Legosia established for himself and his men, a place of belonging. He turned from a general into a leader, mixing in affairs of the country, and affairs of his people. But the war never stopped. The bitterness of the betrayal Legosia had committed still burned Arneshal, who had gone mad in his absence.
Their battles were brutal. But the superior cunning of the Remont guaranteed him victory. Though Arneshal tried to hide in the city of Dephoni, Legosia drove him out.
-From the 10th Chapter of “The Remont of Elneshe”
From the time he’d spent on the field, Duke Lambre had developed a sense for the brutality of a war. It was in the sounds that rung out of each clash, of the screams and smoke that covered their eyes and ears. And it was in the smell, that repulsive smell of blood and bodies. The battle had just begun, and Lambre knew it would be worse than any he’d ever been in.
They’d come out of a portal to an awaiting army of Ravenishtani stretching beyond to places the Duke could not see. He blinked twice to make sure he hadn’t gone mad, and was regretful to find that he hadn’t.
Latren stood strong in the distance, full of fresh troops. Cannons covered the edges of the stronghold’s rooves, pointed down at the Ravenishtani army.
Their Afterburners dotted the sky, ready to rain down fire and ash. Their Planars opened pathways for soldiers to wheel in artillery. And their Devourers stood at the forefront of the armies, poised to run rampant and slaughter to their heart’s content. Automatons bolstered their troops, more than any that Phasgoria could spare.
The mountainside rose up to the left of them, ahead of which lied their goals. It reached far into the sky, much too far for anyone unhallowed to reach in quick time. Snow peaked those mountains,
Even the animals had taken notice of the scenery, fleeing the scene before it broke out. Both armies stood spaced apart from each other, far enough that they’d have time to react to any sudden attacks. But those attacks never came.
Lambre’s finger twitched. He wanted to access his hallowmancy, see for himself what they were going to do. But he hesitated. The first move was always the most important. And he wasn’t the one who would be making it that day.
Besides him, a horse strode up. It was a grey maned beast that was covered in armour almost as extravagant as its rider. King Selerin wore chainmail, carried a sheathed blade at his side and a spear in his hand. And when he rode onward, Afterburners followed in the skies and Devourers on the ground.
From his position, Lambre saw the Ravenishtani army part. From behind it, one of their elephants moved forwards. It also boasted a retinue of hallowmancers, making the whole affair look like a competition between the rulers.
The Armon was on top of it, but he held no weapons in his hands. Neither side spoke of anything, and even the soldiers at the back ranks of the armies were quiet as the Armon and King neared each other.
“Keep safe,” he told Noviselle. He’d known her as a hard-spirited Countess, but not many could stomach the sight that was about to happen. It’d be best for her to stay around hallowmancers who could defend her.
Lambre moved alongside the King, closer and closer to the side of the Armon. He only hoped that when talks went sour, Selerin would turn tail and run on his steed.
“Mortici,” Selerin said simply.
“I am the Armon, Selerin. Don’t tarnish my name,” Mortici spat back. Venom dripped his every word as he spoke in his own tongue.
“Armon Mortici. Finally tired of fighting?” Selerin asked, switching over his language to match.
“Not until I see you slaughtered,” Mortici replied.
“Harsh. But I guess I should’ve expected as much from a man who attacks fleeing troops.”
“You think I would let you leave after what you did to my son?”
“My men did no such thing.”
“And then you play the fool. It must be so easy, when you’ve been one since you took the throne,” the Armon said.
Lambre placed a hand on his sheath, but even a twitch of his muscles had the gathered hallowmancers looking at him. Even though he knew it wouldn’t work, he wondered how close he could bring his sword to the Armon’s throat before dying.
King Selerin raised a single hand for Lambre and he backed down.
“What would I get out of that, Mortici? I wanted this done more than anyone else. I was ready to leave, before you and your men started killing anyone who left the camp,” Selerin argued.
“You wanted to weaken us,” the Armon said. A tear formed on his cheek, and Lambre watched his fists clench and knuckles whiten. “A kinslayer such as you. Killing your own family wasn’t much to you, why would Merin matter? You thought it would rid you of us. That we’d retreat and let you take the Spear for yourself.
“But you’re wrong, Selerin. You don’t know the wrath of my nation,” Mortici finished. Lambre was afraid the Armon would jump out right then and there and start dashing towards Selerin, but instead he steadied himself on his elephant.
Selerin wanted to reply, that much was clear. But something had disturbed the man. Lambre watched him toil with words inside of his head, leaving the field in silence.
“We’re done here,” Selerin said, turning his horse aside. The Armon did the same, and they returned to their sides. Then, without a preamble, the King screamed.
“CHARGE!”
And both sides clashed into each other. Only a few moments in, Lambre found himself dazed and confused. He activated his hallowmancy, a blue pillar of energy shooting into the air. It seemed to set of a reaction, as more and more beacons lit up the sky, covering it in their fields.
Even though it had been growing darker only a moment before, the Commanders made it look like they were trapped in one large bewllan crystal. A thousand emotions dampened and heightened around Lambre, and many more thousands of souls came in and out of his range.
He grabbed the closest hallowmancers he could, pivoting himself in the middle of a formation of them. They batted away the opposition that formed around them, clearing up an area where Lambre could define the situation.
King Selerin stood in his own formation, the most well-guarded out of any of them. The other Commanders made bubbles of safety for themselves, drifting across the battlefield as they swatted soldiers.
That left one thing of concern to Lambre. He darted his eyes back and forth, questioned his soldiers through his hallowmancy, all in the attempt to locate Noviselle. Truth be told, he would’ve rather done something more important. But Galeon cherished the girl, and that meant Lambre had to defend her.
He found her surrounded by Devourers in a dell, fending them off with troops of her own. Lambre was surprised. She’d gotten so far from the centre of the battle in such little time. Her hallowmancers were doing an admirable job fighting the Ravenishtanis, but Lambre knew it wouldn’t last.
Circle around me, men! He shouted to them.
Lambre ran, carving a path across the soldiers and steeds that stood in his way. A soldier tried to slash at him. Lambre cut off his arm with a swipe of his longsword, continuing in a quick march. His blood coated blade felled more soldiers after that, before a squad of Afterburners appeared above him.
Planars, Portals above me!
Before the bombs dropped, several portals carved themselves into the air. They carried the grenades elsewhere, hopefully away from Lambre and his team. And though he made progress, even the Duke lost soldiers.
He finally made it to the Dell, where he found the Countess stepping back from a Devourer. Lambre appeared above her, slashing at the hallowmancer’s back. It caught his attention, thankfully, but did little more than pierce the skin.
He punched Lambre across the face, turning his nose crooked and causing blood to leak. Lambre recovered in a moment, taking off the man’s little finger with his blade. The Devourer growled at him and Lambre smiled through bloody teeth.
“Not fair enough?” he asked, taunting the man.
The man came in for another swing, and Lambre tried to block with the flat of his blade. It disfigured under the force of the blow, and Lambre was pushed back. He looked at his blade and lost the smile.
He tossed the blade aside, taking to fisticuffs instead. They traded blow for blow, but the Devourer clearly had the edge. That was, until he lost his hallowmancy. Lambre took the opening, pulling a knife from his sheath. He plunged it into the Devourer’s neck, blocking the passage.
As the Ravenishtani pawed at the blade to his neck, Lambre beat the man bloody. He fell to the ground with a whimper, giving Lambre a much needed rest. Just as he was healing, Noviselle appeared beside him, looking ragged and out of her depth.
“Not much for the battle, are you?” Lambre asked her, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the snow.
Noviselle shook her head.
“I told your men where to go next, Lord Lambre,” Noviselle said.
“Just sir is fine, Countess,” Lambre replied. He spared a glance for his morphed blade, before returning to the fray. Scanning the spirits of the soldiers showed them in a decent formation, guarding the dell from threats.
“Why come to this spot at all?” He asked her. The Countess found it difficult to concentrate while battles raged on all around them, but eventually she responded.
“Hills are big. Afterburners to guard them. Devourers to scare them off,” She replied in quick sentences. The Countess darted her eyes around, flinching at every explosion or trumpeting scream.
“Keep it safe then. We’ll use it as a front to push them back,” Lambre told her.
He ran off, grabbing a handful of hallowmancers from the group. Though as the Commander moved, portals appeared inside of his radius of control. Grenades left the portals, sticking to Lambre and bursting into flames. Lambre acted quickly, throwing himself to the ground and putting out the flames. His scorched clothes left a mark, but his bewl was already set on healing him.
He looked back to the portals, which had disappeared. They reappeared above his perimeter of soldiers, throwing more Ravenfire at them.
Split apart!
His soldiers started dispersing, but more portals appeared. They pelted the soldiers with tar grenades, sticking them in place before more Ravenfire fell.
Lambre scanned the spirits in his range, finding an unfamiliar man among them. He wore the Phasgorian uniform with a hat, stayed inside their formation, but his emotions felt different. He was more determined than a normal foot soldier ought to have been. No healthy amount of fear at all.
Lambre rushed the man, who looked up with green eyes. Before he could grab him, the Planar opened a portal beneath himself. He felt through his own gateway, and Lambre followed, falling as well.
He felt a lurch of motion as he readjusted, down becoming ahead for the Duke. But he’d grabbed the Planar by his scruff, and he held a knife to his throat. He looked around, finding himself surrounded by Ravenishtani troops on all sides.
They shouted obscenities at him, arming themselves with grenades.
Hold off or the Planar gets it!
He knew most didn’t speak his tongue, but it was enough for them to understand. They stopped before hurling the grenades, and stood in suspense. The Planar in his grasp tried to wriggle out, but Lambre held his grip tighter with each moment.
“Make me a path out of here, now!” Lambre ordered him, squeezing his neck to give him some motivation.
The Planar hesitated, raising a shaky hand as he carved a portal in the air. Lambre plunged his knife into the Planar’s head, jumping through before it closed.
He fell through the sky onto knee high snow, as a horse ran past. Lambre looked behind himself, but the portal still stood. Ventorious damn you!
The man he stabbed was still on the ground, but he hadn’t been the one to open the portal. Lambre tried to run, gain some distance towards the treeline, but was caught around the legs with a bola.
Lambre instinctively tried to reach for his knife, forgetting its place. He called for soldiers through his field, but most all of them were in their own fights. As more and more of the Ravenishtanis poured out of the portal, he cursed his luck.
Years of battle, only to end up dying in such a pathetic way? Lambre hated the prospect. He was a tool of Ventorious, and had much more to do before he could expire.
He poured bewl into his legs, snapping the rope and rising on lazy feet. His bewl was low, but Lambre couldn’t reach for his pouch. When he did, he received a talwar cut across his chest. It slashed deep into his chest, reaching bone and stealing the Duke’s breath.
Lambre fell to the ground gasping. He looked up at his attacker, another floating Planar. His eyes glowed green as well, only brighter and deeper.
Lambre smiled at him, waiting for the next swing that was to come. The Planar raised the single edged blade, shining in the evening light. It blotted out the sun, a shadow about to fall on Lambre Clasken. Soldiers behind the lines of Ravenishtani tried to reach for him, but they couldn’t reach in time.
Just as Lambre thought the swing would come, something came crashing down onto the ground. It hit the Planar so hard he thought it a catapult’s work. But when the snow cleared, in its place lay a bruised, but smiling Galeon.
“Sir Lambre!” Galeon shouted for him, offering a hand. Clasken took it, rising with one hand on his chest. He slowly stitched together the wound, more focused on the sight in front of him.
“Boy?” he asked, dumbfounded. “What are you doing here?”
Galeon looked behind himself, at the brutal affair unfolding.
“My part to end this war, sir,” Galeon replied.
As he spoke, the Planar on the ground groaned, delirious from the attack.
“Noviselle gave me the means to find the Spear, sir. I need to get it, before Arelia. Before anyone else.”
And just from the expression on his face, the Duke already know.
“You plan on destroying it?” he asked. Galeon nodded slowly. he never dispersed his jets, only kept them idle.
“Go ahead, then,” Lambre said.
“You’re not going to stop me, sir?”
“Selerin has his stupid ideas. I just follow them. Better for it to be in no one’s hands.”
“Then come along with me! Help me destroy it!”
“Like I said, Galeon. I just follow his plans. My work is here, yours is out there,” he pointed at the snow-peaked caps of Sanasira. “You destroy the Spear. I’ll keep the Ravenishtanis away. Understood?”
The young Afterburner hesitated in his response, but he gave a nod and a smirk.
“It’ll be easy,” he reassured the Duke, before blasting off into the sky. Lambre watched him depart for the mountains, only sparing a few moments for prayer. The boy would need it that day more than ever.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
He reactivated his field and saw the jumbled mess of soldiers around him. Each spirit grasped and ordered became a formation again, bulwarking against the steady force of Ravenishtanis that attacked them. He was that shield the boy would need to find his opening.
****
Selerin wondered why he bothered at all. He caught himself slipping during meetings and court these days, his attention elsewhere. He never wanted part of this. He only joined for his family.
Maybe that was the joke. The Gods had blessed Selerin with most everything any man could ask for. He would never want for more, and yet it put the ones he loved at risk every day. How many more dissidents would he find back in his court, once he went home? Would it be someone else occupying his throne, then?
Maybe that’s why he’d come here. To escape it all and fight for something much more simple. A weapon to ease his woes. Yet now he stood in the middle of a war unlike one he’d been part of before.
A death that wasn’t his doing, a battle he fought for no reason. Bodies fell all around the King. He only issued a few orders, most of the battle being done by his soldiers instead. Commanders on the field worked themselves to the bone, all the while he stood in a zone of absolute safety.
Selerin looked out to the winds, feeling envy for the first time in his life. All these blessings, and yet he was no freer than any other man. He could’ve flown away into the skies, had he been an Afterburner. Created a portal to places unknown, were he a Planar. Blend into crowds as a Devourer.
But he instead had a different power. One he would he call a hallowmancy.
More bodies fell in front of him. Selerin watched as Planar portals opened up beside him. before he could take a moment to respond, several Devourers rushed the portal, protecting the king.
“That’s enough of you! Focus on the enemy ahead of us!” he snapped at his soldiers.
The slightest risk sent them running in his direction. They’d nary let a pebble near his feet, were he to walk barefoot. It did him the favour of putting him back in the moment. Remembrance fell to the face of the battle, and the King positioned himself in the middle of his troops.
Overhead, boulders shot into the air. They hit a scant few Afterburners, but most lodged themselves into the mountainside. Selerin watched the boulders shake the snow loose, dropping down onto soldiers. The blanket covering the mountains shook, and Selerin held tighter the reins of his beast.
An avalanche, Mortici? You intend to rid the world of both of us? He grimaced.
“Men, we march onwards. Our mission is their artillery!” He shouted out, a voice honed by years of commands.
Portals opened for the King and his troops. Afterburners flew through to clear out the area only to be met with defensive formations. Selerin kicked his horse, and the beast ran forward.
Selerin’s steed was no normal horse. Tile was an Afterburner in addition to a horse. Though they’d never gotten him to place jets willingly, the King had found uses for the animal.
They barrelled on through the portal. Troops who were adjusting the ropes dispersed, as the king speared them through. He cut the harnesses of the trebuchets and catapults in a line. With each pass, their payload flew off course, or the machine would implode on itself. Selerin kept up those slashes, until a volley of arrows flew over him.
Most hit his horse, but one struck itself in his shoulder. He fell off of Tile, the horse running off in shock as Selerin recoiled. But he didn’t cry out. He gripped the wound in one hand, a reminder of his own mortality.
“My liege! You’re wounded!” a soldier kneeled down next to him. More surrounded him a moment later, until the King was covered in a bubble, cut off from the greater war once more.
He should’ve been mortified by the shot, but the sight brought him some clarity of mind.
What had he been doing, stuck in his own mind? I’d be sick of my own antics if I were to see it from another’s view, he chuckled, alarming the others.
“He’s injured. Take His Highness away!” the same soldier ordered the others. But as they tried to raise up the King, he pushed their hands away.
“Please, I’m not some child. It didn’t reach far,” Selerin told them, moving his shoulder as much as he could. The arrow fell out during the demonstration, freeing him from the weight.
“But, your Highness, it could’ve been your head instead,” the soldier argued.
“We’re lucky it wasn’t. I don’t know how your Queen would react.”
He pulled himself off of the ground just as someone handed him Tile’s reins. He looked beyond the hill, towards the back of the Ravenishtani army. More Planars, transferring in replacements to the artillery they had just destroyed.
They fired off their boulders as well, and Selerin watched them land squarely on Latren’s walls. The stronghold wouldn’t last much longer with those rocks.
“Find Lambre. Get him on those!” Selerin ordered one of his Afterburners. They took off with his message, and the King picked his blade off of the ground. Mortici wouldn’t kill him here. Not today.
****
Chonshi carried Mortici through the quickly degrading battlefield. The elephant stampeded over oncoming soldiers, crushing their bones under harrowing screams. All the while the Armon sat atop it, his black flowing hair tied in a knot behind him.
He held a strict gaze onwards, with a Commander beside him to deliver his orders. She was a plain looking woman, focused entirely on maintaining her powers. Two soldiers covered the sides of the Armon, nocking arrows ready to fire.
Their left flank is strengthening. Move the Second Devourer Squadron to the right instead!
He ordered through his mind. The Commander woman relayed his orders, and the swarm of Bladeborn shifted among the crowds. Firelances fired at the Armon, but a raised shield deflected the hot stones. He placed his back to the shield and scowled.
“Bring the Afterburners and Ravenfire!” he commanded the Commander.
“Your Sharpness, they’re fighting of-“
“Now!”
The Commander quietened, focusing on her hallowmancy. The Armon waited and watched for his flyers, who passed by a moment later. Fire erupted from the ground in front of the Armon, flames dancing in his eyes.
He swung the reins on Chonshi, making the elephant trumpet into the sky again. The beast moved ahead, through the fire and emerging on the other side. They covered more ground, trouncing the enemy and pushing them back until the armies mixed together in a jumble.
“More!” the Armon shouted. His Commander hesitated for a moment.
Ravenfire grenades fell again, more ground being covered in scorching flames. The Armon spared a glance for one of his soldiers, patting down a burning sleeve on his uniform.
“Tell the troops to stay behind me. No one is going to stand in my way,” he told the Commander. She nodded slightly, and the Bladeborn formed up around the Armon. He spared no thought for Dolish, or his lack of command at the forefront. And that would be his undoing.
The boom of cannon fire gave the Armon no time to respond. He saw the approaching cannonball hurl into Chonshi’s side. It ripped straight through his body and out the other side, falling to the ground.
Mortici’s Commander grabbed him as they fell, guarding his body from the fall. The hit had shaken the Armon, but he quickly recovered, rising to his feet. He didn’t need clearing smoke to tell him what he already knew.
When he looked back to Chonshi, he found the beast struggling for breath. The Armon growled, placing a hand on him.
“Where’s the tamer1” the Armon shouted back at the Commander.
“He… he didn’t survive, sir,” she replied meekly.
“Then you tell him to regenerate!”
“B-but, Your Sharpness, I don’t know if that woul-”
“Make him,” he replied, venom coating every word. Devourers circled around the Armon, while he soothed his companion.
“Come now, Chonshi. You’ve done it many times before. Just remember the feeling,” he spoke quietly to the animal, even as screams went up all around him. The Armon pressed a bewllan crystal to the elephant’s hide, but he refused to drink from it.
Slowly, its eyes blinked, looking at Mortici. In their reflection, the Armon saw himself tearing up. He wiped his tears. A ruler couldn’t be shown being weak. Not in a war, not now. The morale of his men depended on him.
So, he kept pressing the bewllan crystal to Chonshi. More cannonballs fired, but most embedded themselves in the dirt, with a scant few hitting soldiers out in the field. The Armon didn’t dare look at the sight of those bodies, mangled as they were.
Chonshi raised his trunk, sniffing the Armon’s face when it came close. Mortici held the trunk close to him, giving the elephant as much strength as he could muster. But then it went limp in his arms, and Chonshi’s eyes still.
“Your Sharpness, we cannot stay around here. Latren keeps firing at us,” his Commander urged him.
Mortici pressed Chonshi’s trunk to his face, heavy as it was. he had his eyes closed when the next round of fire came. Then, he placed the trunk gently on the ground and turned to his Commander.
“We go after the Fortress. Without it, we cannot hope to advance,” he fired off a list of Bladeborn he required for his next operation, even as more cannonballs soared overhead. The Armon finished his commands and waited for them to be carried out, just as a Planar appeared next to him.
****
Lambre’s hands felt sore after felling the third automaton. It seemed that Ravenishtan had put its greater number of Necromancers to good use. There were so many of them, ranging from wood to stone to metal.
Neither he nor his troops could keep them at bay any longer. They were forced into the middle of the nearby forest, holding off the automatons from the safety of a hill. Only then did solace come, in the form of Planar portals. A dozen automatons rushed out of them, and these Lambre recognized.
They wore the red of Phasgoria, marking them as their own. And behind them was one of the few Necromancers they had. The woman who followed the automatons had dark bags under her eyes, like she’d been awake for the better part of a month.
She moved in jerking motions, flinching at the sounds of clashing steel. Her hands clutched rapidly diminishing bewllan crystals, and pouches were wrapped all around her belt.
Over here, girl! Lambre told her. She looked all around her, since the sound had no origin. Lambre sighed, pushing another automaton down the hill. What was the girl’s name?
“Necromancer!” he shouted, grabbing the girl’s attention. She rushed over to him, waiting for his command.
“How may I serve you, sir L-”
“Just sir will do,” Lambre stopped her. The girl paused, confused, before replying.
“…Okay, sir? You asked for me?”
“You’re a Necromancer, aren’t you?” Lambre asked.
He recognized a spirit deep in the forest and pointed with a stolen blade.
“Planar hidden there! Snuff them out!” he shouted. Two Devourers lunged over him, snow trailing behind their crouched forms. The Necromancer woman placed her hands over herself, startled by the motion.
“Focus. Are you a Necromancer or are you not?” Lambre asked.
“Y-yes, sir,” the girl replied.
“What’s your name, then?” he asked.
“A-Argen, sir.”
“I need your help, Argen,” Lambre told her. The words seemed to straighten her out, as Argen stood slightly taller afterwards. He had his reservations about putting his trust in a Necromancer, but war made for new experiences.
“They’re coming from the forests. You tell me now, where would you hide were you aiming to kill me?” Lambre asked.
Argen took a long second to look around, one that irked the Duke. She should’ve been faster, had she been a soldier instead. But she finished, pointing towards another hill visible from their position.
“They could see you from there, sir.”
“But there’s no one there, soldier,” Lambre replied.
“We only need to give the order once. Their Necromancer could just be assessing the situation and sending their soldiers as needed.”
Argen lowered her finger, plunging them into her pouches to bring more bewllan out. Those crystals drained quick too, and her automatons went further down the hill.
“And it’d be close enough…” the Duke mused. He looked back down at Argen’s own works, nodding.
“Guard the position, soldier,” he ordered her.
“Sir, I’m not!”
“You are one, today. Ventorius guide you, Necromancer!” The Duke prayed for her. He grabbed a Planar by his thoughts, bringing him over. A portal opened on the other hill, and Lambre jumped through to snow.
He looked around himself, but found it an empty lot. But that was only his sight. He was close enough for his Field to encompass spirits, and he found five of them hiding beneath the snow.
Lambre jumped, plunging his blade down into the spot in front of him. A wail of pain followed the stab, and bodies shuffled out from the snow beneath him. Lambre gave them not a moment’s rest, cutting them down where they stood. Only the time he took to do so blinded him to the gathering armada.
The portal above him closed shut abruptly. Lambre looked around, seeing more automatons climbing up the hill on stone cold fists and feet. He braced his blade in front of him, trying to lunge at the first of those automatons, only to be met with clanging steel. His sword bounced off of the armour of the automaton, sending a dull ringing through his arms.
Lambre jumped backwards, towards the top of the hill, taking a look at his blade. Chipped, damn it all.
The duke turned the blade around to its pommel instead, using it as a bludgeon for whatever automaton got near. But the sheer number of their forces dared to overwhelm the general. He tried to beat them back, only to lose ground to their unyielding metal. Lambre’s hand felt numb from all the smashing, and he walked sluggishly backwards, breathing heavily.
Where’s the Necromancer? Whoever it was, they had to be close by. How else could they be powering the numerous automatons around him? Lambre used his field, only to notice the spirits of the automatons. No, beyond those! He sifted through the various automatons, searching instead for a hidden spirit. And he found it. Right at the base of the hill, hidden behind a tree.
An eye peeked towards him, meeting the Duke’s gaze. Found you. Enemies fast approaching, the Duke went for a chance manoeuvre. He held the sword in his hand like a lance, took aim at the Necromancer behind the tree, and threw it like a javelin.
It soared true and even managed to make the soldier flinch. But the blade only embedded itself an inch into the tree, bereaving the Duke of his hope.
“Ventorious damn you!” he let out a curse. But a smile remained on his lips. This would be an interesting conundrum to get out of. Lambre looked back at one of the automatons. He hiked a boot up onto its face and jumped off, landing on another and repeating until he made it all the way down the hill.
A hand grasped the Duke’s leg, and he was sent tumbling downwards. Clasken lifted his face off of the mounds of snow to find it surrounded by automatons. Remove yourelves! He tried to command them with a touch on their emotions. But their creator must have had a strong will, for none of the faceless machines moved.
Spears pointed down at Duke Lambre. For the second time that battle he found himself in a precocious situation. Ventorious, if you’ve any more blessings for your lowly follower, give it now.
Just as he finished the prayer, Lambre heard the whistle of an arrow soaring. The automatons around Lambre immediately fell limp. Slowly moving his eyes over to the Necromancer, Lambre saw an arrow embedded in his eye. The socket was bleeding, with the other eye wide open and unflinching.
Lambre looked to where it had come from and saw an old man standing there. He had long white hair flowing down in a ponytail, and another arrow knocked in a longbow. Lambre didn’t know whether it was the snow or the man had such light skin, but he wore a Phasgorian uniform, and that was enough for him.
“Sir Lambre. You shouldn’t stray so far from your soldiers,” the man said as he stowed his equipment.
“I don’t see your fellow archers around, either? Where are they?”
“Defending Latren from Armon Mortici, sir,” the old soldier replied.
Lambre cursed. Mortici was going after the stronghold? That fortress was standing on sticks at this point.
“Tsk. Come with me, soldier.”
****
A medic stitched Mortici up as Latren fell. He thought that he could possibly have a picnic with the number of safety precautions his troops had taken. From above Afterburners pelted the stronghold with grenades, while Devourers and Planars breached the walls. The infestation of soldiers continued tunnelling into the fortress, protested only by King Selerin’s forces.
The King himself was in a similar position to Mortici. While others fought for him, he watched as the skies filled with explosions of grenades and firelances. At any moment it looked like the battle could go either person’s way.
And then it finally happened. The first wall fell, collapsing under the sustained weight of the battle. Platforms that rested above gave way and soldiers dropped to the ground. As the dust cleared, King Selerin held tightly to the reins of his horse.
He’d slain yet another soldier, but more would take his place. And the Ravenishtani army had finally cracked the armour of Phasgoria.
It didn’t take long after that for the second of the walls to fall. It was a reaction, one after another each side fell.
Mortici waved a hand in front of him and a line of catapults appeared.
“I thought we’d taken care of those,” Selerin asked in awe. But behind the catapults were portals. You could never account for how many Planars were present in a field at a time. And Selerin had grievously miscounted this time.
“Stop them before they launch!” Selerin shouted at his man. they began carving up portals of their own. But the effort was for naught, because the catapults launched their stones soon after.
They landed on what remained of Latren, smashing it to the ground with a crash. Cheers went up from the enemy’s side, and Selerin growled in frustration.
“So many men to build it. So many who died for it. When will your madness end, Mortici!” he shouted, raising his sword high above him.
****
Clasken had to admit that the old man was talented. He had a sharp eye for hidden enemies, would fire at them before the Duke could even react. He’d figured the old man was a hallowmancer, by how long he’d been keeping up, but the level of control he exerted spoke to something much more experienced.
“What’s your name, archer?” Duke Lambre asked him.
The old soldier opened his mouth, before firing another arrow and responding.
“Dero Shrine.”
“You shoot well. Why haven’t I heard of you yet?” Duke Lambre asked.
“Was recently transferred, sir.”
“Oh? I didn’t think the King would overlook someone so gifted.”
“I’m just an archer, sir. I don’t know much of court workings or nobility.”
“And yet you know enough about me to know how I prefer to be called, don’t you?” Lambre replied.
Dero let another arrow loose, but his eyes were solely on the Duke as he did. They both looked at each other for a long moment before Lambre broke contact.
“None that it’s any of my business. Come now, we’ve got to get to the King. Unless you’d rather be elsewhere?” Lambre asked him.
“Aye, sir.”
“The other archers are that way,” Lambre pointed at the squadrons of soldiers in the distance. The two of them separated, though Lambre made sure to do a slight scan of Dero’s spirit. No malice to be found. An odd fellow he was, but Lambre didn’t expect treachery. Still, he roused a few of his other soldiers to follow the archer on his way, if only to keep an eye on him.
Further ahead, he scaled bodies and burnt hills until he reached the King. Lambre’s men cheered a small cheer for the king, who waved them all down.
“Not the time for reunion, Lambre. Report what you’ve done,” Selerin asked him.
“Crippled five of their Necromancers. Should be enough to stall them for the moment,” Lambre replied. “You’ve looked better, Your Highness.”
“Latren’s gone, Lambre. We’re on the backfoot and it’s not getting any better for us,” Selerin replied. The usual jovial mask he wore was gone, replaced with quivering eyes that held the weight of a nation.
“I’m already working on it, Your Highness. We’re targeting their Planars as we speak. Do you have any further orders to relay?” Lambre asked.
Selerin kept staring at the rubble of the stronghold.
“King Selerin, do you have any commands?”
“Wha- Of course. Tell the troops to band together. Divide and conquer. We’ll need Afterburners and…”
It was all it took for the King to regain his composure. Lambre acted as the relay, delivering the King’s orders to his vast disorganized legion. Those that were engaged with Ravenishtanis disengaged, coalescing on one side of the ruins of Latren.
But it wasn’t only them. The Armon noticed their play, and focused his own troops as well. Both of the armies left themselves open, and soldiers swept past the openings into either camp.
“Will he take the bait?” Lambre asked him.
“We’ve attacked his camps already. If Mortici has any sense left, he’ll send soldiers back to his camp to make sure of their safety.”
Selerin watched from atop his horse, waiting for the Armon to turn. For any of his forces to split off. But as he continued to wait, the truth became clear to him. He wouldn’t leave till Selerin himself was gone.
“A stalemate.”
“Yes. And we’ve no way out of it,” Selerin grunted. The Grand Duchess was his only hope now. Her and the Spear they so desperately needed.
****
The battle progressed. The Phasgorians tried to shove Armon Mortici’s forces backwards. They destroyed the catapults, but those were only a distraction. Most of the commands were given by his Commanders and Generals, but Mortici made sure to keep Selerin’s troops on the defensive.
A rain of arrows fell to the front line of the Phasgorian troops, pushing back their Afterburners and dissuading their Devourers. Their own archers were guarded by more Planars, which sent any attack towards his forces back at the enemy. Portals popped open in various places in the air. They expanded to encompass any volley and throw it right back at Phasgoria.
But despite their offensive, they were still being pushed back. Selerin is taking this seriously now, is he? Mortici scoffed. He ran with a sword in hand and sat upon another war elephant. When he found an opening within the ranks of the Phasgorians, he shouted to his own troops.
“Create a portal behind them. They’ve left themselves exposed!” he shouted over the sound of fire and bombs.
And his Planars listened. It gave them enough time to move their troops behind the wall of Phasgorian soldiers. They rushed through, trampling whatever came in their path with their war elephants. Soldiers flanked out from the portals and so did Bladeborn, clearing the new area and pressing their newfound advantage. When the Armon had made it, he realized a crucial error.
A distant boom echoed from above him. The Armon looked above towards the slopes of the mountain, and found them moving. An avalanche.
Snow began to fall. The rushing wave continued to grow as it made its way downwards. and it was as if the entire army was caught in some sort of trance, for they barely moved. Mortici could scarcely take a breath before someone shouted for him, and he was snatched off the top of his war elephant.
The Afterburner, whoever she was, had taken him out only moments before the crash hit them. A mountain of snow buried both armies, and Mortici could only see it from the closing view of a portal.