The scout said: “The village is beyond this patch of forest, down this road. It’s mostly abandoned and ruined. Some houses are burned down but most are wrecked. But we spotted dark figures moving around and bodies lying on the ground.”
“Very well,” said Orsin. “And about the terrain beyond the village, is there danger of a trap or surprise attack?”
“No, captain! It’s open fields and soft ground. There’s no possibility for an ambush.”
“Very good. Anything else?”
The scout seemed reluctant to share his final piece of information, avoiding eye contact.
“Speak up.”
“Sir, there were some footprints leading into the village that didn’t resemble anything human—”
“Cavalry?”
“No, sir, but like tracks from some large animal that we couldn’t recognize. And the size was all wrong, too large and irregular. I just couldn’t make any sense of it, captain. And, um, there were some tracks that seemed to be burned into the ground.”
“Impossible!” said Orsin hotly, but then turned to me. “Or is it?”
“I’m afraid it’s very possible. That might be the man I told you about.”
Orsin’s facade of strength dropped for a bit before continuing. “No matter, we shall slay all who stand before the mighty corisseri. Rogue sorcerers or not. Ride on! We are gaining on them.”
The Lottie Corisseri obeyed without question, and formed into a proper column of war, weapons drawn, and rode along the narrow road, and into the ruined village.
There were a few corpses scattered about, but not many. Those precious few were mangled and half-eaten, with limbs torn off or pieces missing, but not older than a few days. Much of the village had been destroyed after the enemy host passed through, and pressed into the ground were footprints of men and something else. And indeed, I saw a line of burned scorch marks as well, hooflike that led westward.
The dark figures that the scouts had seen, were not stumbling around as if they had lost their minds. These were wretched, distorted creatures—emaciated and thin, and with black eyes and stonelike skin with boils and hard scabs on them. Features on their faces were dark and their eyes reflected no light or had any thought behind them. I wondered if these even had a consciousness left.
At the sight of our approach, they managed to flee in some sort of terror, a realization of their doom still working in their primitive minds. They fled, stumbling and tripping over themselves, but the flight was futile. All were cut down without mercy.
And in the darkness of the night, not many corisseri spoke about those miserable creatures that were slayed here. All they did was their duty, wearing grim expressions, and spoke nothing afterward.
This dilapidated village offered no resources worth taking, and even if it had, none would dare take it. The tracks of the enemy war host were impossible to miss and led us along the mountain range, due west. Going forward, we rode up and down low hills, the terrain becoming hilly. The night seemed to stretch endlessly, and it became ever colder. In some deeper pits, pockets of water were glazed with a thin layer of ice.
As the night wore on, my fingers had become dreadfully stiff, and a piercing ache crept upward along my bones and radiated into my shoulder. It was a miserable experience, but I pressed on without complaint. But as we ever ventured on, a blanket of dread fell upon me, and my hands trembled and my heart raced. This was not because of blood magic use, Goxhandar told me, but something was drawing near.
Even the lands we passed were quiet and lifeless. The only signs of life that we saw were the numerous and thinned tracks that we were following. Grass and bushes and trees that were on our path, were withered, old, and gray.
I looked east to find the sunrise, yet found only a faint orb in the sky that barely shone or had any warmth or radiance. Only the previous evening, it had been a wonderful fiery orange that reminded me of Florencia, yet now the sun was cold and white. There were also no clouds above us that would explain the darkness. Light seemed to dim with every passing hill.
It was a gloomy and oppressive morning for all the corisseri. None talked, and a weight hung on their hearts. They put up a brave face that hid none of their worries. Captain Orsin also spoke very little, and it was a somber ride, becoming ever more the farther we went.
When we first set out the previous evening, all I could think about was how I would finally confront and kill Vranik; crush his body under my might and maul. But as the morning crept on, all my thoughts were about Florencia—her smile, her hot temper that had been increasing these past few days. I could almost feel her touch on my cheek.
Or I would dream about the crowded streets of Lottie and the homely atmosphere there. I’d seen many cities by that time, and the City of Flowers had been my favorite out of them all.
Then, I would suddenly be obsessed with the thought of abandoning this foolish quest, turning around, and riding back south to Lottie. Doubts crept into my mind, and a shadow of worry took form. I began suspecting that I would not be able to kill Vranik, that I did not have the strength for it, and our entire task was doomed.
So far did I fall in that lightless pit of thoughts, that I almost didn’t notice as three scouts came back from the front, and waved the column to a halt.
I came closer to the commotion and saw the brave young men, tall and lithe, and out of breath, ramble madly to the captain. And in their eyes, I saw a horror I’d only seen in the streets of Scorro.
“They’re right there!” raved one. “Over the hill there! Monsters, captain, monsters walking in their midst. It was so terrible, captain, how can we fight this madness?”
I was not prepared. Not physically, nor mentally, and I was exhausted and in pain. But deep down, I knew that now was the time. It had gone on long enough, and the strange, gloomy thoughts faded into the wind. I took courage and strength from someplace in my heart.
“I’ve not issued orders for such defeatism, private! Gather your wits and steel your heart, for we have the greatest challenge before us, this day!” As I did, captain Orsin also drew fortitude from a secret place in his own soul, and rose on his stirrups. “Men, we have caught up with the host that we have been pursuing. Take heart, you valiant corisseri of the City of Flowers, from where all you hail, as today we shall avenge all who fell to this low enemy. Draw strength from me, men, who will never fail you, and look upon the faces of your comrades, for whom you fight so courageously!”
His speech set even my own heart aflame with passion, and Goxhandar was roused from his stupor.
“Make ready, we shall advance upon them immediately, before they are aware of our presence. Draw your swords and weapons of war now, men, for we shall make a charge, unlike anything these vile imps have ever witnessed before. And it will be the very last thing they shall ever see in this world, this I promise to you, my brave men! Come up and fight with the fury and duty only you possess!”
A roaring battle cry echoed in the valley, and the mighty corisseri of Lottie drew their swords and maces and pikes, and warhammers. They lowered their frightful visors before their eyes and the plumes atop their helmets billowed gloriously in the wind. Many also rose from their stirrups and cried out in proud announcement about their loyalty to the Crown and the Realm, and others cheered for their loved ones at home.
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There was deep inside my heart, a single, tiny flame that burned without extinguishing. From there came the love I had for Florencia, Jace, Iskander, and even Jaxine. It was for their sake that I would confront Vranik, prepared to give all and everything that I had to defeat him.
Then, all the corisseri formed up and began their advance through the dense shrubbery, and up the low hill that overlooked the wide valley. In the far distance, the tallest peak of the Castalmand Mountains emerged, shrouded in mist and snow, as if slicing the very earth in two. That very peak was very close to the Krastarn Pass itself.
And then, the ground trembled mightily and trumpets sounded. We crossed the ridge of the hill in a glorious charge, and for the first time, we saw the Enemy before us!
It was a horde of vileness that suffocated the very air.
Men and women, all twisted and corrupted by some terrible evil into unrecognizable forms and mockeries of life. Many who stood there, witless and stupefied, were reduced to little more than grotesque beasts. They bore only faint traces of humanity, now merged with some demonic powers.
Some were emaciated skeletons, barely clinging to existence, their once-human legs transformed into limbs of wicked beasts, and gnarled horns growing from strange places. Others resembled giant, ravenous toads or furless creatures that walked on all four legs, yet wore the faces of evil men.
The vileness was utterly indescribable, even hard to believe that something so foul could exist, and overshadowed the fields of Poscale. There was only a single comfort in charging into this host—their numbers were only a fraction of what they had the previous day.
But upon seeing this sudden charge of the corisseri, this horde of savages was utterly taken aback, and as the mighty charge advanced, none of these evil creatures could muster a line of defense.
The corisseri of Lottie crashed into this mass of evil as a wave over blades of grass. Many were felled swiftly by our unstoppable might, their lives extinguished in the blink of an eye—their skulls caved in by strong maces, or they were cruelly sliced open from straight or curved swords. Then, as their lifeless bodies fell, they were trampled over in merciless vengeance.
Being no corisseri, I stationed myself in the rear ranks, far from the attack. I rode still in my dark pajamas and wrapped in the large woolen blanket. As the first casualties began to fall, I extended my arm and drew from the death around me to restore my strength. In mere moments, all pain faded and my mind was clear and fueled with a single purpose.
I jumped off my horse, and issued a firm commandment: “Go, off with you and wait!”
The war horse galloped back onto the ridge calmly.
It only took a concentrated thought to will my Armor back around my form, and I felt complete again, snug and protected. I admired the overlapping plates of demonic bones, inscribed with countless tiny and large runes of warding that each would scorch and disturb any demonically corrupted thrall.
Then, I raised my hand to summon the Blood Maul, and from the ground, as it did in the fields of Poscale, rose the terrifying weapon.
“Let us reap a toll of death upon these fields also!” said Goxhandar.
I rushed ahead into the battle where the corisseri were getting bogged down in a fierce melee. Maces and swords came down upon bare heads. Many fell, both monster and man.
This was not the time to hold anything back. My veins pulsed with wrath, and I was wreathed in a tempestuous psychic fire that burned around me. Every wicked and twisted creature that dared challenge me, had to first push through that very fire. Only the most formidable ones could do that, but even those few met their end at the spiked flanges of the Blood Maul. But despite the certainty of death, they threw themselves at me with little hesitation or worry. Goxhandar was ecstatic, losing himself in the carnage, and so was I.
As a force for retribution, I tore through the disordered ranks of the Enemy. They came, and I crushed. Many fell before us.
Quickly the fighting grew heavy and desperate on both sides, and I could not count how much time had passed. The Shadow of the Enemy was upon this field before the knees of the mountains, and all was enveloped in this destruction.
But then, in the heart of the enemy host, where the shadow was deepest and close to impenetrable, I saw something terrible walk among the vile creatures. It was him—the very architect of our sufferings. When my eyes met it, a piercing chill ran through my spine and limbs.
This charge was doomed!
How could there be any hope of victory? None could stand against the Dark Commander, and it was utter folly to even challenge him.
I felt his presence even from this far away. It was like an abyss that had a magnetism to it. I felt drawn to it, yet had no desire to meet it.
We shouldn’t have come here! All of this was doomed!
“Master! Get a hold of yourself!” Goxhandar cried out, with a desperation in his voice that I’d never heard before.
With his words clear and close in my mind, I managed to crawl out of that pit of despair and regain my focus.
“Foul tricks!” I spat on the ground and swung my maul angrily.
“Potent spells, Master!” said Goxhandar. “Far more potent than on the fields of Poscale.”
Raising my head, I locked my gaze once more onto the heart of the enemy host. There stood the one I knew to be Grasd Vranik.
The figure there was enveloped in deep darkness, but was no longer in the recognizable form of a human—he was twice as tall as any man, even larger than a mounted corisseri. He was now a looming presence over the battlefield, and his gaze and attention were all around him. With only a thought he commanded his maddened forces.
From his back reached out two vast wings of shadow and tattered skin, and viscous darkness trailed wherever he went. The face that he wore was swine-like, drooling, and rabid. Even his musculature had grown to unnatural proportions, and coiled and wrapped themselves around his frame in impossible ways.
But it was the terrible, bottomless malice that emanated from his deep, red eyes that sank my heart.
With his outstretched wings, Grasd Vranik, the Dark Commander, strode among his enslaved thralls, bestowing his strength and thoughts upon them. The skies above were dark as night, and for a moment, it seemed as though a thousand evil, violet eyes peered through the veil of the world.
Then, the sound of trumpets drew my attention back to the battle. The Lottie Corisseri was about to make a charge against Vranik, and he walked forward to meet it. That his servants and slaves around him fell by their hundreds, the Dark Commander cared not. And as he went, a darkness stayed lingering behind him in which his wretched thralls reveled.
I couldn’t count how many corisseri there were charging at Vranik, maybe shy of thirty. They rode fast and with righteous fury and vengeance in their eyes, their long maces and swords drawn and already bloodied. It was only a breath away when they would crash into him.
But at the very last moment, the monster leaned forward with a blinding speed, his wings flickered, and a dark wind blew. Over half of the corisseri were enveloped and their horses screamed wildly, throwing the mounted men down. And then, all who had these cobwebs of darkness around them burst aflame.
The agonizing cries of the corisseri engraved themselves into my memory, and I stood there dumbfounded. I could do nothing to help these poor men as they clawed at the earth while boiling alive in their armor.
As the shocked charge passed Vranik, its middle ranks now dead, he turned and fluttered his withered wings. They seemed to pass through the armor and bodies of the corisseri, but after a few gallops from their horse, all stopped and crumbled.
All who dared attack Vranik were dead.
Trumpets sounded again, desperate this time. Formations were remade and another attack was undertaken. In this assemblage, I recognized lieutenants and men from the honor guard, alongside some scouts. Their plumes waved proudly in the wind and their battle cry was fierce.
They began their charge, but the vile Vranik had another terrible spell in his arsenal.
Before I could react or conjure any magic to divert his attention—I was only a few hundred paces away now—Vranik extended his left arm. With an oppressive weight in the air that even I felt, deep indigo-colored bolts of shadow and malice flew forward and struck the ground around the charging corisseri with a sickening thud.
In an instant, all those who sought vengeance for their fallen comrades were torn apart in a violent tempest. The battlefield was showered in broken bodies, horses, steel, and fabric.
Vranik had just killed close to fifty corisseri without much of an effort. I had to act now!
With the Blood Maul firmly in my grip, I summoned my own baleful flames around me and charged forward. I broke through the ranks of twisted creatures. Many burned alive before even reaching me, others were torn apart by my maul.
Once more, corisseri regrouped for another desperate, suicidal assault. I was certain this one would end as the previous two, and I had to get Vranik’s attention. I drew strength from the fallen around me, nourishing my muscles and soul to its fullest, and hurled my own psychic attack at him.
As the blinding and crackling lightning bolt arced through the air, it left a trail of vapor and steam in its wake, and the very ground under us trembled and groaned. Its brilliance was so intense that it seemed like the sun had come out. The powerful bolt of lightning struck Vranik’s wing and tore half of it off.
The terrible figure roared in rage and pain, and finally turned to face me.
“Finally!”
Suddenly, Goxhandar despaired.
“Master! This is no mere demonhost, nor is it a demon. This is a Chosen champion! This foe is beyond us! We must flee now, I beg of you. Quickly, before it’s too late! Take any horse you see, we cannot hope to win!”