"Command was given to Valdric’s
second, an Earth wizard who named herself Scorpia, and from whom much of this
testament was later extracted. To her had fallen the task of seeing to the
obliteration of Lord Lawrence Huntington, having taken his form as part of her
orders. Valdric’s own duty had been the looting of the Tower treasury, and its
archives, but this assignment must be delayed until all of those within were
dead. The victors would then raise their prey as undead to be taken back to the
hills and made to fight for the Liche-Wizard, and the pretenders to the throne
of Evendarr.
"The first part of their schema
was carried out as the enemy had planned. Entry was gained through their
disguise, and the gate guards were overcome. Their devising was thwarted soon
afterwards for Valdric had made yet a second error. His scrying had failed to
take into account the presence of our guard dogs. These were a Yuletide gift
from the king. They used scent rather than sight to identify their friends. The
alarum was raised as the great bell atop the tower began to clamor. Soon the
capitol watch would attend to our relief. The attackers began to flee, pursued
by such forces as we could muster. The air was filled with the crackle of
magicks and the cries of the dying.
"Valdric’s fury knew no bounds.
In his true form he paced at the edge of the circle and shouted out a challenge
to Lord Lawrence, who stepped forward to answer. Many of his friends and
companions sought to dissuade their master. Lord Lawrence had taken grievous
wounds and had eschewed healing in the face of greater need by others. Yet our
Lord was undaunted, and spoke to those who would have him give over in to his
archenemy.
" "Non Me Prohibe!" cried the
Lord Mage in the arcane tongue, "Do not forbid me!" and from that day forward,
his words were embellished upon the battle arms of Huntington, by decree of the
king.
"Lord Lawrence stepped beyond the
protection of the circle, and met his foe with such honor and courage as befits
his noble line. Thrice did Valdric cry out the dreaded words, which brought the
magic of obliteration against his foe. Thrice did Lord Lawrence employ his art
to cloak himself against utter destruction. Each time the Mage stepped towards
his archrival, and his hands glowed like the rising sun as he made ready his
attack.
"It was then that the Viscount’s
guards arrived to relieve our beleaguered defense. With a howl of outrage, the
evil liche uttered a strange incantation, and seemed to vanish. Not until some
time had passed, and quite by happenstance, did one of the tower journeymen
repeat Valdric’s words as he comforted the last survivor among our brave guard
dogs. He astonished onlookers by shape changing into its twin. It was then that
we understood that the foul one had employed a similar strategy to escape the
king’s justice. From that day forward, the spell was ours, as well as Valdric’s.
"We had suffered grievous losses,
sadly placing a dozen of our number in their burial chambers or funeral pyres.
These were mostly our guards, whose heroism will be commemorated by a memorial,
which shall stand forever within the tower court. The greatest tragedy was the
final death of our most valued Quentari Arch-Wizard, Larissa D’Quey, she whose
wise counsel proved the difference in our defense, and whose friendship is now
lost forever from these halls.
"As to the enemy’s fate, we have
guessed that half of their number will never resurrect and our captive has given
us much intelligence. Soon it will be the moment to confront the liche and visit
his destiny upon him and the puppets whose lead-strings lie in his malicious
hands."
VI: The Final Battle: SkySpawn
Of the dozen powerful wizards who
left the Green Hills, only six escaped from the tower. Of these, two
deliberately took their own lives and resurrected elsewhere. Valdric relieved
the rage and humiliation of his defeat by leaving a trail of emptiness in his
wake as his band murdered every living mortal that they encountered, adults and
children alike, and raised them as his undead slaves. The sortie had not
been a complete failure. His servants had managed to seize a large number of
magic items, several ritual scrolls, and a large number of components. They
would be put to use in preparation for the spring campaign. He set his minions
to work, and he himself began a frenzied effort to create even more fearful
undead. By the time he engaged the royal army of Evendarr, the combined forces
of Darriel, Regweld and Soledra together with Valdric’s legions would nearly
equal the numbers fielded by the king.
At the Royal Tower of Magic,
morale was at its lowest ebb. Even as the Evendarrians were still mourning their
losses, they had to bid farewell to their elven colleagues, who insisted upon
returning their fallen comrade to her homeland and family. Refusing any escort
despite the generous offers by Viscount Aylward, and by King Berthold himself,
they departed alone, bearing Larissa’s body on a litter. Shortly afterward they
disappeared from view, both physical and magickal.
A month went by during which scry
spells were being cast constantly. The information that was revealed thereby
made even the stoutest hearts quail with trepidation for what would come with
the melting snows. At the beginning of March, a grim Council of Royal Advisors
took place in the most heavily protected chamber in the tower. It was only then;
combining the information gleaned magically with that gathered by spies, that
everyone realized how great Valdric’s forces had become. Worse, the coming
battle must not only be fought to the death of Valdric and the pretenders, or of
the kingdom itself, but it must be fought on terms dictated by the liche. Such a
horde of undead would spell disaster if it were to fall upon the heart of the
realm.
Grimly, each of the leaders
departed to begin preparations for the long westward march. Lord Lawrence was
feeling every moment of his fifty years as he slowly made his way to the upper
reaches of the tower, and stood overlooking the city that he loved, sleeping and
unaware of its great peril. Not a cloud could be seen in the moonlit sky.Only
when its brightness began to outshine the waxing moon did the Arch-Mage notice
that something was floating toward the tower at a fair pace. Fascinated, he
forgot to sound the alarum bell until it was nearly upon him. Even as he was
reaching for the pull rope, the brightness collided with the circle of
proscription and somewhat clumsily set itself upon the ground and dissipated. To
Lord Lawrence’s astonishment, half a dozen figures were striding through the
circle. One looked up at him and waved in greeting. The Quentari wizards had
returned.
Lord Lawrence himself rousted out
the entire assembly to welcome their colleagues, and an impromptu feast was held
as the visitors were inundated until daybreak with questions about their
journey, and the sensation of travelling astride and air elemental. The
Arch-Mage declared the day a holiday for his staff, but not for himself, or his
guests. After a brief rest they assembled with the senior wizards to give their
news. The Quentari had brought additional companions, including a young elf
named Entarios, the son of Larissa D’Quey, who had come at his mother’s request
to finish the work she had begun. Puzzled, the lord asked how he could have
spoken with her, and was told of the last use during the tenth cycle of ages of
the ritual called, ”Spirit Farewell.” This ritual remained unrediscovered until
only a few years ago. Lord Lawrence apprised his guests of the peril they faced,
and their confirmation of his evaluation of the situation in the Green Hills
gave him no relief. Never the less, he told them, he was grateful for
their continued loyalty. Perhaps together they could make a difference.
It was then that Gildor Gelion
the Healer-Wizard presented the Arch-Mage with a bejeweled chest bearing the
seal of the elven king himself. Lord Lawrence’s friends had taken their case to
the court at Din-Oth, and to everyone’s astonishment, King Elenaro had bestowed
upon the Royal Tower a rare and precious gift, a scroll containing a powerful
ritual which enabled the caster to Contact Other Planes. A message from the King
bore his greetings with the assessment that Valdric’s army was as great a threat
to Quentari as to Evendarr. If the Liche should prevail, Quentari, still
recovering from the “Dagorim Gurthrauko,” or Dark Wars, and beleaguered by
increasing elemental activity, would face peril on yet another front. Its
resources were stained to their limits, and only fools fail to support friends
in time of need, the royal message concluded. The team of wizards set to work.
The tower staff soon realized
what the Quentari casters had noted at the outset. This ritual, along with its
counterpart Contact Earth, was much too powerful to be used by any but the most
adept, and then only under the most carefully controlled supervision. Several
copies were made for security, for even a flawless casting did not guarantee
that the scroll – or the caster – would survive coming into contact with
whatever intelligence responded from across the planes. Despite several
accidents and one or two minor disasters, the tower was able to determine the
course of action that must be taken.
Preparations continued until the
royal forces departed from Cwyll in mid-April, just as soon as the roads became
passable. It took five days for all of the units to arrive, and the army to
deploy as best it could. There was little movement from the enemy. It seemed
Valdric could afford to be patient. All was in readiness on the evening of the
23rd day of April, in the sixteenth year of the realm of Evendarr. The final
battle would begin at dawn on the 24th.
The Liche-Wizard’s failure to
strike quickly was his final and fatal error. Deep in the darkness of the aether
that surrounds Tyrra, a celestial body was travelling on a journey of unknown
length and destination. Had the proper question not been asked of the entity
which had spoken through the Ritual of Contact, it would have passed across the
skies of Tyrra, unknown and unseen, and disappeared into the vastness that
separates our world from the other occupants of the heavens. Great magicks had
changed its destiny. Already, beings had been summoned to alter the thing’s
path. It was small in size, but powerful for all that. Most important, it would
accomplish the task set for it by those who guided it without causing harm to
any save its intended targets. The royal wizards had learned quickly and well:
even the Quentari had been impressed at the expertise shown by their Evendarrian
counterparts, human and non-human alike.
The only need now was to await
the proper moment: an alignment of Celestial bodies which would ensure success.
The army must hold the field until the third hour after midday, the moment of
the full moon, when balanced by its companion, the sun, and the two cradled mars
in their opposition. The fullness of Light and Life would guide fire and sword
in a rain of celestial death upon the enemy. King Berthold’ s forces must hold
the field during those long hours until the summoning could be completed. The
king assigned his own personal guard regiment to secure the wizard’s position as
the battle was joined. The remainder of the royal forces engaged the army of the
pretenders. Twelve thousand living soldiers of Evendarr against six thousand for
Valdric, as one of the bloodiest battles in the kingdom’s history raged across
the hills. Soon not a single blade of grass survived amid the crush of warriors,
spellcasters, and mounts. Ballistas and catapults sang their songs of death. By
midday it seemed as though the royal troops might win the battle without the
intervention of the royal wizards.
Suddenly, a great cloud of
darkness spread across the battlefield as Valdric’s casters prepared the way for
his final onslaught. The stench of ten thousand rotting corpses burst into the
blinded faces of King Berthold’s soldiery. Troops and mounts alike fell to the
ground, sickened. A howl from the deepest pits of anguish sent terror through
friend and foe alike. Valdric no longer cared how his own living forces fared.
His undead hordes would win the final victory, and the casters among them,
living or not, would raise the fallen into his ranks as well. He could not lose.
The only relief from the undead
attack came from the occasional lifting of the veil of darkness as the caster
who held that spell was killed. The brightness would cause every corpse that it
touched to dissipate, shrieking in agony. By now, the order of battle had been
lost, and the clamor was so great that signal calls were useless. The armies of
Evendarr were being routed, and only the most disciplined were holding ranks as
they fell back. Now all that could be heard was a constant roar that seemed to
be growing louder with each moment. Many thought that the liche had held yet
more terrible creatures in reserve.
King Berthold and his commanders
had anticipated much of Valdric’s battle plan, but the confusion was so great
that there was barely time to pull the bulk of the royal forces behind a series
of sheltering hills. The final magic had been cast, and there was no force left
on the world that could stop it. The wizards of Evendarr could only hope that
the retreat had been in time. They fled to their sheltering trenches and waited
for the final strike.
No one, not even the most
seasoned Quentari spellcaster had anticipated the noise. The roar became a
cacophony that became a scream so intense that horses died standing in place.
There were many whose only injury was a complete loss of hearing. The darkness
was shattered by a light so intense that hundreds who had not been deafened were
blinded. Afterwards, when healing restored them, to the end of their days, they
could only speak of the battle with reference to the horror of their last vision
before sight failed them, the images of masses of undead collapsing as their
bodies were incinerated by the amazing light and heat.
In the skies above the Green
Hills, the meteor exploded in a fireball that was seen as far away as Cwyll to
the east and Din-Oth to the west. Molten rock poured down upon the armies of
Valdric and the pretenders. Huge hunks of stone buried themselves in the ground,
which bubbled and burst into flame as the land consumed itself. Nothing could
escape the shower of death. The battlefield fell silent, transformed to a
smoldering ruin. Not even the bodies of those who had suffered their final
deaths survived. Awestruck, the wizards of Evendarr stood beside their Quentari
allies, and looked, speechless, upon what they had wrought that day.
VII: Aftermath
In the end, the royal army had
taken far fewer losses than the catastrophe that ended the battle might have
indicated. For the most part the retreat had been successful and total losses
among the living were less than a quarter of its total troop strength.
Ironically, many of Valdric’s lesser undead were successfully resurrected by
surprised earth casters all over the kingdom, as they were finally released from
long years of bondage to return to families and friends who had long since lost
hope for their return. It seemed that these were the first to dissipate in the
moments before the fireball struck, as their masters lost control over them.
No trace was ever found of the
rebel leaders, and no rumor ever manifested that they had escaped the wrath of
the royal Arch-mage and his brave company. All traces of opposition collapsed in
the wake of the battle, and more than a century passed before civil insurrection
again posed a threat to the Royal House of Endarr. Shortly afterward, a caravan
of gifts from a grateful king wound its way to Din-Oth, accompanied by the
Quentari wizards who had helped to secure a new and stable realm to guard the
eastern flanks of the ancient elven realm. Offered titles and positions of power
in Evendarr, the Quentari declined. They cited the growing threat of elemental
activity in their homeland as the reason that they must return, although
friendships remained.
All of the elven wizards departed
save one. Entarios D’Quey stayed behind after he was recognized to a wood elven
bard. They remained in service to the crown, and a century later joined the
staff of the new Royal Academy on the island of Janitria, where he remained
until his final death in 366.
Lord Lawrence continued in his
position as Court Mage of Evendarr until Yr. 32 when he, together with many
other heroes of that fight for the realm were obliterated in the terrible
explosion that destroyed the Tower of Cwyll. No cause was ever discovered for
the accident, despite many investigations and magical searches over the
intervening centuries. Other heroes were lost in the great battle as well. Three
full regiments of the King’s Own, The sovereign’s personal guard were lost in
that battle. The greatest tragedy was the presumed obliteration of Dame Winifred
Bartholemew, Knight Commander of the Royal Army. She was last seen riding to the
rescue of a company surrounded by Valdric’s worst cohorts. Her body was never
found.
The monuments to the battle still
stand upon the hills and in Cwyll where the fallen heroes are honored to this
day. Although they have recovered their fertile meadows and gentle slopes, the
Green Hills are known, now, and for as long as the kingdom stands, by the great
firestorm that marked them with celestial power on that awful day. Both the
battle and the hills are called, "The Fire Downs". The date is forever fixed in
the annals of Evendarr: the 24th day of April, Yr 15, the first year of the
tenth cycle of ages.
Finis
