Shane Porteous - The Battle of Ebulon - A Shared Anthology

Marching right up to Celarius, Alatearame stood to attention. Completely fearless of Gods and men, especially those with such odd henchmen, she was never one to mince words so came straight out and asked “So let me get this straight. Your God couldn’t be bothered coming because he had some sort of banquet to attend and so he sent you? The annihilation of our kingdom is less important than some sort of cosmic buffet?” The three divine kitchenhands looked at each other in a state of bewilderment until Edamgouda turned to Alatearame and explained “Well, of course. There’s sky candy there. Have you ever HAD sky candy? It’s really good. Tastes like salt water taffy.” Celarius chimed in “Do you know why sky candy tastes like salt water taffy?” Alatearame barely managed to conceal her frustrations and stated a simple “No”. “Neither do we” Semillion jabbered from behind the other two, having fallen out of formation to look at a passing butterfly. “It’s a mystery that we may never understand and a question we will seek to answer for all of time” mourned Celarius.

Alatearame’s face dropped as she began mourning for her once proud kingdom that would surely be overrun by the Orcish hordes if these three buffoons were all the help she was going to get. Turning back to address the three, she showed a battleworn persona that was almost unidentifiable as the proud Ebulonite commander that she was. “Look. I don’t want to sound unappreciative but we’ve really got our backs against the wall here. Our position has been badly mauled already and that was just the Orc vanguard. I’m down to 30% combat effectiveness. My fortifications are almost gone and the main force of the horde is still out there. We’ve been trying to hold the entry point long enough for the reinforcements to arrive from the other worlds and you must understand my concern that the only help we’ve received is three kitchenhands. Cooks we have in abundance but we need Warriors, not snacks. Can the three of you even fight?”

The three shared a knowing look and in unison, their faces began to sink into their skulls like a sinkhole and a loud whistle like a kettle began to come from each of them. Alatearame was not overly impressed. While annoying, this noise would do nothing to stop the hordes. Moments later, it was as if small explosions were happening under the skin of the three and they began to grow and take on a more defined form. Chiselled muscle structure began appearing on their abdomen and arms and they were gaining height rapidly. A mysterious ethereal light encompassed the three, split only by bolts of lighting that seemed to emanate from within each of them. The shrill whistle began to change too, sounding as if the shofar had blown a call to war. The now gargantuan sized divine kitchenhands began to inspire hope in Alatearame, impressive as their form now was, but the transformation was not yet complete. An array of pots and pans began to appear around the three, forming up as armour on their skin, coming together with the clash of a thousand broadswords. Large saucepans descended onto each of their heads and as the dust begins to settle, Alatearame saw the divine kitchenhands in their new form clearly. Their faces were no longer round and jolly but rather fierce and intimidating. Their armour appeared as an impenetrable layer of cookery. Truly, they now looked like demigods. Strange demigods but demigods nonetheless. The three each stepped forward in turn and the handle on their saucepan helmets snapped down over their face as an additional protection. They were truly a fearsome sight except for Semillion who was rubbing his face and crying quietly from where his face guard had smacked him in the nose.

Alatearame was almost stunned beyond words. The doubt and uncertainty that she had been grappling with all day was suddenly boiled off like the morning fog and she truly believed now that they had a fighting chance. “Ok. I’m impressed. We may yet win this thing. If you gentlemen would come with me please, I’d like to show you what we’re up against.” She turned on her heel and began her march back towards the lookout post, the three divine kitchenhands following closely behind her. As she scaled the ladder with all the expertise of a professional soldier, the three simply began climbing the wall beside her as if it were the most natural thing in the world for them to be defying gravity. Reaching the top, they waited patiently for Alatearame to join them. Upon reaching the lookout post, Alatearame walked past the three and pointed out across the battlefield, preparing to begin her briefing. She politely ignored the ongoing sniffles of Semillion who was still rather upset by his unpleasant encounter with his own armour.

“As you can see, the mountain ranges encompass this entry point almost entirely. The Orcish vanguard actually marched upon us from amongst those foothills but the main hordes would have trouble maintaining formation through such rough terrain so we’re expecting them to approach through this pass” she moved her arm to indicate the direction. “Now, the standard Orc troop is armed with…” Alatearame was cut of by a sudden and unwelcome sound. The sound of mighty drumming emanating from the hills. It was an audible warning that Alatearame knew all too well. The Orcs were returning and this time, it wouldn’t be a screening force. The main battle was upon them. She dropped her arm and turned towards her remaining troops to give orders. “We have incoming! All units form up and establish defensive positions around the entry point.” Before she could continue, she noticed a thick sticky liquid forming a puddle near her foot. Turning swiftly to identify the source, she realised that the divine kitchenhands were all drooling. Their faces had taken on a demonic scowl that chilled her to the bone. Their eyes burned like fire as their forked tongues lashed the air like whips. Steam was rising from their mouths as their drooling was superheated by some internal fire that Alatearame could only guess about. Were these demigods or demons?

Troops were running in every direction to form their defensive perimeter and the Orcish horde was storming towards the outpost like a green avalanche. Suddenly, Celarius spoke in a voice unlike any Alatearame had ever heard. A voice so resonant and powerful that she almost fell back down the ladder. “Crispy Bacon!” Edamgouda added to the still echoing atmosphere of the warzone “Succulent Pork!” Moments later, even Semillion chimed in with “Honey Glazed Ham!” A fear gripped Alatearame the likes of which she had never known. Just what were these beings? Before she had the opportunity to reflect on this internal question, the three divine kitchenhands leapt down from the lookout post and began running towards the hordes. “Wait! Come back! We need to hold the position!” Alatearame called after them to no avail. The three had the scent of pork products in their nostrils and there was now no stopping them.

The troops of the 7 thbrigade were almost in position but Alatearame could not tear herself away from the scene that was unfolding on the battlefield. The Orcish hordes had moved into battle formation and were prepared to march on her position while the three divine kitchenhands stood between the two, continuing to drool with anticipation of what awaited them. The Orc commander grunted out some orders to his forces and they braced themselves for battle, spears coming to the ready and the shields forming up in the phalanxes. The divine kitchenhands didn’t move in the slightest and if anything, their drooling intensified. The tension could have been cut with Semillion’s knife if he had the coordination to do so and both sides were teetering on the edge of engagement, the anticipation absolutely electrifying.