CHAPTER 84 – WOLFSBANE
The grassy ridge before the walls of the city made for a perfect vantage point for the Dark Lord. On this perch his comfortably say with his vanguard. His most trusted disciples leading their forces towards their ultimate goal, but to no one’s knowledge, that was not the annihilation of the Lion Kingdom; not if it could be helped. Malinor was provoking a storm the likes of which MagnaThora had seen before. His intentions were beyond their understanding and thus intangible…obscure…unregistered.
The Dark Lord Malinor sat on his make-shift throne mockingly. He knew the truth. He saw how arbitrary the jostling for kingdoms would be in the grand scheme of things. Once he got his hands on the crimson crown, he would melt it down and use it as bones for a new obsidian crown of emperors. One thing stood in his way. One obstacle still remained on the field as he waited for it to reveal itself, conserving his strength. He let his minions do the dirty work. If everything went according to plan the end was soon near, even though the fun had only just begun.
Beyond the Dark Lord’s vanguard was the entire host of darksider infantry, waiting their turn to spill into the city either by the fallen gate or the boards along the walls, and the Gatehouse. For all of Zepathorum’s marvel’s, the curve and the crystal of the city defenses, making it resistant to dragon fire, thanks to their founder Jacob Arkenorth and his collaborations with who would late become the first Dragon Emperor. These were old threats. Dragons were nothing compared to the combined strategic assault on Zepathorum.
Admiral Zorrowfold and Warlord Cassius pressed on the gate, not expecting this much resistance after bringing down the actual gate. The Pride warriors were using the breach in the walls as a bottleneck, and they were good enough to minimize their losses while besting line after line of darksiders.
“The city is large enough to consider a secondary point of egress.” The Mad Genius Spangalore spat out to them. “I am taking my pretty little monsters to the eastern city limits.”
“Where in the dark hells is that coming from?” asked Warlord Cassius.
Zorrowfold and Cassius turned around to see Spangalore strapped into a saddled behemoth. That wasn’t all, the behemoth was clad in dragon-forged armor, dark slated metal. The mad man led the behemoth away.
Admiral Zorrowfold was the quietest field commander Cassius had ever worked with. This was a dodgy crew all throughout this clandestine recruitment, but now was not the time to be curt.
“I will keep my siege force focused on the northern city wall while Spangalore’s wrath spills over, continue hammering them here, and soon they will break.”
Admiral Zorrowfold released the Warlord without contesting, true to his kind. All the while not taking his eyes off the fight ahead. The more his legions of darksiders funneled into the gate breach the less ground they took within the city. What was going on in there? He needed eyes in there. As Warlord Cassius departed with the rolling catapults and golden armored infantrymen and cavalry, Admiral Zorrowfold summoned scouts and archers to take the battlements above the gate. As long as they were bottlenecked, they needed to at least hold that desperate patch of Zepathorum territory.
Soon they would take a hold of the city and never let go, just like Port Caliber. There was nothing those that fought to resist could do. Admiral Zorrowfold would smile, but he did not want to, he rarely wanted to smile. It just wasn’t his thing. Or rather, he took the act of smiling very seriously. Perhaps, after all this was over and he was standing on the smelting ruin of the city, the ash heap of the north, he could smile…when he deserved it. For now, Admiral Zorrowfold did his job in the name of the Dark Lord and the South.
The combination of royal guard, Pride militia, and Metuchen cavalry fought sword against scim for the sake of the city, for their own lives. They refused to yield thanks to the spirit of their champions would fought side by side with them. Axion rode out of the clashing fronts with his two cousins and the thirty-some riders. They followed him out of the ruins of the Gatehouse. They headed through the congressional houses and made their way to the east side of the city.
“Ten of you stay here. The princes will hold down this area of the city while the rest of you will come with me to cover the west side,” ordered Axion. But before he could finish his commands, the thunder roared and out from the storm grey clouds came the murder of cravens once again. The birds dropped through the air with little resistance.
Like meteors, they plummeted into the eastern wall of the city, crumbling it to bits. Suicidal monsters taking their last flights in selfless devastation. They killed themselves for the greater glory of the dragon kingdom. There waiting outside the fallen wall were lines upon lines of the Necrogallion. Some were on horseback, others were harnessed with Berserkers, and several Berserkers infiltrated the shadow of the city unseen with no riders on their backs.
Worse than the destruction of the wall, or the inclusion of Berserkers, were the stone-plated and well-provisioned Behemoths. Their stone armor had metal spikes all around them, and the Behemoths themselves were armed with swords and axes in both of their hands, a couple wielded giant maces and whips, and even tridents. The stone rubble from the impact of the wall came barreling down the city blocks.
“Brace yourselves!” screamed Axion as the fallout stampeded by them.
Behind the furious winds and storms of soot, came avalanching boulders, shattered pieces of the wall with rolling velocity, heading right for them.
Jericho kicked his horse around, “MORTIKAHN! THIS WAY!”
The two ducked into an alleyway. They watched as the men still out on the street, including Axion, were blown away by the strong winds and heavy debris.
Axion was thrown from Huntross, landing somewhere on the other side of the road. The dust settled and the city was even darker than it was before. Dense, smother-some fog remained. Zepathorum’s borders were blown wide open.
Jericho rode down the alleyway with Mortikahn behind him. Screams and blasts came from the crossroad on the left. They continued forward as a wall of dust blew into them. Mortikahn was thrown off his horse as Jericho turned around and jumped off his own horse to cover his fallen cousin. Darksiders crawled down from the walls of the buildings and jumped on Jericho’s back. He squirmed around trying to reach them. The darksider clawed at him, but before it could break his skin, Jericho slammed his back into the wall. The darksider was shocked as Mortikahn jumped up and sliced the creature off of Jericho.
Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
More darksiders jumped down the alleyway after them. Jericho pulled out his bow and fired it behind Mortikahn’s head. The gang of dark soldiers came at them, Jericho fired arrow after arrow bringing them down, while Mortikahn charged at them with his sword. He shouldered one over and cut into the face of the next. Mortikahn pulled his sword out as he spun around and swung it into the next darksider, slicing its arms off. He swung the sword up around his head and decapitated the armless dark warrior. Mortikahn threw his sword at the remaining foe, bringing him down just before Jericho’s arrow hit. He ran over to the fallen body and pulled his sword out, looking back and laughing.
“What a rush!”
They got back on their horses and continued down the alleyway. Jericho looked around. He could not get a bearing on their location. They turned the next corner, back in the same direction as the pillar of smoke. But when they turned, they saw that the dust had settled, and the street was abandoned. Farther down, Axion was gone and so was the rest of the cavalry.
Jericho and Mortikahn galloped down the dark empty city street. Axion was gone, they had gotten turned around from the rest of the cavalry, and now they were more lost than ever. They had to be somewhere in the east side. The buildings were so tall and between the smoke and the fog they could not figure out which direction they were walking. At any moment, they could be once again flanked by the Necrogallion flooding into the city. A bird’s scream echoed down the canal of stone buildings. It was vicious and stung the ears of Jericho, Mortikahn, and their horses. A craven flew nearby. Mortikahn aggressively turned a corner and was caught by a Behemoth wielding a chain and a trident.
Mortikahn tried to run away but was snatched and entangled by the chain. The giant faceless monster pulled Mortikahn off his horse. Jericho turned around to save his cousin. Jericho’s steed took one step forward when a black ice chill shot down his spine. Jericho turned his horse around and there standing in the middle of the crosswalk was a Berserker. Jericho jumped down from his horse.
He would take on this fowl beast all by himself. Nothing but bravery filled Jericho’s heart. There was no room for fear. The Berserker would be denied its strongest weapon. The Berserker, now furious, launched itself at Jericho, opening its mouth to reveal its slobbery fangs; and the Behemoth pulled Mortikahn ever closer in.
Jericho stabbed the Berserker in the mouth with an arrow, narrowly avoiding its bite. He jumped high into the air, loaded the arrow into his bow, and shot it down at the wolf. The arrow pierced its hide, and it went running off into the shadow, but the fight was not yet over.
Mortikahn tried to free himself from the chains. They were too tight to do anything about. He squirmed to free his sword. The time was now, for Mortikahn to prove himself. Not for his father, or his cousins, but for himself. He flexed his arms and broke the pressure, freeing his sword from the chains. As the Behemoth knelt down to grab a hold of his catch, Mortikahn sliced his sword across the beast’s knuckles. The Behemoth screamed, throwing Mortikahn across the street.
Jericho saw his cousin crash-land and went to his aid. He was cut short by a howl and a dash from the murky corners of the darkened city. The Berserker tackled him, and they both rolled on the bedrock. Afraid of getting bit, Jericho dropped his sword, directing his concentration on the beast’s snout. He got his hands successfully around its jaw. The Berserker got back to its feet, pushing Jericho down the road on his back. Each chomp avoided by Jericho as he handled its fangs expertly. The only fault would be lack of an escape. Jericho was trapped in the rush.
Mortikahn got back up from being thrown. He was dazed, but he had to help his older cousin. Mortikahn whistled for his horse and remounted while running as he caught up to them just in time to grab the arrow that Jericho imbedded into the Berserker’s side.
The Behemoth pulled Mortikahn off his horse and back into its colossal grip. This time it left the chains behind and had grabbed Mortikahn by the legs with its hand. Mortikahn now caught between a Berserker and a Behemoth refused to release his grip on the arrow; his stubbornness now saving Jericho’s life. Mortikahn brought his sword in front of him to block a jab by the Behemoth’s trident. The trident and the sword got caught together, as they struggled back and forth.
During the struggle, while dangling upside-down Mortikahn noticed a weakness in the monster’s armor. Where the chest piece split in two, a small dagger or arrow could slip in and clip the Behemoth’s heart. This was a good way to kill a Behemoth, with all the armor and such an invincible hide, only a shot straight to the heart could bring it down. Mortikahn now knew what he must do.
The dark wolf screamed when he ripped the arrow from its hide. This gave Jericho the chance he needed. The Berserker looked back and he was gone. Mortikahn, meanwhile, used the arrow to prick the Behemoth’s knuckles on the hand that held Mortikahn. He was able to drop back to his feet, still in a locked hold with the Behemoth. The trident entangled by his sword. He took a deep breath. Mortikahn let go of his sword, and the release sent both his sword and the trident away from them. Without hesitation, Mortikahn caught a hold of the crack in the armor with one hand and shoved the arrow he pulled from the Berserker’s hide in with the other hand. Mortikahn pulled himself up and pushed the arrow further in.
The Behemoth bellowed out a low tone of extreme pain. Mortikahn shoved the arrow up and in, with a twist, and the bellowing stopped. The gigantic monster was felled by one tiny little arrow. It now lay limp around Mortikahn. The young prince of the Steed Kingdom picked his sword back up and cleaned it off as the dust settled from the Behemoth’s fall, ready for more.
And just like the beast was doing before, Jericho became one with the shadows of the city. But the Berserker was not fooled by this tactic, it was a creature of the darkness, and could see right through the thick fog of black.
The Berserker leapt at Jericho, but the dark wolf did not expect a counter attack. Jericho jousted forward, wound up his hips, and spun around, hurling his foot across the side of the Berserker’s long snout. The kick to the face stunned the Berserker. Jericho landed and headed back for his sword. He tried to think of a solution along the way. Soon the creature was going to regroup and strike again. Jericho would be able to get to the sword in time, but then what? What would he have to do to kill a demon?
Jericho picked his sword back up and rolled out of the way as the Berserker took another leap at him. Jericho got back into a sprint, to buy himself some time. Jericho could keep this up all night if he had to. He tried to think back, to his schooling, specifically the myths of old, about Berserkers. He had to remember what the legendary champions of good used against such powerful demons.
Suddenly, Mortikahn came charging out from the corner on his steed, trampling the Berserker. While the dark creature was temporarily weakened, Jericho wasted no more time in deliberation over ancient legend and came down with the brunt force of his sword on its neck several times. Each execution was like a hammer stroke. The head of the Berserker was cut clean off of the body by Jericho’s sword. When he held the head up to have a look at it the blood dripped on the sword and seeped into the blade, transforming its blood-stained steel shine to silver. His sword looked brand new, as if it had been re-forged right then and there.
The two cousins awed at it and the looked at each other: Jericho catching his breath and calling for his horse, and Mortikahn sitting proudly upon his horse, keeping a fierce eye on their surroundings, “I can hear them. There’s more close-by…”
Jericho got on top of his horse and readjusted himself, admiring his new sword, finally saying, “Lead the way.” The two cousins rode off down the road, into the undistinguishable darkness.