Shane Porteous - The Battle of Ebulon - A Shared Anthology

The pure white snow gracefully blanketing the meadow quickly transformed into a muddy, blood-strewn horror. Arrows rained down on the Orc ranks as Kamarie and Zara commanded the archers. Oraeyn and Arnaud, the kings of Aom-igh, fought desperately side by side, felling Orcs and Wargs in reckless abandon.

The dragons above blasted the enemy with searing bolts of fire, but this was hardly the first battle for these Orcs and they had their own archers and spearmen. It soon became apparent that the enemy’s overwhelming numbers could not be held at bay for long. One dragon fell to the earth, screaming, a javelin buried in its chest.

The battle raged on and Brant could see that many who had answered his call now lay dead on this field of grief. The destroyers of Ebulon had paid dearly, but victory was still theirs to claim. Suddenly, the Orc army pulled back. Brant stared, uncomprehending, his senses strained as he tried to discern why the enemy seemed to be calling a retreat. A humming noise filled the air, followed by a soot-like mist that emanated from the ground and shadowed all it touched. Realization struck and Brant’s mind cried out a warning. He wheeled his horse frantically. He knew not what this mist could do, and he did not want to find out.

“Dylanna! Magic!” he shouted, his eyes scanning the ranks of his comrades, searching for her face.

In an instant she was at his side, along with her sisters, Leila and Zara. They studied the darkness as it shrouded the enemy from sight.

“Can you counter it?” Brant asked.

“We will need the help of dragons,” Dylanna replied. She bent her mind towards that purpose in hopes that this new call would soon be answered.

Zara and Leila joined Dylanna and the three wizardesses stood together silently. Brant could not see the magic they wrought, nor did he understand it, though he could wield a measure of his own magic. A shimmer appeared in the air between them and the writhing mist. It reminded Brant of the dome Calyssia had created around her Pearl Cove, as well as the shield Zara had once erected around Fortress Hill to protect a large group of women and children during a battle many years ago.

A great red-gold dragon landed nearby. It shimmered and the creature became a young man who raced over to Brant.

“Brant, Dylanna sent for me,” the lad panted. He was limping slightly, but he shook off Brant’s concern. “I’m fine,” he insisted.

“Good man,” Brant stepped back, letting Yole join his wife.

The black mist reached the barrier. It paused as if uncertain, though surely it was impossible for such a thing to have emotions of any kind. Yole closed his eyes as the mist hesitated and all the muscles in his face tightened. Sweat trickled down his forehead at the effort he was expending. A brilliant blue-white bolt of lightning sparked out from the barrier and cracked through the mist like a scourge. A mighty wind whirled into existence and the black mist was flung back towards the Orc army.

A truly horrifying scream soared up from the Orcs as the mist reached their front line. Brant could not see clearly what was happening, but the sickening cries and howls emanating from his foes told him he was glad of this.

As the mist cleared, Brant could see that it left behind a void of twisted, tortured death on everything it had touched. The horror of what had just been avoided caused the bravest to tremble. Taking advantage of the momentary pause, Brant regained the initiative and urged his men forward to the attack.

Once more Brant’s army surged onto the battlefield. The Orcs, with a greatly reduced advantage, met them halfway with a renewed savagery and hatred. As Brant felt the weight of the unrelenting malice of his enemy, he understood that their opponent could not be measured in numbers, but rather the evil that inspired it.

Searing pain in his left side caught him completely off-guard. He had not seen the Warg as it leapt, but he felt its claws and teeth as they sank into his shoulder and side, and he felt the sensation of being airborn as he was carried from his saddle. He landed on his back with an anguished thud, the Warg’s teeth still firmly embedded in his shoulder. The impact knocked the breath from his lungs and he lay there, gasping, unable to lift his sword or reach his dagger. The Warg pressed a large paw onto his chest, making it even more difficult for Brant to find his breath. The beast lifted its head in an earth-shattering howl then its sharp teeth drove towards Brant’s unprotected neck.

There was nothing he could do. Brant closed his eyes and accepted an honorable death in battle. It was not the worst place he could have died, he reasoned, waiting to feel the fangs rip into his throat and the warmth of his lifeblood seep out onto the ground.

Instead, he felt the pressure lift from his chest and he heard a savage death cry. Then a strong hand wrapped around his wrist and he felt himself being pulled to his feet. He opened his eyes and looked into the solemn eyes of his brother. The Warg lay a few feet away, its dark blood staining the trampled snow in a wide pool.

“Sorry I couldn’t get to you sooner,” Ky apologized. “How badly are you hurt?”

Brant gingerly touched the gashes on his side and shoulder and found they were not as deep as he had feared. He could not raise his left arm, but he could still swing his sword arm with full range of motion.

“I think I’ll live,” he said, “thanks to you.”

“You’re my little brother,” Ky said simply. “It’s my job to watch your back.”

Brant swallowed past a sudden lump in his throat, but had no time to reply, for the enemy was upon them once more. Back to back, Brant and Ky battled the fell beasts, slaying many. As he stood with his brother, the carcasses of their enemies piling up before them, Brant found himself experiencing a sudden euphoria.

This is how it was supposed to be! he thought as he stabbed an Orc that was lunging towards Ky’s unprotected side. Ky parried a blow and then gave a mighty back-handed swing, cleaving an Orc’s head from its shoulders just before it could drive its dagger into Brant’s back. Their movements were like an intricately choreographed dance. Their swords were a whirling frenzy of death. Their every motion perfectly complemented the other’s movements. There was a momentary lull in the battle around them and Brant and Ky shared a wild grin. Brant threw his head back and laughed up into the sky.

“Thank you, Minstrel!”

The battle raged through the day and into the misty hours of twilight. As the sky darkened and the clouds parted to reveal a rising moon, Brant and Ky found themselves standing in the middle of the battlefield, surrounded by dead or dying Orcs and warriors alike, the good and evil sharing the same tomb. The army of Tellurae Aquaous held through the brutal, bloody day, despite staggering losses. The enemy hounded them mercilessly, galvanized into action by their hideous leader who had laid low so many good men and dragons. Now he turned is eyes to Brant and Ky, who accepted the challenge readily and fought through the enemy ranks to match his blade with their own. Evidence of his skill lay all across the blood-soaked ground. Both Brant and Ky recognized the shields, swords, banners, and faces that were not trampled in the mud at this great Orc’s feet.

“This is my battle, little brother,” Ky said. “Watch my back.”

Brant wanted to argue, but the look in Ky’s eyes halted his protests. Instead, he nodded and gripped his sword a bit more tightly.

“Monster!” Ky’s voice rang out across the battlefield. “Turn your hate to me!”

The Orc gnashed its sharp, blood-stained teeth and strode forward to destroy Ky.

The two faced each other cautiously. They circled one another, and a hush fell across the meadow. The Orc was a full head and shoulders taller than Ky, its massive arms and legs bulging with strength and contempt. Ky exuded confidence in every gesture. The Orc swung his great, jagged sword casually through the air, the blade whistling a deadly tune as it sliced back and forth. Ky held his ground, waiting.