Third-Fist’s eyes widened in disbelief as he saw their mother shot out of her cloud by lightning. His brothers around him screamed and wailed in terror while he could not help but form a dark pleased smile.

He heard First-Cast shout at the other stormcallers “Sing you fools! Catch her!!” before he started to chant himself and joined the choir of dark ancient sorcery. Slowly the black clouds formed tendrils and gently caught their falling mother. She was brought down to the back of the legions and her favourite sons.

Third-Fist quickly walked between the squares of their legions while the western wind caught his old torn red cloak. Even the sudden unease of the legionnaires was close to funny to him. Only days ago the fools had cheered for their mighty unbeatable mother and now it took one shaman to have her fall from the sky.

Once he arrived back at their mother he could see the big burning wound the lightning had caused, right in the centre of her belly.

“Don’t worry mother..” First-Cast stammered and started to take potions from his belt. “We will fix you.”

Third-Fist felt a swirling pool of emotions inside as he saw her like that. It was excitement he hadn’t felt in centuries that mixed with the tiniest hint of fear. The feeling of battle.

Suddenly and before First-Cast could aid her she shot her eyes open and huffed like a wild beast. She aimlessly reached out a hand to her right and started to whisper old spells. A legionnaire was drawn through the savannah ground by invisible sorcery until his big face was resting in her small hand. He gasped while his skin slowly became old and wrinkled, his eyes grey and empty. Yet he wasn’t even granted death as their mother stopped quite soon. Her wound slowly closed yet her form became thicker and more deformed with every bit of life she drained. She still looked human yet the ogres fat had become part of her and what would have counted as almost unnatural beauty among the humans before slowly turned to a thicker and more common look.

“Kill her!!” She commanded everyone around her. “Kill her and take her head!!”

First-Cast answered with a wide smile like the dog he was, “We will mother, do not worry.” Then pierced at Third-Fist. “You heard her, warlord!”

Third-Fist nodded before a nearby centurion took word as well. “Why is there even a shaman! We should have heard if the north and south had stopped their squabbles!”

Their mothers eyes widened with a hint of panic. “If they stopped it would mean either he or the dragon is already dead..”

“No..” First-Cast echoed her words in shock.

Finally Third-Fist couldn’t contain his laughter any longer and chuckled at their terror. All their eyes were cast on him and in pure fury. But before anyone could scold him another centurion came from the legions behind him. “Warlord! The greenskins they…they are attacking!”

He turned around and looked at him with a smile of disbelief before his eyes were drawn to the mesa. Clouds of spears and arrows were shot and followed by orcs that jumped down. For a second it seemed as if they were flying yet they were merely gliding. For the jumpers all wore the remains of winged beasts. Eagles and bats, wyverns and giant beetles. His eyes followed those that jumped down and far too many were lucky enough to glide far enough and into the legions. The cloud of shots before each jump had given them enough room while the Ogres had to shield themselves. Those that were already down started a bloody battle where they landed and hid behind the big Ogres before them when more spears and arrows came.

First-Cast screamed behind him. “They are going for the stormcallers!”

“Smart choice..” Third-Fist said while his big smile continued. It was a grin of battle, a memory of the orc he once had been, and the wardrums that were pounding through his long rotten heart. The grin was cut once their mothers voice forced him to look back at her. “Take that Mesa and KILL that shaman! I will not stand to be ridiculed by beasts! Even less a dragon’s whore!!”

For a moment Third-Fist was to just follow her orders, yet today he dared to ask. “Why is one single shaman such a threat?”

Angry eyes of both First-Cast and her were the answer. “Why do you think I have not simply taken the dragon before?!” She asked him with continued fury, that finally made even First-Cast raise a brow at her. “Why do you think I even need you fools?!”

For the first time since the days he was a shaman himself First-Cast had a look of thought on his face while Third-Fist couldn’t help but slowly start to laugh again. As his laughter grew louder some of the nearby fools echoed him, not even knowing that they were laughing at. As it grew louder he glanced back at the Cliff and the gliding greenskins. He felt his mothers fury yet before she could do anything he composed himself, folded his hands behind his back and started to shout orders at the nearby centurions. “Well, let us answer their attack properly! We have the numbers and it seems there is only one shaman! If age has not dared to touch the mesa too much there are six gates. We have 9 legions! I want the first to fifth legion each march for a gate. Starting with the first legion and south west. The sixth to ninth legion will remain here with me.”

“And mother..” First-Cast added.

Instead of echoing it Third-Fist turned to First-Cast. “I want at least two callers with every legion.” “You are not to order them, warlord! Who do you think you are?!” First-Cast shouted back in disbelief.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Third-Fist continued in his ordering voice. “Unless they are smart enough to hide them, it seems they have only one shaman among them. So the other gates could do nothing against your sorcery”

“They remain with me!” Their mother cut them short. “I need them!!” There was fear in the fury of her voice and it made Third-Fist smile again before she continued. “Just drown them in bodies until you can crawl up the corpses! I don’t care, just KILL THE SHAMAN!!”

Third-Fist didn’t respond to her but turned to the Centurions once again. “You have your orders! Go!” He said and punched his chest with his fist. After answering his gesture the Centurions left him. Only Three of them, those of the staying legions, stayed with them, their eyes glancing with worry at their mother from time to time.

“What are we doing about those jumpers?!” one of them asked. Third-Fist looked over and saw more and more jump down. Some of them already wreaked havoc among their formations and once again he couldn’t help but form a bitter smile. There was a time when he had dreamed of an honourable death like that.

Finally he shook his head. “They know they are leaping to their doom and I think we should show them.” Again he turned to First-Cast. “I say we let their own corpses attack the gate first.” For a moment the angry glares of the once shaman and their mother continued before Third-Fist added. “There needs to be some retaliation for the mockery, dearest mother.” He hoped he could contain the mockery in his own words.

She nodded, a good sign. “You are right..they will get slaughtered by their own..no DROWNED by the bodies of their own!” With that she stood back up, spread her arms and started to sing her dark spells. The clouds answered with veins of dark lightning that were fighting those caused by the shaman. Quickly First-Cast followed her example and she started to slowly float again, yet she made sure to stay low this time. Only a few feet up as the western wind grew stronger.

Third-Fist gazed up to the clouds and the battle set between shamanism and sorcery. There was a time when he believed their mothers sorcery a sign of strength, yet doubts had been set over the many many years. Now as he watched how one shaman could stand against a choir of their casters and even their mother herself there was no question in it any longer. Even though the shaman was clearly and slowly losing, it was still a display of utter weakness that it took so many of them to make it happen.

He walked back through the line of their legions and watched where the jumpers were going. As his gaze went up the mesa he saw how their numbers declined, some by the jumpers, others because they were set out to the other gates by now.

Finally he saw a group of three gliders come for him. Either his cloak or his armour must have made him a grant target. Legionnaires in the squares next to him started to shout as well. “Warlord! Let me protect you!”

“Stay your ground, warrior!” Third-Fist shouted back and slowly drew the long thick curved blade from his belt. “I will honour them with death myself!” A smile had returned to the old warlord and once chieftain. His blade was made of obsidian yet from an age where it was not cast by the sorceress but granted by the dragon. At its hilt the sun lion roared while trinkets of their forgotten pride hung from it.

While more gliders came down to start their battles nearby he concentrated on those meant for him. The greenskins came from different tribes, that much he could tell. There was one adorned in the signs of the great cliffside hawk, another in the leathery wings of a southern salamander and finally a woman in the remains of a big darkwing bat.

“Death and glory!” She screamed and was echoed by the other two. She had a spear and an axe in her hands and was having them ready as she came down. She threw the spear once she was close and forced Third-Fist slash at it instead of her. She aimed to land the axe in his head, yet he ducked down for her to fall behind him. He sliced upwards again to cut the salamander open before he could even attack. Warm blood was spraying down and the salamander orc lumped down amidst the legion only to be hacked into even more pieces.

The hawk saw the attack and readied his two axes while he screeched. He came in last. For a moment Third-Fist thought the bat would come from behind but she was defending herself against Legionnaires. The fools didn’t even let him have all the fun. Still the hawk was smart enough to land before him and tried to go low. He dodged the axes of legionnaires nearby and rushed for Third-Fists legs while screaming and showing his tusks in pride. The old warlord smiled in the joy of battle before he moved sideways and kicked the orc into the legion where he got cut into pieces as well. Finally the old woman in bat remains roared at him. She had killed two of the legionnaires that had tried to stop her and jumped from their piled bodies at Third-Fist once again. He was about to meet her axe with his blade when lightning cracked above once more.

“Warlord! Another stormcaller has fallen!” A legionnaire shouted and Third-Fists eyes widened. Instead of meeting her axe he took a few steps back. Her raised axe was hit by lightning and once it crashed down it caused through the nearby Ogres. The old woman laughed, yet the lightning had vanished as quick as it came and Third-Fist took his chance. He rushed in and swung at her again and again. She blocked most of his strikes until finally a finger was cut and her axe fell. She kneeled down and held her hand when she looked up at him again. Third-Fist rested his blade at her neck. “Well fought.” He said with a smile.

She spat to the ground before he cut through her throat. While she was falling face first into the red soaked dirt, he looked back at the rest of the Legion. They were fighting, yet the jumpers clearly were not enough, and not an army of their own. They felled a few Stormcallers but enough remained to continue the dark song of their mothers sorcery. As he looked up, Third-Fist could see how true lightning was losing the battle against the dark veins and black clouds. Tendrils were coming down from them and to the dead. Both Ogre and orc were slowly given a life of undeath. His smile vanished when he saw the old womens cut throat as she was forced back to her feet. It was still bleeding yet she was dead. Her eyes empty and her muscles moved by the powers of their mother, not her own will. She took her axe and lumped forward, soon joined by the ogres she had slaughtered and the other two greenskins that had joined her battle.

Not long and the walking corpses were ahead of the legions and started to claw for the gate. He heard their mother laugh far behind him, yet she couldn’t even force her lightning to applaud her for once. Like the sky he ignored her as much as he could and walked at the spearhead of the three gathered legions at their gate.

A centurion stood on each side of the path between the squared legions and looked at him when he arrived. “Orders, Warlord?” One of them asked.

“We wait until the others have found their way to the gates and attack all at once.” He answered coldly while watching the corpses lumping through the sun robbed savannah to the gate. “By midnight we will be done here.”

“And they will serve, mother!” One of the centurions said with pride. “One way or the other.” The other centurion answered.

The old warlord sighed and nodded. Robbed of his smile yet again.