evangeline wasn’t going to have him executed by her Samarian Guard, as was expected of any war criminal. Instead, she was going to do something that would disgrace the entire Winnser name. But in the end it would be worth it.
As soon as Evangeline saw Olger’s eyes begin to flutter beneath his lids, she burst through the prison cell door to confront him. Waiting outside was Lee Atwater and a couple of Guards, all there for her protection against Olger’s unpredictable and barbaric nature. Olger opened a swollen eye at the Queen who was hovering over him.
“You’re in custody of the Samarian Guard,” Evangeline declared sharply. “Imprisoned deep within my fortress walls. There is no possible chance of escape, so don’t even attempt it, or you’ll be killed on the spot.”
Olger didn’t respond to her threats, but just opened his other eye as he gingerly rose into a sitting position, testing each and every movement for pain. He leaned back against the cell wall and eyed her coldly.
“Did you hear what I said, savage?” Evangeline asked angrily. She didn’t have time to play games with the Overlord. When no response came, the Queen kicked him as hard as she could in his ribs where a purple bruise had already formed. Olger doubled over in pain, and a distorted moaning escaped his lips.
“I heard you, woman,” he growled in his hard Noman accent. He looked up at her with disdain from underneath dark tangled hair that reminded Evangeline of dry seaweed strewn across a beach. “What logic is there in having me imprisoned? I’m of no use to you as a hostage.”
“You can stop your men from invading my lands,” Evangeline beseeched. “Command your troops to cease their ruthless destruction of Samaria. End this war!”
Olger gave a rich, mirthless laugh even though his eyes were full of pain from his fractured ribs.
“I warned you what would happen if you breached our contract,” Olger taunted. “And now you are upset with the consequences of your own actions.” The Overlord snickered. “I cannot stop the army that advances through the Samarian forests. They are Noman, and their views mirror my own. Every man, woman, and child born in Nomanestan is born to believe we are meant to rule Samaria. Your ancestors stole our wealth and land from under us. We’re just here to take it back.” He smiled mockingly, and his teeth shone like polished ivory against his gold tanned face. “They will keep coming. Even without me leading their cause. I’m afraid our little contract opened the floodgates, Evangeline. I only pulled the lever.”
“But you are their leader,” Evangeline argued, stomping her foot against the floor like an angry child. “They will do as you say, and I demand you halt you troops! I will not tolerate any more of my people’s bloodshed on this land!”
“My men would rather see me tortured! Mutilated! Beheaded by a guillotine! I will not order the great Noman army to surrender to yuppie Samarian Guards or their petty Queen!”
Evangeline hit him after he said this. It was a fisted blow, and the large stones of her rings crashed into his teeth. Olger growled deep in his chest like a feral dog then glared at her with lips slick with blood.
“Just kill me,” Olger spat, crimson drool spraying on the floor. “But this war does not die with me.”
Irate, Evangeline spun around on her heels and stalked over to the other side of the cell where the small barred window faced the outside world. If she didn’t put some space between herself and the Overlord, she was sure to strike him again, and right now her threats seemed to be going nowhere with him. She’d been dealing with the tyrant for years now, and she knew he wasn’t scared of her. If he were, he wouldn’t have gathered an army and forced an invasion.
She stared uselessly beyond the rusty metal bars for a long while, thinking silently. Outside the sun was about to set. Half of the city of Alumhy hung in the shadow of the mountain while the other half still basked in the glaring daylight. The city was still, silent, and unmoving, almost as if it was deserted and no person had walked along its streets in centuries. As she mused, Evangeline remembered something Olger had said while they stood atop the Noman defensive wall observing the grasslands swamped with soldiers.
It quickly dawned on her that she’d had been going about this interrogation all wrong. At one time, Olger had expressed an interest in ruling these neighboring lands together, although his true reasons for wanting to do so were still unclear. Maybe Heath saw something in their match that even Evangeline didn’t see, and he knew that their collaboration would lead to Samaria’s success. The two rulers were more alike that she cared to admit, and that is how she’d have to tame Olger. Evangeline peeped her head over her shoulder to sneak a glance at the imprisoned Overlord. His arms looked strained and uncomfortable pinned up behind him, and his knees were drawn close into his chest.
“Captain Atwater!” Evangeline yelled. The block of a wooden door creaked on its hinges as it swung inward, and Lee entered. His face was hard and full of contempt.
“Aye, My Queen.”
“Release the bonds on the savage and have some food brought up.” Lee appeared to hesitate, as if he was going to refuse the Queen’s orders, but he turned and called to the other Samarian Guards waiting in the corridor. Three more soldiers entered the cell and went about harshly removing Olger’s shackles, shoving his beaten body in all directions. The Overlord didn’t give into his pain as he slowly tested his arms and massaged his muscles once he was free of the restraints. Lee addressed Evangeline.
“My Queen, would you prefer I stay here…”
“No!” Evangeline interrupted. “I can deal with the savage myself. Now get out.” She waved him off. The door creaked closed again and the two neighboring enemies were left alone. Olger’s coal black eyes regarded her closely, as if her sudden gesture of kindness was just a threat in disguise. He straightened his legs out in front of him and arched his back to relieve the stress that had accumulated there. His chest and core extended and contracted as he readjusted. Evangeline felt heat creep into her face, so she turned away.
“Are you really a Samarian Queen?” Olger’s asked mockingly. “Or just a nasty Slythos masquerading as one?”
There was no doubt what Olger was referring to; he’d seen the destruction Heath had unleashed on his army and assumed it was of Evangeline’s doing. Evangeline hadn’t witnessed it herself, but she’d heard the disquieted babel move through the ranks of Guards coming back from the field. Plus, she’d observed Heath’s dangerous antics first hand at Center Market, and could only imagine the magnitude of it out in the open.
“Something unnatural resides in Samaria,” Olger continued when Evangeline didn’t confirm his accusations. “I saw the earth attack my army. I saw thousands of Noman bodies buried under mounds of displaced rock as the mountains pulled apart. Your witch spells reduced massive canyons to nothing other than dust and rubble.”
Evangeline smiled inwardly to herself. She was glad Olger believed she had such powers and wasn’t going to tell him the explosions were a product of Talan Leatherby’s own intelligent mind, not magic. But then Olger continued to speak, and her smile faded.
“Outside the demolished canyon, my armies fought the Samarians. Brutally we hacked away at your pathetic formation of soldiers, killing them off by the handfuls. But out of nowhere, I saw orbs of blue flame materializing in the sky. I watched on the sidelines as the torrid blazes flew down at the battle below, only attacking my soldiers. The flame devou
red them like a flesh eating disease, consuming their whole bodies, leaving only burnt skin and rotted bone to be picked over by ravenous beasts. And yet the Samarian soldiers walked away unscathed when my troops should have crushed them!” Olger had his hand clenched into a fist by his face and he wore an angry scowl. “And now here I am because of your witchcraft!”
“I possess no witchcraft,” Evangeline admitted slowly, but Olger looked incredulous. “However, I do employ someone who wields the ancient magic. It was his powers you observed, not mine.”
A sudden knock at the door caused both rulers to jump. A solider entered carrying a plate of bread, hot porridge, and a tumbler of water. He set it down in front of Olger then quickly exited the cell.
“The legends are true then,” Olger mumbled in awe. “They still live, those who can control the energy of the earth and cast spells on the minds of weak mortals.”
He did not need a confirmation from Evangeline; her silence was enough to convince him. Every person in the Realm, regardless of national origin, knew the myths of the Slythos. They trembled in fear at the thought of such a creature, and that’s what Olger was doing.
“What could a sorcerer want with you?” Olger asked scornfully. “That kind lived only in legends for thousands of years, then suddenly one appears, but only to work for you?” Jealousy coated his voice like thick tar.
“He wants something that I have,” the Queen answered simply. The less information she gave him, the more Olger wanted to know.
“He?” Olger lifted an eyebrow. “I can see that.” Evangeline felt her skin begin to burn, but she just glared back at him.
“Don’t be moronic!” she barked.
“Then tell me what the Slythos wants!” Olger yelled, full of anger. Spit flew from his mouth as he bellowed, and the muscles in his neck were strained with rage. He was angry that Evangeline had the sorcerer on her side, even though he was the stronger ruler. Evangeline felt the need to smile twitch on her lips.
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