The Battle of Ebulon (4 page)

The explosion was more
powerful than any storm that had struck the world, causing
everything to shake violently, many were terrified the world would
be rattled into pieces. The bellowing sound of it could be heard
for countless miles, echoing warnings of its power a thousand times
through the mountains. It was over in a second but was so shocking
that Juruz and his soldiers felt like they were trapped in a hell
that lasted ten years. The red light remained after the explosion
had taken place for a few moments, then it was followed by a
deathly silence.

The Soldiers of Ebulon’s
hearts were beating fast enough that they could actually hear one
anothers’ heartbeats; together it sounded like a chorus of fear as
they looked to the destruction. Many peaks that had stood for a
hundred thousand years were no more, completely incinerated by the
wrath of destruction. What had once been a clearing was now more
like a crater, the once white of the snow had been replaced by a
scorched black. In the middle of it all the Orcs still sat upon
their Wargs. Although now they were completely still, scorched
beyond recognition like the centerpiece of a demon’s
dinner.

At the least the earth was
still once again and the soldiers were grateful for it. Several
horses had fainted, their senses overwhelmed by what had happened,
trapping their riders underneath their bulk. Ebulon had its fair
share of legends and yet no hero Juruz had ever heard of was
capable of anything like that. In that moment, he wasn’t afraid
though his heart still raced and his entire body trembled. He was
grateful that Cada Varl had come to help the city and not to
destroy it. Because an attack like that could easily bring down a
city wall in a shard of a moment.

Every eye was now upon
Cada Varl who stood stronger than any mountain, the faint glow of
energy still around him. He had seen just how quickly the beasts
the Orcs rode could move, he had to be sure to kill them all before
they charged or made their escape.

There was silence for what
felt a very long time, as each soldier tried to come to terms with
what had just happened. Before that could happen, the near-silence
was replaced by the sound of drums. Everyone including Cada Varl
looked into the distance where countless Orcs were on the march. It
was ungodly what Cada Varl had done, but many enemies still
breathed. Juruz knew he needed to take command and quickly turned
his horse around.

“Nobody move,” came Cada
Varl’s voice, it was deeper than usual and more animalistic. The
soldiers of Ebulon waited with held breaths as Cada Varl watched
the oncoming mass of Orcs. It wouldn’t take them long to reach this
place.

Juruz could see that Cada
Varl’s eyes were still glowing and the flesh of his right hand had
become completely red. Cada Varl knew he had used too much of the
energy, he had gotten lost in the heat of the moment, these 500
Orcs were but an inch to the mile of enemies that were now coming
his way. When he had first seen their numbers he knew he would have
to use this power eventually, he just wished it wasn’t so soon. He
only hoped that he would manage to keep control of it. He glanced
over his shoulder and looked into the flinching eyes of Juruz
before looking back to the oncoming horde. He hadn’t come here to
be an observer.

“I’ll kill as many of them
as I can, but if any do get passed me it will be up to you to kill
them.” Juruz couldn’t bring himself to respond, he watched silently
as without fear Cada Varl walked towards the countless mass of
Orcs, his eyes still glowing, his sword ready. As every pathway and
trail the eye could see in the distance became filled with Orcs
Cada Varl neither quickened nor slowed his pace, he just kept
walking.

“And you said help would
never come,” Torin said to Ulka, in an attempt to add levity to the
air (which failed miserably).

Ulka looked to his
companion briefly before looking back at Cada Varl. “If ones such
as he arrive to help the other entrances, than Ebulon will be
saved….” Ulka said, as awestruck as he had ever been. Torin nodded
in response before Ulka added. “Let us just hope that when he is
through with those Orcs…He’ll return to his own world.” Without
knowing it every single soldier nodded in agreement.

This Entry Point features
a character or characters from:

How Gods Bleed by Shane
Porteous

Available now.

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/101158

Entry Point 2
-by Walter Rhein

Malik's head
hurt.

It had hurt for the last
few months, and oddly, the only thing that seemed to appease the
sensation was turning his head North and marching. If he turned
left or right from a specific line, the pain flared up around his
temples and didn't relent until he had oriented back on the chosen
course. Likewise if he tarried too long without making reasonable
progress. In that case, the pain seemed to start from the back of
his skull and surged forward without mercy towards his
eyeballs.

It ached.

Even when Malik complied,
there was a nagging annoyance. It felt almost as if a grain of sand
had become rooted in his head that could never be
dislodged.

To say the situation had
left him in a foul mood was something of an
understatement.

With every step, the wind
seemed to grow a fresh set of teeth. The ground beneath his feet
had turned barren and rocky weeks ago, which had been bad enough.
Today, however, Malik found himself trudging through a foot of
freshly fallen snow. Not only was it cold, it was wet, and Malik
had lost feeling in his toes early in the day's march.

His fingers twitched in
longing to draw his sword from its sheath and cut down something,
anything, in payment for the hardships he was being forced to
endure. His weapon was an oddity, even in his distant homeland. It
was a slender, single-edged sword with a curved blade. There were
no fancy engravings or augmentations to disguise its nature as a
killing tool, but to the eyes of grunt warriors groomed for a quick
death as front line fodder, the craftsmanship was nevertheless
exquisite.

The handle was bone, and
appeared to be that of a human femur.

The bone was wrapped with
leather cord for about half its length, but at the bottom the
gleaming white handle was decorated with a series of crude, almost
childlike carvings.

Malik didn't know what the
carvings signified or who had put them there. He had not modified
the weapon since it had been bestowed upon him for passing the
final trials of the Camden Guard.

The weapon represented his
first kill.

The memory was not
particularly pleasant.

“Halt!” bellowed a voice
from the road ahead.

Malik was startled from
his reverie. Under normal circumstances he kept a diligent watch on
his surroundings, and would not have been surprised. However in
this case, it felt more as if he were being driven like a slave
dog, so he had let his guard slip.

He looked up in the
direction of the voice and found that he was standing at the base
of an entrance gate. A twenty foot wide arch rose from pylons
embedded into rock walls on either side. Behind the pylons was a
portcullis and then a heavy wooden door.

At the top of the arch
stood a soldier in crude armor covered with animal
skins.

“Who goes there?” the
soldier demanded.

“I'm Malik,” Malik
replied.

“Malik who?”

Malik gritted his teeth. A
lance of pain stabbed through his eyes reminding him that he should
be moving forward.

“Malik of Camden, of
Miscony, of a half-dozen god-forsaken little villages and arm-pits
like this one stretching back a thousand miles to the South,” he
snapped.

“You don't know where you
are?” the soldier persisted.

“I do not.”

“The city you look upon is
Ebulon, many call it the jewel of the North.”

“Then they don't get out
all that much because it's an arm-pit. Open the gate or I'll start
scaling it.”

The solider recoiled at
Malik's words, but he continued with his duty.

“Why are you
here?”

“I'm here because of a
pain in my mind which will not let me be anywhere else has led me
here. It's been driving me onwards for days and nights and frankly
I care nothing for Ebulon, its walls, its treasures or its
populace. I know only that a phantom taskmaster has driven me to
this gate, for all I know there is a cliff on the other side it
wishes me to throw myself off of, but unless I obey I'm put into
agony. I ask only that you don't impede my progress because I have
no desire to suffer the inconvenience of dulling my sword against
your stubborn head.”

The solider seemed
confused.

“I was not aware that the
call could cause any pain.”

“The call?” Malik
said.

“Our dear King Yadi has
sent out a call to heroes, Ebulon is in peril. Could it be that you
are one of the those he has summoned to save us?”

Malik gritted his teeth as
the irritation continued behind his eyes.

“How about if we open up
the door and see?”

All at once, the solider
seemed beside himself with the desire to be
accommodating.

“Right away,” he said with
a salute, and a moment later the portcullis began to creek
upwards.

Malik got as close to the
wall as he could, but the delay still provoked needles of pain to
persist in their insidious, creeping torment. He situated himself
next to the small door that had been cut within the gate and stood
with his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose until the
portcullis had risen enough and the door cracked open.

Not waiting for an
invitation, Malik dove through, shouldering several armored bodies
out of his way in the process.

His act provoked a
commotion of squeals and cries, and several heavyset men lost their
balance and tumbled to the mud.

After the initial rush,
however, Malik stood absolutely still.

“What's the matter with
you?” a soldier cried. Malik turned to look and found it was the
same man he had been conversing with on top of the wall.

“I told you, my head hurt
and my passage was urgent.” Malik snapped. “You should have
instructed your buffoons to get out of my way.”

The soldier looked
bewildered, but he soon recovered.

“Well, if the pain is so
great, why have you stopped?”

The hint of a smile passed
over Malik's face.

“It went away,” he said,
“the pain I mean. It's gone. Evaporated instantly.”

He rubbed his forehead
before looking back once more at the soldier.

“What do you think that
means?”

***

The table was made of
crudely hewn oak boards, and the flagon that Malik clutched was
chipped. He lifted the foul smelling drink to his lips and
squinted.

“What did you say this
stuff was?”

“It's
called
Vaas
, it's
our local brew.”

“It's going to make me go
blind,” Malik quipped before taking a long pull. He wiped his mouth
with his sleeve.

Malik had discovered that
the soldier across the table from him, the same one he had met on
the wall, was named Stern. Joining them was another man who wore
fine robes instead of armor. Stern had called the fellow shortly
after Malik's arrival. He was one of those obnoxious folks that had
a title as well as a name.

“So
Regent
Jenner,” Malik
said, emphasizing the man's title in a way he hoped came across as
suitably disrespectful. “Let me see if I have this straight. Your
town...”

“...noble city,” Jenner
interrupted.

“Is about to be overrun by
an enemy force...”

“...Orcs.”

“So your witch
king...”

“...wizard.”

“Magicked up a cosmic
headache for any swordsman wandering around...”

“He sent out a call
yes.”

“And we're expected to
come and save this dump.”

Regent Jenner winced at
the word 'dump,' but still nodded. “That's more or less
it.”

Malik grunted
and took another swig of his
Vaas
.

“Let me assure you that
the call of our noble King Yadi...”

“Yadi huh?”

“...was never supposed to
cause you any pain. To a true hero, the call should have elicited a
sensation of euphoria.”

Malik scowled.
He didn't say anything, but he lifted his flagon of
Vaas
, took a long draw,
and set the flagon back on the table without ever taking his eyes
off Regent Jenner. When he was done, he again found his
voice.

“So what did you do to
irritate your attackers?”

Regent Jenner nearly
dropped the glass of wine he'd been sipping.