Shane Porteous - The Battle of Ebulon - A Shared Anthology

“How rousing,” Kalummenon thought to himself.

Khendam, standing beside Kalummenon, sighed. “I’ll stand with you!” he called. Meeting Kalummenon’s gaze, he shrugged. “What can we do but help these poor saps?” But he didn’t seem happy about his decision.

Here and there, others spoke up, “I’m with you!”, “I’ll take a few of those fiends with me!”, “Count me in!”, and similar affirmations.

Vardan held his hands up for quiet, and said, “Munda, many of my people have chosen to stand with you, given the choice plainly stated. Any who wish to return to their homes, go to Munda now, and he will make good his promise!”

Munda cleared his throat. “Well, actually, I am not one of those with the power to send you home, but I can escort any so minded to an audience with our King Yadi. Those of you choosing to stay, my deepest thanks. May we all live to see victory!”

“I would speak.”

Her voice was not loud, but it felled every sound in the crowded square. There was something about it, some quality in it, demanding to be heard: authority.

She made no effort to move to the front of the crowd in order to address everyone. Instead, those around her took some steps back, making a space for her in the crowd, shuffling away from the power inherent to one like her. She was an Alfar.

“Vardan of Tarakal does not speak for me.” She turned to Munda. “I am Moriambra, ambassador to the Kinnon, from a distant and powerful kingdom. My heart followed your Call, as did all present. My spirit calls out to me to aid you in your time of need. But for me it is not that simple. Many among us will be missed greatly by those we have left behind. I have family. I have obligations. I have people depending on me. I would put those concerns aside for this grand ideal if I could.

“I cannot. My absence will already have been noticed. If I return now, or soon, my absence might still be explained away as an embarrassing omission, or an unfortunate but temporary illness. But if I do not return, there shall be repercussions. My King is known to be untrusting of the Kinnon. He will undoubtedly see my disappearance as a provocation. Perhaps as an act of war.

“A war between my people and the Kinnon would be difficult, not least because of the great distance between our lands, but similar difficulties have not prevented wars in the past, and I do not see how they will prevent war now. I beg you, Munda of Ebulon: return me to my post, and save the families of these honourable men and women before you by averting this unnecessary war!”

Munda let his gaze sweep across the gathered people of the Kinnon, and nodded. “It is regrettable, indeed, that such events might occur because of your presence here. Can I not convince you to join our forces?”

“Not even if you were to fight right beside me,” she replied.

Munda’s pale, full cheeks blushed slightly, just for a moment.

“If you are to fight at all, that is…?” Moriambra added, carefully.

All eyes fell squarely on Munda, and he was forced to reply.

“Alas,” he said, “my King has other matters he needs me to attend to, and I would therefore be unable to fight by your side.”

“But your skills are undeniably impressive,” she said. “Would you not be able to block incoming enemy arrows? Would you not be able to confuse the tongues of the enemy so they could not communicate their plans to each other? Would you not be able to put a hundred thousand of the enemy to sleep so we could more easily slaughter them?”

This time Munda had a ready response, as he was on firmer footing. “You will notice that the soldiers I bring to add to your number are all warriors in some fashion. Some are infantrymen, some are archers. You might notice further that there are no mages among them. The magic of Ebulon is no longer effective against this enemy. My own magic would fail - would be blocked, rather - by the dark magicks beyond the gate. The enemy has studied our magical attacks and rendered them irrelevant in battle. Well, almost irrelevant.”

He paused for a breath, and Moriambra seemed ready with the obvious question, so Munda continued, “The mages among you are all… exotic, at least to the enemy mages. Your abilities and methods may well be novel, offering you unforeseen advantages. And I’m given to understand that some of the lesser mages will be assisting in the defence directly, when the assault comes, for we are still able to defend against some of the magical attacks that will come.

“You are not alone,” he said, raising his voice and addressing them all, “and we stand with you. Even though I am not to stand at your side in the battle, I still work with you and for you, in ways I cannot explain to you. My fight will be just as dangerous as yours.”

Moriambra cut to the chase. “Will you return me to my proper place, along with anyone else who wishes to return home?”

Munda nodded solemnly. “I will do all I can.”

Moriambra didn’t think that sounded very reassuring.

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Zelphan sat outside in the tall green grass. His eyes were closed and he looked like he was meditating. Xazaz, Zelphan’s phoenix friend knew better. “Have you heard anything?” He asked and Zelphan opened an eye, and then closed it. “Nothing yet, I don’t know what’s going on. It’s been days since the wind has spoken to me.”

“The wind will speak when it’s ready.”

Zelphan didn’t say anything. He knew from experience not to question the bird that has lived longer than he can fathom. He sat there in the grass waiting, and finally a subtle breeze caressed his face. There is trouble and your help is needed. In a land far away there is the Kingdom of Ebulon. It is the last free stronghold and terrible Orcs seek to destroy and kill all who inhabit it. You must go there and help save the kingdom or all will be lost. Take your sword and Xazaz and make haste.

Zelphan’s eyes flew open at the end of the wind’s message. He hadn’t heard of the Kingdom of Ebulon or Orcs before. He was going to need help with this one. He turned to Xazaz, “What is the Kingdom of Ebulon?”

Xazaz cocked his head to the side, “Kingdom of Ebulon? I don’t know, why?”

“I’ve just been instructed to go there, all will be lost if we don’t stand and fight against something the wind called Orcs.”

“Orcs?” Xazaz squawked with surprise.

“You know what they are?”

“A long, long time ago, before Xazvin forged the sword, Orcs used to run rampant in Ellandra. They were terrible creatures, ones that nightmares are made of. The Creator banished them with the help of the dragons. I haven’t heard of them since.”

“We must go there; Xazaz or we may face these creatures in our own land. The wind said to make haste.”

“Then make haste we will do.”

With that Zelphan and Xazaz wasted no time preparing a knapsack of food and setting off towards what Zelphan hoped was Ebulon. He didn’t know how he was going to get there or where he was going, but he knew that somehow his feet would lead him where he needed to go. This wasn’t the first quest he had gone on, and he learned a lot during that quest. His biggest lesson was learning to trust. He had to trust the wind and his friends or he would for sure fall into peril.