Shane Porteous - The Battle of Ebulon - A Shared Anthology

The smell of cooking pork filled the air and the last of the Orcs had been thrown into the pan. The divine kitchenhands formed up together and crossed their cutlery once more. Together, they declared “By the power of the almighty Pothcroth, supreme God of cookery, we summon the divine dinner setting!” Long banquet tables mystically appeared around the frying pan and out of nowhere, tablecloths, cutlery, napkins and even candles appeared. Instead of a waiter though, a violinist appeared, playing soppy romantic music and walking around the tables. Celarious looked at Semillion and simply said “You had one job. Seriously”. Still, the music was beautiful and relaxing so no great ado was made about the lack of a waiter. Edamgouda approached the commander once more. “Commander, we would like to invite you and your troops to dine with us this evening in celebration of the salvation of your kingdom.” Alatearame nodded to him in appreciation of the gracious invitation “It will be as you ask.”

Nemmin, overhearing this walked up to Alatearame and quietly asked her “Commander, it’s not that I’m ungrateful for their assistance but are we really going to eat Orc meat?” Lowering her voice Alatearame instructed “With all that they have done for us, I think it only fair that we at least try their cooking. Issue the order to the troops. Everyone is to join the feast or they’ll have to answer to me.” The troops began to gather around the tables and though initially concerned about the nature of the feast, to a man they found the food to be delicious. The celebrations carried on for hours with good food, good company and good music courtesy of Semillion’s violinist. Suddenly, the festivities were disrupted by the whistling sound of a falling object above their heads. Looking up, Semillion cried out with joy “Oh. THERE are my tongs!”

The room was silent, which wasn’t a good thing. With no audible distraction he was left with his own thoughts, each felt like a demon summoned from a terrible place. Those demons worked together to rip and tear at his mind, soul and heart. He was conflicted in every way imaginable. His city, his beloved Ebulon was under attack from the largest confederation of Orcs ever assembled. There was no absolute ruler amongst the attackers, no one king that could be killed which would send the Orcs running like the beasts they were. Most of Ebulon’s allies had been wiped from the world before the attack had began, leaving King Yadi no other choice but to call for aid across all worlds. Ever since the dawn of his world, his lineage had known about the unique connection this world had to every other. The shadow of all worlds ; his father had used this phrase to explain it to him when he was a young child.

He had known the dangers of calling for aid from foreign worlds. When walking through darkness you can call for help, but couldn’t completely control who heard such a plea. Hero was a loose term, there were Orcs that were considered heroes in their own ranks. But this consequence wasn’t amongst the demonic ranks that plagued his thoughts. He shouldn’t have been in his tower, he should have been out amongst his people, wielding his sword and fighting this wretched enemy. He could feel the weight of his crown within his hands; he had taken it off and then put it back on more times than he could count. He didn’t feel like a king sitting in this room, he felt like a coward. The weight of the crown in his hands was metaphorically flawless for it represented the weight of rule. He had had to beg for aid, a king should never be on his knees. But if it meant the survival of his kingdom he would bow to anyone, except the Orcs. He had been within his tower for almost two days, anxious and nervous the entire time. When he had heard the Orc drums he had been prepared to fight alongside his countrymen. He knew that the Orcs would attack every entry point of his city, that there was no way he could defend them one by one. But he had planned on being there, side by side his brave troops as they defended an entry point.

It had been drilled into his mind that in order to save his city, perfect strategy would be needed. As much as he desired the aid of foreign heroes he couldn’t count on them. Yet how quickly his strategy changed. With his own eyes he had been met with 50 warriors from another world, each strong and ready to defend a land that was not their own. He gladly would’ve fought alongside them until he was informed to hurry back to the Tower. There was once a time when his word would’ve been enough to keep his people loyal. But their fear and panic of utter destruction had rattled their minds. He had little choice but to do what was asked of him and returned to the Tower. He was shocked by what was waiting for him there, the severed head of Grock the King Killer. He had to touch its filthy skin before accepting the truth that a foreign warrior had killed the wicked fiend. He would have been honored to meet such a powerful soldier.

But his advisors convinced him, against his own desires to stay within the tower. Their words had made complete sense, that it was he and he alone that could call for aid from the other worlds. It was a power that only his bloodline possessed. He would need to call for more aid if the other world warriors were not enough to save his kingdom. He understood this completely, for parts of his city had already been abandoned, people fleeing in the hopes that the Orcs wouldn’t pursue them after Ebulon fell. Of course he made sure that all of his advisors and mages didn’t leak this information to anyone, that officially people had been evacuated by order of the king. Like a spear to the chest, the idea that he couldn’t keep his people safe was overwhelming. He didn’t care if the City walls were broken, the houses ransacked, the food reserves burned. Walls could be rebuilt, crops could be planted again. But the people of Ebulon couldn’t be brought back from the dead, even his wizards didn’t possess such power.

Earlier on in the day he had been anxious to see how his kingdom was faring. Even from his great Tower not all of the entry points into his city could be seen. He had no idea what was happening in certain parts of his kingdom. What he had managed to see, through a window of his throne room was encouraging. Aldoren of the Elf Nation had brought his finest troops to aid the city. He was grateful his old ally had answered his call, considering that the relationship between men and elves hadn’t always been pleasant. If his Kingdom survived he would find a way to one day repay Aldoren. More impressive than Aldoren was the appearance of the dragon Attor. At first Yadi feared the beast had taken advantage of the Orc attack and had come to claim its pound of flesh from the city. He was as confused as he was relieved when he saw it attacking the Orcs. Even more fascinating than Attor was the beast that rode it, of all things a snow leopard had ridden upon the Dragon’s back. He didn’t know how or why, but that snow leopard was the reason Attor was aiding the city. It was a riddle he feared never having a chance to solve.

He soon had left the window, unable to control his emotions, so many had come to aid his kingdom, while he had sat by and watched. He knew he was in a morbid mood when he began carrying the head of Grock with him when he left his great hall. Even by Orc standards the damn thing smelled terrible, but it was the ultimate symbol of what was happening outside the tower. Heroes who could gain nothing but injury and death had come to help his kingdom for no other reason than him calling for aid. He knew why he should’ve stayed in the tower but he felt sick to his soul about it.