The Seals Of Altior 2

Chapter I No mercy -2-Dawn had risen over the still smouldering rubble of what could only be remembered, as the safest and strongest military garrison in the entire principality of Hombros. After the death of Goldeon Rockwell, his deputy was immediately appointed captain and sent in command of an army of two thousand paladin knights, to Arx Lupus to put a definitive end to the history of the orcs. Along the great road, connecting the village of Othis and the garrison, the army had seen smoke coming from the centre of the forest, at the border of where the rebel camp was located. The captain commanded them to leave it and go on to the more important mission. He needed all hands. A scout had told him a short time before that the village had burned down, and there was no point in wasting time, resources and soldiers to check for survivors. "We could have saved someone if we had left earlier. There is little point now in thinking about what could have been, if..." When the army reached the plain adjacent to the outpost, the captain's heart struggled to continue with its next beat. Everything was completely razed to the ground. The fortress still smouldered, it no longer had walls. The watch towers were rubble and ash. Even the grounds had been burnt black. Not a single green leaf remained on the entire plain and the air was thick with smoke, unbreathable. In front of them, lined up and ready with their weapons in hand, were the orcs. An army, according to the estimation of an attendant, of at least three thousand foot soldiers. The captain looked up in the direction of the Ignis pass. "We have no hope of surviving," he thought to himself, feigning a confidence that had already fled and hidden miles away from that lifeless, futureless place. The two thousand horses were also feeling the tension and began to become skittish. The riders comforted them by stroking their muzzles and whispering words of encouragement. "Sir, there will be at least eight thousand orcs, huge orcs, armed with spears, crossbows, bows and axes the size of two bastards," the steward commented, after seeing the rest of the enemies cross the pass. The captain knew well that the battle did not promise a favourable outcome, but he knew even better that beyond them was the capital, with hundreds of thousands of inhabitants unable to defend themselves, with women and children who would not survive a war of that magnitude. "We cannot retreat." replied the captain. "We are two thousand knights with armoured horses, they are only infantrymen." Said the captain again. The two knights looked into each other's faces, and a knowing, stained smile, anticipated what would be the most difficult decision the captain would have to make. The enemy drums began to mark the time, and the march of the army from the pass, down into the valley. The clear sky allowed a good view of the entire battlefield. To the north-west, the ruins of the fortress had formed a cave in the rock face on which it was built. The wasteland had become scorched earth, without a single flower sprouting from the ground. The path leading to the border with Ignis, was guarded by the orc army which, as inexorable slow as the flow of a great river, ran into the valley. To the east, the entrance to the forest was visible. All the dwellings had collapsed and were now resting in piles of embers and debris. In the front ranks of the Hombrosian army, was bewilderment at the sight of this desolation. This was obvious on the face of every paladin. Some wondered if it was even worth reconquering this destroyed and annihilated land. The captain began a speech to his men, "Knights of Hombros. Before us lies misery, desolation, destruction and death; this is the scenario we see today. This is the scenario we will see tomorrow, if we do not fight today." The captain walked the length of the front row as he continued his speech. "We are the Paladin Knights of Hombros. We are the elite of all the armies on the continent. We train from childhood to become what we are today." He also made his way to the rear, to encourage all his men. "Today, we fight to defend the future of our children, our families and all the people of Hombros. This is the first time in many years that we can truly prove our worth." Before concluding his speech he had the lieutenants grouped in the front row. "Today, the great Sequoia of Hombros will flourish. Today we fulfil our oath, our loyalty is our strength." The horses reared up, neighing and snorting. The drums were overpowered and yet, they had lost their intimidating beat, although they did not cease to roll and mark time. The captain encouraged his lieutenants to keep hope alive and to make the most of the cavalry's power. The forces were all in place. Now ten thousand orcs lined up, threatening and intimidating against a mere two thousand knights, who were trying hard not to show any sign of weakness. Their strategy had to be planned in a short time. Each side waited for the opponent's first move. While the waiting was tearing their minds apart, the knights were fastening their lances to the flanks of their horses, so that they too would be well armed and ready to do as much damage as they could. It soon made no sense for the captain to wait any longer. "Crossbows!" he shouted. The knights loaded their crossbows and aimed them at the enemy front lines. "No use wasting time. The paladins of Hombros always attack first... RELEASE!" the order was given. The battle had begun. Two thousand darts whizzed past the enemy front lines, which was not too far enough away for them to escape the first wave of darts. Hundreds of orcs were wounded. Some fell to the ground on impact. The orc army advanced, trampling over their own wounded and dead. The captain raised his sword to the sky. He looked directly at the orc generals, who had seen hundreds of their own soldiers fall from the rear, near the pass. "CHARGE!!!" the captain ordered, shouting with all his might to give his knights courage. The plan of attack hung in the balance, with the power of the cavalry. The lines stretched out to cover a larger area of attack, as if to surround the opponent. The horses, armoured and with spears levelled, crashed into the advancing orcs, and there was nothing to save them from the brunt of the blow. The captain and the lieutenants were in the lead and brought down dozens and dozens of enemies under the weight of their horses. After eliminating the front lines, the horses stopped before a wall of orcs, armed with large shields and pikes. The charge was brutal, killing many horses and unhorsing the riders who were also killed and wounded. The first part of the battle, resulted in an extermination of the occupying army's infantrymen. The strategy of frontal attack was decisive and its effect fruitful. The opposing army was halved with minimal losses in the ranks of the Paladins. The battle was now fought on the ground, and the horses that had survived the impact, left the battlefield, fleeing to safety. Sword blows rang out across the plateau, striking against the irons of axes and shields. The screams of pain and battle cries, echoed from both sides in their ears. This was the sad melody that accompanied the falling and shattering of lifeless bodies. The losses were weakening the Hombros' army, which was slowly becoming surrounded by enemy reinforcements. More, were surely and steadily coming down the hill. The lieutenants and the captain had to sought out and find ways to extricate themselves from the fight and to isolated themselves from the skirmish. They stepped back and let their soldiers go forward. They all looked at each other with complicity. They drew a stone from their pockets. Each of them had a stone of a different colour, but these were not just stones. They were engraved with special characters. They were not letters, but were more like symbols. A squad of paladins shielded their commanders to give them time to activate, which in magical terms, were called Runes. They could be precious stones or minerals that were used as energy catalysts, based on their colour and consistency. Runes were powerful and very expensive magical artifacts. Throughout the known world, very few alchemists were able to combine stone with magic. They were long processes and there was no room for error. Many stones and minerals were rare to find in nature. The paladins had never before used runes in battle. However, the moment demanded it. Outnumbered and outgunned by the enemy, they were forced to use magic. The captain knew that the orcs were capable of using them as well, and the order to proceed was not long in coming. The activation of the runes was not immediate. The symbols engraved in them were the formula for activating them. The three officers began to shake the stone in the air with movements similar to a dance. The gestures and movements were different, as was the colours of the runes. They were runes of empowerment. Strength, vigour, speed. "" The captain spoke the engraved word, waved it in the air as if summoned by ritual, and the rune glowed red. "!" An attendant spoke the engraved word, waved it in the air as required by the rite and the rune lit up green. "!" Another attendant spoke the word engraved in his rune, which lit up yellow after waving it in the air, as required by the activation rite. When the activation rite was complete, a coloured halo burst from every stone and poured over the valley where the battle raged. All the paladins who were fighting were enveloped in it. The wounded felt even the tiniest and most superficial wounds heal, ceasing to bleed and a new energy began flowing through them. Magic did not help those who were near death or already fallen in battle, against death there is no magic. The magical energy released by the runes lifted the fortunes of the fight. The orcs were beginning to feel the blow. The paladins, once again led by the captain and his lieutenants, who were once again running in the front row, executed every blow with more power, energy and speed. The effect of the runic magic would not last much longer, but it would be enough to bring the whole fight into an advantageous situation. The orcs in the rear began to worry. The drums stopped beating and their musicians were forced to take up arms. Many began to look towards the pass, hoping for the order to retreat. "So, these orcs do feel fear too. They are not creatures immune to pain and emotion," the captain commented as he saw the frightened faces of his opponents. The lieutenant next to him, confirmed the captain's words. He too had noticed that the enemy's sights were beginning to lose confidence and tenacity. "Send them back to IGNIS!" the captain shouted forcefully. The cries of hope invaded the entire war arena. Slashes, hits and lunges; the cavalry advanced, the worried enemy lines retreated, showing weakness. The captain began to see the blue sky behind those grey–black, turbulent clouds. But the hope of such a quick victory was soon extinguished. The pass turned black. The three orc wizards were clad in a violet, then red, then yellow light. From the highest point, they sought the gaze of the captain of the paladins. They had watched the whole battle unfold and were shocked by the willpower of the paladins. They spoke to each other in the ancient–elvish language of Svart Skog. Every moment they spent arguing, reduced the distance between them and the paladins who would soon be joining them. Magic was the last resort they had left; to ensure that their efforts to achieve victory were not in vain, they decided to draw on all the magical resources at their disposal. They had learned nothing. A hundred years earlier, they had used powerful, dark and ancient magic against the fire wizards, magic that they paid a heavy price for and yet they persisted in their greatest mistake. They were using magic for evil and selfish purposes, and what they had been turned into, was visible and living proof of this. A few moments after the completion of the ritual, the fighting stopped. Paladins and orcs were drawn to a sky, covered in black clouds within which swelled bolts of fire. Soft, grey ash fell slowly like snow onto the battlefield, covering the ground and resting on the heads of the frightened and disbelieving soldiers, none of whom had time to realise what was happening. Rains of fire fell from those magical clouds. Flaming drops like volcanic lava fell on the bodies of the orcs and the armour of the paladins, causing severe burns. The battlefield began to blaze with flames that left no way out. The two sides seemed to want to work together, to save themselves from the terrifying fate that would deprive them of a dignified and glorious death on the battlefield. A magic so powerful that it killed paladins and orcs alike, without mercy. The captain was hit by several glowing drops but managed to avoid serious burns. He ran to a young man in the rear. "Let's protect the relay. He must run to Hombros to report," the captain ordered, with some veterans in tow. The unarmoured orcs began to crumble to the ground, burning; their flesh was full of sores that had already torn through the deepest layers of their skin. In the rear, the captain recognised the quick runner. He was a young boy, short, yet not particularly strong. He was protecting himself with two shields that were slowly losing their sheltering power. The fiery drops were constantly splashing violently, and even the captain was forced to endure the pain to complete what seemed to be an impossible mission. There were four of them shielding the boy with their bodies. "You must return to Hombros and report. Hide yourself. Do not be found... and go straight to Prince Garon. Speak only to him." the captain ordered as his fire-soaked skin was tearing him apart with pain. He struggled to pick up his rune, the rune of vigour, and handed it to the young man. One of the veterans collapsed to the ground, hitting the captain. The boy started to run and managed to climb over a few bodies near the border of fire. His right arm was badly wound, yet enduring the pain, he threw himself against the flames that separated him from the forest. Behind him, the captain gave in and let go, showing a proud and encouraging face, for the young man who now had a vital mission. The battlefield was extinguished as the rain of fire ceased. Devastation and death were companions in that desolate scene. The lifeless bodies of paladins and orcs were pilling up on top of each other, like allied victims, defeated by an uncontrollable power. The orc wizards had not noticed the couriers escape, nor did they imagine that he had stayed nearby to spy on what was about to happen. The three sorcerers, with a death glare, ordered a group of orcs who had remained in their defence, to fetch the amethyst powder; all of it that was available. The three went down into the valley and simply invoked a spell that made all the lifeless bodies levitate lightly. Men, and orcs alike without distinction. They grouped them as close together as possible, creating mountains of corpses. The remaining group of orcs, submissively and obediently sprinkled the twelve thousand corpses with all the available amethyst dust, but within them, a feeling of hatred towards their master commanders arose. The sorcerers started the soul-awakening ritual, which was longer and more tiring than usual, and they were pleased with its success. Twelve thousand souls were awakened, their lifeless bodies left orbiting the sky in luminous trails. The spell was incredibly powerful and different from the one used for small groups, or single victims. The three wizards sat down to rest, exhausted, panting. They waited a long time for the newly awakened orcs to join them. The young courier boy, had found shelter under the bark of a large bush with a broken trunk. Wrapped in foliage, he had seen the whole ritual. He desperately searched within his saddlebag for a cure for his burnt arm. He had some aloe leaves with him and made a paste out of them, sprinkling it on the wounds. The boy was fatigued and did not yet feel ready for the journey to Hombros. He remained hidden and fell asleep. The wizards, sitting on the trunks of some fallen trees, were recovering their strength while sipping a disgusting-looking drink. They were talking among themselves about the morning's defeat. One of them, his face less disfigured by the mutation, seemed to be annoyed by the use of the rain of fire, and even more so by having consumed all the amethyst dust. The other, surely the strongest and most authoritative of the three, replied in a confident, malicious tone that it had been a success. He was proud of his own power, which, combined with that of his brothers, made him extremely powerful, so powerful as to eliminate almost twelve thousand well-armed and armoured soldiers. He pointed out to his middle brother, that their soul-awakening spell had not only taken the souls of the dead, but had actually resurrected the bodies, once again violating the limits of magic. With the fall of the barrier, created by the wizards' spell, their powers had increased and they could draw strength from the darkness of the whole world... not just from that miserable piece of land where they had been imprisoned for a hundred years. Feeling free, they could have conquered the whole region, even if only three of them were there. The third, silent and indifferent, did not say a word. He ordered his troops to patrol the area while taking a nap; the other two carried on discussing how to continue with the mission. Soon, the orc army would be available to continue what seemed like plans to exterminate an entire civilisation. Purple sparks fell from the sky, impacting on the various piles of corpses scattered across the plain where the slaughter had taken place. Slowly the piles of corpses began to come to life, like so many worms locked in a container, trying to burrow their way out. One by one, they stood up, their muscles bulging from their necks and limbs. Their strained bodies made cracks and pops, as though their bones were breaking. Men and orcs lined up together, under the control of a single master. Their faces and bodies were disfigured by burns. Ragged flaps of skin were torn and shredded, any spark of life in their eyes was now extinguished, absent. The first of the sorcerers rejoiced at what he had achieved. An army without emotion, without fear, without thought. An army ready to obey any order, ready to strike the enemy. "Trollmannen lyver ikke," said the first of the three with great satisfaction, holding Rho's skull in his hand. "Kraften til denne relikvien er enorm," he commented to the other two. The sound of a new drum beat awakened the young paladin, who had remained hidden in the trunk and had survived through the night without any problems. He had slept soundly and nearly risked losing sight of the enemy. When he looked towards the pass, he was petrified by the sight. A new army had been deployed within the valley. His heart was pounding and an empty feeling in his stomach tore at him, all the dead were standing, arisen. He shuddered at the sight of that macabre spectacle. "Magic has limits, it cannot allow the dead to rise... how could this have happened? What magic but the darkest can allow this?" He looked away in disgust and rage; the bodies of his companions had been disfigured and their souls, now trapped in those rotting corpses. He quickly changed the bandage on his arm, which seemed safe from infection but still caused him pain. He left the shelter and very slowly, taking care not to make any noise, walked away from the Arx Lupus garrison. When he was far enough away, he started running with all the might he could muster, without looking back.