The Sorcerer's Scourge (40 page)

“Yes, master,” Zagrat intoned and left Varnath staring into the enormous, faceted crystal in the center of the room.

Bron led the party through the snow-shrouded forest using his magic to home in on the greatest absence of life. The disorientation magic that had kept the others from finding the source of the malevolent magic still managed to continually push him off course, but he quickly recovered his focus and knew they were getting very close.

“Do you have any idea how much farther it is?” Maude asked the druid.

“I believe we should find that which seek by morning if we do not stop.”

A soft snow had been falling for hours and their breath erupted from their mouths like plumes of smoke. Exposed flesh burned from the cold, and even the parts covered by their clothing ached from the bitter air. The sun was setting rapidly, plunging the forest into an orange glow as the last of the waning light reflected off the snow. Bron came to a sudden halt, his body tense, and his senses alert.

“What is it?” Maude asked warily.

“I sense death all around us,” the druid replied.

“You think we’ve reached the source?”

Bron turned his head slowly from side to side. “No, this is different. It is death with intent.”

Corana shifted her grip on her bow. “He’s right. Something has disturbed the forest here. Something is watching us.”

Before Maude could ask what, geysers of snow exploded into the air as dozens of creatures burst from beneath their concealing blanket. Ragmen and creatures long dead rushed headlong at the living, intent on bringing about their deaths and conscripting their corpses into their undead army.

Malek immediately brought out his holy medallion and called forth the purifying light of Solarian. The gold and amber symbol flared with a golden brilliance that chased away both the darkness and the undead anathema, destroying the nearest ones outright.

 Corana and her fellow rangers launched their deadly shafts almost as fast as they could pull arrows from the quivers on their backs. Whatever enchantment those arrows held, it reacted violently when they struck a construct. It was almost like touching a flaming brand onto a log soaked in lamp oil.

There were far too many of them and they were far too fast for the elves to continue using their bows with impunity. Half of the rangers dropped their bows, pulled swords, and formed a barrier between themselves and the remaining archers. The sword-wielders quickly showed that they were as lethal with blades as they were with bows.

The elves used their swords to intercept the undead and ragmen while those with bows continued to shoot between their comrades engaged in melee. None of them seemed concerned that the gaps through which the archers shot was often barely large enough for the arrow to pass unhindered.

Maude and Borik unlimbered their weapons and formed a defense around Malek as he continued to repel the undead with the magic of his faith. Unfortunately, the holy light that was so repulsive to the undead did little to discourage the ragmen. The big woman and the dwarf soon found themselves hard-pressed under the combined assault of several ragmen until then the huge half-ogre stepped into the fray.

Bron brought his thick, bronze-capped staff down upon the back of a rager with the body of a stag and the torso of a barbarian. The sound of the creature’s spine shattering echoed through the forest. Another stag-man whipped a massive club at the druid, but Bron ducked the blow and struck back with enough force to double the human torso back upon its stag body, pulverizing its ribs.

Such a blow would have meant an instant death to most any other living creature, but the ragmen were far from natural and it still made a futile swat with its club at the druid. Bron brought the end of his staff down upon the monstrosity’s head, ending its struggles once and for all.

 A ragman with the arms of an ice bear slammed into Bron with enough force to knock the big druid to the ground. The rager slashed at Bron with its claw-tipped arms while the druid used his own arms to protect his face, receiving deep gouges in his tough flesh. Bron roared in a rare show of rage, grabbed the creature’s wrists in his powerful grip, and rolled, reversing the two foes’ position. Now on top, Bron jerked with all his considerable might and tore the arms from the creature like a child pulling the wings off an insect. The rager hissed and spit incoherently, trying to bite the half-ogre until Bron reached down and did the same thing to its head.

No one heard the sharp chanting of the hobgoblin shaman over the din of battle, but his appearance in the battle quickly became apparent. A swarm of magically hardened ice cycles flew into the mass of living warriors without regard to his monstrous minions. Such piercing damage did little to harm the creatures anyhow, unlike those of normal flesh and blood.

The shaman hurled the shards of ice with enough force to pierce the leather and chain armor of his enemies. Several elves went down and several others staggered under the unexpected barrage. What had been an effective defense quickly became precarious as the undead and mutated creatures pressed in.

“Tarth!” Maude shouted as she defended against several foes. “You need to do something about the hobgoblin! We’ll take care of these!”

Maude almost groaned in frustration when the elf bent down, scooped up a handful of snow, and casually lobbed the snowball at the hobgoblin. Whether the pitiful attack was by accident or design, Zagrat ignored the idiotic assault as he prepared an even more sinister spell to eliminate these annoying breathers. Then the snowball struck.

Snow cascaded down from the trees as the massive explosion shook loose their frozen shrouds. Zagrat looked up from the crater in which he now found himself, blinking in disbelief as the dislodged snow from the trees threatened to bury him. He stood shakily and climbed out of the bowl in which he stood. Just as he reached the rim of snow-sided crater, he looked up into the bloodshot eyes of the druid.

“Pitiful druid!” he spat. “Your goddess has no power in this land of death, and soon she and her consort shall have none anywhere!”

“As long as a single plant or animal clings to its right to life, Ellanee shall always be near.”

With that declaration, Bron kicked the shaman in his chest, sending him flying back to the bottom of the bowl, cursing Ellanee and her devout. Bron ignored the shaman, reached into a pouch, and flung a handful of seeds down onto the undead hobgoblin. Borrowing from the meager life that remained in the area, Bron fed it into those seeds where they took root in Zagrat’s dead flesh and began to grow.

Zagrat screamed despite being beyond the ability to feel true pain as the sprouts grew and took root within him. However, the death pall that hung across the land and within the shaman’s body warred with the life Bron fed into those sprouts and they quickly dried and turned brown under the life-leeching affect of the place and its foul magic.

Zagrat’s screams turned to laughter. “You see! You cannot stand against my master, and soon all the lands of this kingdom shall be his. Then the entire world!”

Maude’s group and the surviving elves finished off the remaining ragmen and undead that had not fled. Malek tended to the wounded while Maude and Corana stepped next to Bron and looked down upon the defeated shaman. There was a sudden change in the air and all looked out into the trees as the last few rays of sunshine revealed a wall of fog barreling towards them at an impossible speed.

“What in the abyss is that?” Maude cried in alarm.

Zagrat cackled loudly. “That is your doom! My master’s plan is complete! You are too late!”

Bron held an acorn in his upturned palm, gently blew upon it, and watched as it glowed with the cherry glow of a hot ember.

“No battle is ever over as long as there is one who lives to fight,” he said and tossed the glowing acorn onto Zagrat’s prostrate form.

The desiccated roots and tendrils that sprouted from the shaman’s body erupted into flames. Zagrat howled once again and flailed around in the snow trying to smother the flames, but the dead plants burned inside his body and the fire would not die. The hobgoblin finally stilled as the fire continued to consume his corpse.

“What did he mean that his master’s plan was complete?” Maude asked. “Did he mean the fog? I don’t feel anything; except cold.”

Bron studied the pervasive mists. It instantly covered the small valley they were in and he was sure the hills beyond. He could not see much further than the end of his outstretched staff, but his instincts and magic told him it continued to spread far beyond the northern range.

“I do not know what it portends. Something ominous you can be certain. How fares our band?”

Malek approached and spoke. “I have healed the worst of the injuries. The elves have an ointment that should take care of the lesser wounds. Three of the rangers were beyond my ability to save.”

Bron bobbed his head in understanding. “We must press on. I do not know what this fog heralds, but if we do not find and destroy its creator, I fear every soul in the kingdom may be in great jeopardy.”

Bron pulled three more of his acorns from a pouch and ignited them with his magic. He then placed one on each of the fallen rangers and let its cleansing fires consume the corpses.

The druid turned to Corana. “I know it is customary to return them to the soil, but I fear the ground here is too tainted. Let the winds carry their ashes to a land teaming with life and the gentle hand of Ellanee.”

Corana dipped her head. “You are as kind as you are wise, druid.”

***

The battle between Jarvin’s small army the Bishop’s superior forces continued to rage on just as it had for the past several days with neither side willing to concede. Their plan to crush Caalendor’s cavalry met with remarkable success. A few well-placed illusions brought nearly the entire enemy cavalry charging up the snowy pass only to be buried beneath tons of snow. In the end, over five-hundred horses and nearly three times as many men lay entombed beneath the frozen cairn.

After that, Caalendor’s clerics did a remarkable job of all but negating Jarvin’s magical advantage. The Chosen could not hurl much in the way of overtly destructive magic as the mages could, but they were quite adept at countering it. The magic they used to stop, deflect, and dissipate the destructive forces used against the men battling on the frontlines made Azerick and the other spell casters feel nearly useless.

That put Jarvin’s forces at a significant disadvantage. Only their terrain advantage and the meager defensive bulwarks they had constructed prevented their foes from overrunning their position and forcing a retreat that would quickly become a rout. Although Caalendor numbered a higher body count amongst his own troops, he had the numbers to sustain such losses. Jarvin had already lost nearly a third of his forces, and at least half of those would never rise to fight again.

Azerick, Allister, and Rusty felt the sudden change in the magic flowing through the ether. What had been a slow drift to the north became a torrent that now rushed towards them as if a dam had been holding back all that gathered energy and it had just burst.

All three mages turned to the north and watched as the fog rushed over the tops of the distant mountains and flooded towards them much like the avalanche they had used to bury Caalendor’s soldiers, only it was silent and far larger. Jarvin stood near the mages and turned to see what had caught their attention.

“What in the light is that?” the King asked with his mouth agape.

“Something unpleasant to be certain,” Allister grumbled.

The mists washed over them with such speed that several men watching its approach braced themselves and took in involuntary step back, expecting it to hit them with a mass far greater than simple fog. Whatever it was, and despite its speed and thickness, the only physical effect was a sickly chill washing over them.

The battle raging in the pass below nearly came to standstill. The chaotic shouting of men and the ringing of weapons all but ceased as every warrior on the field stopped and looked at the mists that blasted through the pass and over the mountains beyond. No one could see more that a silhouette from more than a few feet away, and not even that beyond a few yards.