Authors: Jeremy Laszlo
He watched as the kingdom’s battle mages, the furthest from
the front lines, began to turn and flee. Even the blessed Knights of Valdadore
and Sara made their way back out of the lines of enemy troops. Only one man did
not yet intend to fall back. That man was the king.
*****
All of his best laid plans destroyed, the King of Valdadore
found himself with few options. Garret knew that the survival of the kingdom
depended on him. It was but one of the things that weighed upon his mind.
He waded through the enemy, hacking and stabbing at
everything that moved. Beneath his feet he stomped a gory path of destruction,
spewing blood and other fluids out in every direction with each step. Garret’s
mind was at the brink. He saw no way of winning this war. With nothing to guide
his thoughts but fear he continued his bloody passage, a malicious chuckle escaping
his lips.
The deeds he performed were gruesome. Those who witnessed
the king’s unending slaughter fled him. By all accounts the chuckling murderer
was a madman, and in truth it was not that far from reality. Though Garret
would like nothing better than to let go of all his fears and un-shoulder the
burdens of the kingdom, one thought held his sanity in check. Linaya. She was
perhaps perfection incarnate and for every imperfection Garret had, she was his
opposite. Together, Linaya made Garret stronger, more sure of himself, more
complete. It was the memory of her, and the fear of never seeing her again,
that led Garret to restrain himself. More than a kingdom relied on him. He had
sworn to look after Linaya and beyond that had fallen in love with her. He had
sworn to protect the kingdom, and so he would. Garret steeled his resolve.
Blinking his eyes to clear his vision, Garret viewed the
battlefield around him. The addition of Seth’s many blessed troops had saved
them all. Garret knew not how his brother had managed such a feat of creating
his own champions, nor what the cost was to sustain them. What he did know was
that his brother had lost near half his forces already, and at the current pace
of the battle would lose them all within the next few hours. Seth’s created
champions were simply not enough to hold off the forces sworn to the invading
king. With only two knights remaining to his own credit, the forces of
Valdadore were too diminished to fight in open battle. Garret had to come up
with a solution.
Continuing to hack through his foes, ignoring the occasional
magical blast that struck his steel skin, Garret plowed on through the foot
troops of the enemy, taking mental notes of the strengths and weaknesses of the
opposing forces. Many moments later, after having come to a decision, Garret
did the only thing he could do in good conscience. Taking a deep breath he
tilted his head back and called a full retreat once again. His voice boomed
across the battlefield, echoing off something in the distance before bouncing
back to his ears again.
*****
King Robert Sigrant sat upon his black stallion far from the
battle that raged across the lake. Messengers came in a steady stream to relay
the happenings upon the front lines. As expected they had taken the enemy
completely by surprise, slaughtering over a thousand troops in the first five
seconds of the battle. The young foolish King of Valdadore had then panicked
and called a retreat. It was relayed to King Sigrant that it was the king’s
brother, the so-called death mage, who had defied the order and commanded an
attack.
Valdadore’s leadership was divided. Sigrant grinned.
Another messenger brought him word that the common troops of
the enemy had retreated, leaving only the blessed behind. Could the day get any
better?
Giving his orders he waited patiently. His assassins had
made it into the fight. However, the enemy had hundreds more blessed soldiers
than the treacherous mage Vladmere had made out. All of them, it seemed, were
unnatural beasts, obviously belonging to the mage prince.
Then another messenger came.
“Your majesty, all of your assassins are lost,” the
messenger reported.
“All of them?”
“Yes, but they managed to take half of the giant wolfmen
with them.”
“Half?” Sigrant asked. “Only half?”
“Yes, your majesty, many of them were turned to ash by the
mage prince,” the messenger answered.
King Sigrant shook his head. It had taken two decades to
gather the assassins. Now all of them were gone. Fortunately for him, they were
but one wave of the blessed troops he had in store. Sigrant had hoped they
would be the only wave he needed, leaving the common troops to mop up the mess,
but he had underestimated the enemy. He would not make that mistake again.
Mages thus far had seen the best results, melee troops not so much. Without
further thought he gave another order.
“Send in the mid-levels.”
“Yes, your majesty,” the messenger replied before bowing low
and darting back into the crowd.
Sigrant could not believe the young king had come out to
meet him upon the field. He had guts. Unfortunately, for the young king, he
would spill them upon the ground soon enough. Sigrant waited for the next
messenger.
Not more than an hour passed and yet another message of
import was relayed. Valdadore had begun a full retreat. Sigrant smiled.
“Harry their lines, give them no reprieve. Don’t stop until
all are dead. Bring me the king’s head.”
“Yes, your majesty,” the messenger nodded.
Another fifteen minutes and the army began to lurch forward
once again. To either side of Sigrant his ice mages focused upon their task of
keeping the lake solid.
Sigrant’s kingdom was large, fully ten times bigger than
Valdadore. He had discovered years ago that those blessed with power were
becoming more and more powerful. Each year, those born with the gift were
stronger than the year before. Two decades ago he had offered an incentive. For
every child a couple had they were rewarded with coin. For every child with the
ability to wield magic surrendered into the service of the kingdom, the parents
were given land.
Births increased tenfold. The kingdom’s population exploded.
Sigrant grew rich in those with blessings, although the kingdom was now scarce
in farm land. More food was needed, and Valdadore was a land of rich soil.
Sigrant needed Valdadore in order to continue expanding his kingdom.
The previous King of Valdadore could not have chosen a
better time to perish and leave a child behind to rule in his stead. This was a
war a lifetime in the making for the new young king to face. He didn’t stand a
chance, and for that, Sigrant smiled.
Half an hour later Sigrant rode his stallion over the
threshold between frozen lake and beach. Proof of the carnage unleashed here
was evident everywhere. The ice itself was red. Though the vast majority of
corpses had been crushed beneath the feet of his army, pieces still remained of
those fallen. The king stopped to appraise one such remnant for himself.
The head was much as the traitor Vladmere had described to
him. It was canine in appearance with a shortened muzzle and sweeping forehead.
The flesh was covered in entirety with a coat of short fur. The mage prince was
said to have created this race of wolfmen. Sigrant wanted the mage for himself.
He could use such power. None could resist Sigrant’s offer either. He should
try and set up a meeting with the young prince before he fell to Sigrant’s
soldiers. Signaling a runner he gave the command to try and spare Prince Seth,
at least for now.
Ahead, a great circle of ash and charred earth bore witness
to the power of the death mage. Even now, Sigrant’s troops circumvented the
place, fearful of touching the ashy remains of those lost. Some thought the
ground holy, others feared it as being cursed. Sigrant pulled on the reins of
his stallion. Leading the animal towards the ash, many slowed in their march to
see what would become of their king. Uncertainty even showed upon the faces of
the King’s Guardians as they followed him into the ash. Just when all expected
him to perish on reaching the center of the giant circle, nothing happened.
Looking back to the soldiers sworn to protect him, King
Sigrant shrugged his shoulders before urging his mount forward once more.
Another messenger darted between the lines of troops.
*****
Sara was a vision sickening to behold. Blood clots from
those she had fed upon clung to her chin and neck where even now crimson stains
shone wet upon her flesh. Though most died upon her enchanted swords, feeding
her life with each blow, many had fallen to her thirst. Alone, Sara had killed
more than a hundred troops. Even with the constant exertion she felt better
with every passing moment. With each kill she became more powerful. With each
drop of blood she was pleasured with, her lust was temporarily satiated.
She spun amongst her foes like a dancer upon a stage,
twirling and leaping to a tune none but she could hear. Voices cried out around
her, some gurgling, and others screaming in agonizing pain, their bodies
falling to the ground like so many puppets with cut strings. Yet still she
appeared weightless, a vision of perfect grace and agility. So quickly she
moved, the blood from her blades rained down upon the air like pink mist
wherever she passed. Constantly in motion, Sara swept amongst her enemies,
avoiding stray beams of sunlight, fortunate it was a cold, overcast day.
Hearing the call for retreat she sought out the only one she
cared for, still standing upon the field. Finding Seth’s eyes she altered her
path. Spinning and leaping she carved a broken trail of gore and blood as she
made her way back to her husband’s side.
It came as much of a surprise when, landing from a leap, one
of Sigrant’s soldiers acted by instinct and before Sara could rend him in two,
the man slashed wildly at her face. Sara felt the force of the blow. She felt
flesh flay from bone as the blade slid down her eye and cheek. Momentarily her
vision turned red before it was lost, and hot, wet blood poured from the wound.
With more strength than she knew she could muster Sara reacted instantaneously
and backhanded the man. His helm crumpled beneath the blow as his head was torn
from his body and sent careening over those closest to him. Blood sprayed
upwards from his neck into the open air. All of his comrades nearby pushed and
shoved to make a wide berth around her. They imagined her a demon.
Before the head landed amongst the feet of his allies, Sara
stood amazed as her vision returned. Reaching up to appraise the wound she was
astonished to find it completely mended. So engorged upon blood was she, and so
full of life, the injury had healed almost immediately. Though it had not been
a fatal one, Sara could not help but wonder how much further she would have to
go to become invincible. She loved not being the helpless girl she had been
just mere months before.
Her husband was responsible for the change, and again Sara
felt urged to show him her appreciation. She supposed, however, that such
affections would be inappropriate for the battlefield. Sara returned to
slashing her way through the enemy who appeared to move slower and slower with
each and every life she ended.
Moments later Sara stood exactly where she belonged. With
her husband at her side, the two, now surrounded by giant werewolves, moved
away from the field of battle on a course to intercept the King of Valdadore.
*****
Garret fought on, peering deep into the enemy forces, hoping
to see an end. Dismayed, it seemed to him that the invading army stretched on
into eternity. The foot soldiers he waded through now were but the first ranks
of the army. He could kill them ten to twenty at a swipe, but even so it would
take him a day or more just to get through these most basic of troops.
Decided upon a path, Garret turned to assure himself that
all had heeded his orders and removed themselves from the surging tide of
Sigrant’s soldiers. He needed to speak with his brother immediately, and beyond
that the generals to his army and his counselors as well. His plan was not a
complex one, but he hoped it would be effective.
Over the next hour all of Valdadore’s blessed champions
extracted themselves from the enemy lines. Fighting as they retreated, they
managed to put some space between themselves and the enemy, though the gap
would close within minutes. However, minutes was all Garret needed to share his
plan, and as his forces converged upon a single point, he used the precious
time to dispatch orders to all who would need them.
“Seth, I have a plan,” Garret stated to a replied nod. “I
need your champions to fight alongside my knights. We will retreat back to the
city, slowing the enemy every step of the way.”
“To what end?” Seth asked, uncertain of his brother’s
intentions.
“From all over Valdadore people come to take shelter in the
city. We have to buy them as much time as we are able lest they be trapped
outside the walls with the enemy,” Garret replied.
Heads nodded in understanding from all those that gathered.
The king was thinking of his people.
“Can you spare a couple of your men as messengers?” Garret
asked his twin.
“Yes.”
“Then send word to Felonus to have his archers regroup and
form a line. When the enemy comes into range they are to fire a handful of
volleys, then fall back a mile and regroup again. Send word to the battle mages
as well; tell them they can join the archers under Felonus’s command. Let’s
show Sigrant that we won’t be herded as easily as sheep. We’ll make him fight
for every inch, but we have to use caution. We must slow the enemy’s approach,
but we can afford to lose no one. Look out for each other; be aware of your
surroundings. We have no idea what else Sigrant will throw at us. Fight
wisely.”
Those were the king’s orders. Instantly, Seth’s troops were
all notified as a pair of giant wolfmen raced off to find the fleeing archers.
Seth looked to his brother’s worried face one last time before he turned to
play his role. Garret appeared worn, as if the past hours had aged him. Seth
wondered how much more his brother could handle.