Shane Porteous - The Battle of Ebulon - A Shared Anthology

“It’s worth an effort,” says a voice behind them.

Turning around, Nova sees a man standing at the top of the staircase; bow in hand, with a quiver full of arrows tied to his back. His eyes, though, are soft, much different than the eyes of the other humans she’s met so far. His ears, too, are different. They are pointed at the top. He wears a purple tunic that hangs snugly to his body. His pants are black and he wears no shoes, unlike a collection of new soldiers standing at the bottom of the staircase behind him, all holding the same type of bow. At closer inspection, only half of them has shoes and the other half has pointy ears.

The charismatic man in purple gets down on bended knee, bowing his head to touch Nova’s paws. She rubs her cheek against the side of his face, purring. He stands up and gestures to the troop behind him. “These are your sharp shooters. I’ve trained them well.” Palin’s brother stood at the bottom of the stairs. He looks pleased with what he has fetched.

Nova stares into the blue eyes of the purple robed man, “You do not come from this race, do you?”

“I’m of the Elf Nation. I’m Aldoren, and prince of my people.” Pointing to the group standing at the base of the stairs, he continues, “Some of them are my people, some of them are of the human race. We Elves have traveled a long distance to help our allies, much like you have.”

Marksmen and women walk up the stairs, lining the parapet and ready for battle. Peering out across the land, Nova can see that the long line of torches draw closer and closer. If she can convince a dragon to help, then all won’t be lost, but she will have to leave immediately.

Aldoren points over Nova’s shoulder, “The name of the dragon you seek is Attor. To get to him to help will be difficult. The way I point is directly through the line of attackers coming to Ebulon. If the Orcs haven’t slain him, then he’ll be in the red castle just beyond the western hills. I’m confident you’ll see it once you get past the Orcs. You can’t miss it. It’s displayed for all the world to see.”

Nova rests on her hind legs, her tail over her fore-paws. “I understand. I’ll be back before sun down.” And with that, she spins around and jumps over the wall, landing softly on the rocky ground below.

The sun is nearly at its peak, creating a pale glow through gray clouds. Nova belly crawls forward in thick brush as she watches the Orcs slowly approaching her position. She weighs two options—continue to hide in the snow and brush while inching her way to the red castle, or use her incredible speed to run past the massive army. Both choices are difficult, and each has the potential to be just as deadly as the other.

Her final decision is forced by a loud grunt coming from a nearby Orc. She whispers “Lemla Semta”, a phrase created by the VioletLights that was woven into the energetic fabric of the manifesting universe, causing one to shape shift into one’s surroundings. This camouflages her very well in the snow and underbrush where she hides, and just in time.

She feels a tepid, fowl breath on her shoulder as the Orc climbs over her clump of underbrush, grazing her back with its hands and feet as it passes. Then it turns around with a loud grunt, as if something was slightly off about what he has just touched.

His eyes are yellow and vacant. This Orc is much smaller and skinnier than the leader she’d seen this morning. He must be a scout, thinks Nova. He has no armor, only a brown skirt covering his lower extremities. Nova can tell that this creature is quick, and from what she has just experienced he has mastered the art of tracking in almost complete silence. She didn’t know he was on her until a second before he appeared, and only because of the grunt—probably a mistake rarely made by the Orc.

Coming closer, he sniffs the camouflaged snow leopard, and then tilts his head. He opens his mouth, showing yellow stained fangs.

What was The Great Spirit thinking when creating a creature like this? Nova remains as still as she can. The Orc extends its index finger, exposing a sharp fingernail, slowly moving it closer to Nova’s flank, and then forcefully gives her fur pelt a poke. She feels a sharp pain, like a big thorn jabbing her skin, but not hard enough to penetrate.

She holds her breath while the Orc lifts his finger to his face, observing and moving his fingernail around until he takes a sniff. He blinks several times. Something is off and he can smell it. Slowly extending his arm toward Nova’s flank, he pokes again. Nova does all she can not to yelp.

With another tilt of his head, he pulls out a dagger from under his skirt. If she were to use her magic she’d have to stay within its presence, an option she isn’t excited about, especially with the rest of the Orc troop marching so close. Instead, Nova decides to pounce on this vile creature, but the moment she goes into a crouch to leap at him, a leather whip lashes above her head, slapping the Orc across the chest. The Orc scrunches its face in pain and rolls backward. A large Orc riding a Fangol and holding the whip comes into Nova’s view, grunting several aggressive sounds to the scout. The scout turns and runs quickly ahead, fearfully doing his job by scouting for any foul play that the humans may have planted anywhere in the area.

The Fangol and large Orc now stand about five leopard lengths from Nova. A minute later a large band of Fangols and Orcs travel past them, grunting ever so often in rhythm with their march. Her camouflage masks her well, but the moment she thinks that, the Fangol standing near her abruptly moves its head, flexing its nostrils to sniff something unusual. It slowly bares its teeth, making a low lion like growl. He detects Nova concealed in the snowy brush.

Again, why did you create these creatures, Great Spirit? She knows all creatures have their right to live, having their lessons to learn as individuals or as a species, but these creatures seem devoid of any purpose other than negativity and destruction. In resignation, she knows that a soul’s advancement isn’t going to excel by her mere judgments. There is a reason for everything, including these filthy Beings.

The Orc kicks his foot against the Fangol’s side. It jumps slightly in surprise, taking its eyes off Nova for a moment and silencing his growl.

Nova goes into a lower defensive crouch, determining that if anything attacks it will be surprised by the agility of a snow leopard.

The Fangol turns again, growling and ignoring the several kicks the Orc plants against its side. The Orc’s mount takes predatory steps toward Nova, and doesn’t flinch when the Orc pulls hard on its reigns. About an inch away from Nova’s face, the Fangol attacks her hiding place.

Nova is swift, jumping just a split second before the Fangol lunges. The action is quick, taking her thoughts away from the shape shifting spell and thereby releasing the magic that reveals her true form to the army. Her violet crystals glow brightly as she flips in mid-air, planting her paws on the back of the Fangol’s head. She pushes off its head, outstretching and thrusting her claws against the chest of the Orc. He yells some type of ghostly scream and pulls hard on the reigns, trying to keep himself from falling. The Fangol loses its balance from the Orc’s hard pull, toppling on its side, landing hard on top of the Orc. The Orc, now trapped, gives a war cry to those who haven’t already seen what happened.

By now, Nova is a few leopard lengths away from the fallen Fangol and the trapped Orc, and speeds off, fleeing the scene.

But it’s too late. She’s been exposed, and many Fangols give chase.

To Nova’s surprise, Fangol’s are everywhere, zigzagging in hot pursuit. When one is close enough to rake her with its horns, she either flips into the air and twists, or simply leaps over it, making them all miss her each and every time.