MAGELORD SADIS

Surrounded by a library of dusty old tomes, and bookshelves lined with yellowing scrolls, Magelord Sadis regarded his study, the four walls decorated with tapestries commemorating their victories over the elves, a comfortable rug sewn from the skin of giants that had dared to defy them in ages past, and glowing bulbs of white fire that danced over his head. They like all things collected in his many travels across the world, and now it seems like everything teetered on the edge. Where had he gone wrong?

Kamral who must have sensed his morbid thoughts, shrugging his shoulders although it were the divine will of fate, his serene elven expression schooled in patience as he stood there by Sadis’ side. In his hand a list of all the mages that had been slain in battle, along with the casualties suffered in the Forest Tyrelesia.

Wiry and tall, and with a face that hadn't seen sunlight in years, the elf bowed his head low. “Perhaps, we should wait for the rest of our allies to arrive. Magelords Arcania, Shadowsmere, and Darkwind cannot be far behind us.”

Fists clenched at his sides as he sensed his master's growing impatience, Sadis knew he could not wait for help, if they did not strike now, the orcs would regroup, rebuild their shattered armies, and return to the field. But it was more than that, he could not allow his enemies to steal his glory. It was his moment, and his alone, and he would not share it with anyone.

Mouth turned upward into a sneer at the very thought of bending knee to any one of those blind fools, he tried to re-examine his every action. Learn where he had gone so wrong. After all, he had been careful, methodical, even forceful when necessary, but perhaps there was something he had missed.

Brows furrowed together, he could recall each one of his moves, his battles in Caldashar, the destruction of the border forts, and now this. Hundreds dead in some skirmish with legionary survivors. Perhaps some would say, he had been too cautious, too slow, and yet unlike his predecessor Barkan who had made the foolish mistake of spreading out his assault, he had concentrated his strength. The towers of those now sworn to his service used to ferry his armies into the field, while more of his strength gathered in Caldashar ready to consolidate what they had taken.

Finger tapping his lips thoughtfully, he waited for Kamral to continue his report, when he looked up at him in surprise. “Speak those last words to me again.”

Head bowing quickly, the elf repeated. “There have been sightings of a human battlemage of incredible power. It is said that it was he to have turned back the vanguard.”

A human? How strange?

Eyes studying the red ornamental tendrils that ran up the tower's inner walls, he looked up into bulbous red eyes that were carved into the ceiling, and could feel its pent up rage, and madness staring down deep into him. The swirls of light that flowed inside those two large glowing orbs, drawing him in closer, and showing him the many ways he would die.

Finally as the elf finished his recitation, he bowed his head, and said, "there has also been word from the Capital, King Tarok is said to be gathering a mighty host of orcs to the west."

Lips pulled back into a sneer, Sadis felt mirth bubble up inside of him at the notion that farmers, traders, and craftsmen could ever be a match for the power of his great lord. He who reigned over the world of nightmares, fears, and dreams. He who would one day rule the world above and below? He who would one day throw down the wretches that had dared to defy them. And on that glorious day, he, Sadis, would be at his side to watch the world burn and the Lightbearer die again. But for now he would have to keep an eye on them lest his brothers and sisters should decide that he had grown weak or soft. Perhaps a lesson in pain was needed to remind those backwards fools that it was he that stood a step below Lord Tazrael, God of Fear.

Half lost in thoughts of that pleasurable moment, it took him a moment to realize Kamral had not left his side. The elf's pensive expression betraying that he had more ill news to tell him as he brushed delicate fingers through his long black hair. "There is something else, my lord, Fengral wishes to speak with you."

Mouth jolted open in surprise, he wondered what the leader of the Shadow Hunters could possibly want with him? It was well-known that his failure to take a single town had cost him five hundred of his so-called elite warriors, and as a result he had fallen far in power. If not for the fear that he would one day regain his seat, he would have been killed long ago, and yet this presented an interesting opportunity.

Gesturing for Kamral to bring him inside, he walked back over towards his desk, and took a seat behind it. The obsidian black table, engraved with the ancient creed of his dark brothers and sisters, when the doorway opened up to reveal a shadowy shape that seemed to be made of a filmy smoke. The two glowing red eyes that pierced the darkness, cold and hard as it glided across the bare stone floor, and bowed its head.

Bonded to their demons on a much higher level, these mages had become one with the shadows, and had a right to be feared all across Coroleya, but Sadis could only feel contempt for their kind. "What do you want, shadow hound?" The words meant as an insult for creatures that slunk away in alleyways and fed on the refuse of the world.

However despite the grave insult, Fengral did not rise, but simply knelt down before him, his body a writhing mass of smoke as he rumbled, "we wish only to please you, my lord."

But even as Sadis opened his mouth to send the mangy cur away, an odd thought occurred to him.

Mouth widened into a toothy grin, he leaned forward across the table, "perhaps there is something you can do for me." And if anyone could have seen his smile, they would have known to flee, for his Lord Tazrael would one day rule this world, and there was nothing that could be done to stop him.

KING'S LEGION

In the light of the four suns that had finally shed the darkness from the blood-red skies, Waltan, a veteran of several campaigns, used his forearm to brush the sweat from his eyebrows. His body a mass of aches, cuts, and bruises arms he had collected from their battle in the forest. A brutal affair that had cost them forty-eight of their own, including a battlemage, and led them out here to this flat grassy plain.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Sighing heavily as he took in the ground ahead of him, he could make out at least a thousand goblins waiting for them in the long green grass, and shaded his eyes against the suns. Far too big for a simple warband, and all of them armed with spears, leather hide bucklers, and bare chests painted white with the symbols of their tribes. The banners that flew over their heads proclaiming a dozen or more tribes from the Kal’Kerie, warriors of the dragon, Wer’lak, warriors of the lake, and the Aroy’si’ka’lorie, warriors of the mountains. Some of them he had tangled with in his time in Caldasher, during the Goblin Wars, when these creatures had been led by a King called Krayok the Giant.

Also Waltan was pretty sure those banners were made from human flesh.

Throat parched with a sudden thirst from fighting most of the day, he swung his gaze to the left and right of him, seeing Crespen a solid brick wall of muscle, and Kysan, a nimble-fingered whoreson that had cheated Waltan out of more gold than he could count. If only he could figure out how the bastard switched the dice each time they played, but he supposed that was a thought best left for another time. At least now there weren't any more blasted lightning bolts, fireballs, and shards of ice to deal with. Bad enough to watch out for spears flying through the air without the added worry of a crystal shard that could freeze your veins to ice or have your body turned into ash.

Head moving from side to side, he continued to try counting them all if only to keep his mind occupied, and wondered how many tribes the dark ones had gathered together? Western tribals were a dangerous lot at the best of times, but were usually far more interested in their own petty squabbles. But that was another thought for another time, he chuckled ruefully.

He would have paid anyone a fair amount of gold not to be here, waiting to die in some foreign land, but as it was their company had been forced into battle time and time again. Way understrength, and having never fully recovered from their slaughter in the pass, their numbers had been whittled down to a bare two hundred fighters, most of them human like him.

Sword hefted in his hand, he wondered aloud "what’s keeping these bastards?"

When Kysan growled back, "probably waiting for more of their friends to sneak up on us from behind?" If so, Waltan was truly blighted. He could see no way to hold off this force, and if a second band took them in the rear, they would all die here, and never mind guarding the columns retreat from this bloody massacre.

Crespen with a face harder than stone, looked up suddenly, and went pale with fear. Kysan who was just as eager to be gone from this place, grunted, "what is it, elf eyes?"

To which the big fae that had always seemed calmed, moaned, "demons!"

Head lifted up suddenly from beneath the rim of his winged helmet, Waltan stared up into the cloudless skies, until he saw wave upon wave of black dots that grew rapidly in size, the groans that escaped from the men around him, quickly cut short as Tarlak, a bull-necked warrior with a deeply sour demeanor, barked out, "quit your squalling! You whoresons! You are in the King's Legion now! And we do not fear death!"

But as if to undercut his words right out from under him the goblins began to sway from side to side, chant their warcries, and beat their spears against bucklers, their yellow eyes glowing with murderous hate. The effect of so many voices lifted up together, weakening the bowels of more than a few as the smell of piss and shit filled the air. Tarlak, who looked all but ready to chew through steel just to vent his rage, banging his own shortsword against his shield, the rhythmic beat immediately taken up by the rest of the 3rd company as they shouted, and screamed, giving voice to their own fears.

The swell of pride and adrenaline in Waltan's chest, making him let out a grim smile as he lifted his head up to the sky. His voice joined with that of Crespen and Kysan, when the black dots dipped lower. The frantic tempo and beat, creating an electrical charge of adrenaline as the goblins slowly began to advance across the field. The few meters between them, closing quickly, when Tarlak bellowed, "shield wall!"

Heart in his throat, Waltan immediately raised his shield, touched its rim behind its sister shield to the left of him, and as one they slammed the kite's tips into the ground. The loud clatter of steel on steel continuing up and down the line for several seconds as rank upon rank formed up, and those behind raised shields to cover the heads of those in front just as fire bolts rained down from the skies, and spears flew through air. The small gap created between his shield and the one above him, allowing him to see the throngs of goblins surging towards him, before the two forces collided in a loud scraping of metal. The yellow slitted eyes that flashed past him in the chaos, cut down with a sword thrust as Waltan worked his sword by rote, killing with short stabbing thrusts. Tarlak his voice loud as an avalanche, bellowing at them to hold their lines even as demons descended from the skies to rip off heads, arms, and shields, their skin the color of blood, and horn heads crowning a face born of nightmares.

The cuts he received on his arm, ignored for the most part as he continued to thrust his sword manically, tearing through bellies, joints, and thighs. The speartips that got through the gap, hacked apart as the piles of dead grew into small mounds. The green-skinned creatures all of them howling like savage animals as they scrambled over their dead kin on all fours, while fire descended from the skies, wreaking havoc as warriors tried to close ranks. The certainty that he would die here, making Waltan want to laugh as he felt the shield bend, and knew it was only a matter of time.

Cheek burning from a spear jab, he thought about home, thought about his father tilling the fields alone in the unforgiving suns, and wondered if the old man would ever forgive him for leaving? Probably not considering the last fight they had had, but he wanted a life of his own, and yet it seems his was about to end.

Choking back another laugh as he smelled the sweet stench of death, he felt blood rundown his thigh, when something happened. Only he was pretty sure, he was losing his mind.

Wreathed in bright blue flames, a warrior made of fire scorched a path through the lines of goblins in front, and began laying waste to the area with fireballs. Goblins by the score burnt alive in screams of chaos, fear, and confusion. The warrior of fire, whoever he was, blazing a path of death as Tarlak roared, "charge!"

The bloodcurdling scream that fell from Waltan's lips almost primal as he dragged his shield out of the soil, and clambered over the dead, their faces awash with a kind of battle madness as they crashed into the goblins with pent up rage. His shield breaking goblin skulls as his shortsword leapt forward to tear open throats, before pushing forward again. Kysan and Crespen right beside him.

And finally when it was all said and done, and the enemy had fled the battlefield, Waltan collapsed to his knees gasping for air, when Crespen dropped down beside him, his dark elf eyes full of awe. "Praise be to the Lightbearer who guides all souls to salvation, we are saved!"

Kysan who stood there gaping at the bodies of the leathery winged demons that had been purged from the skies, muttering in disbelief, "burn me, but I think he killed all of them." While Waltan wheezed with laughter, he had survived, but as the warrior of fire strode over towards him, his face masked by blue flames, the voice grunted "go back," and Waltan knew his fight was far from over.