The
League sat for a while, some of them stunned, some of them plain
disbelieving - but still Ferol spoke on, for they were riveted by his
urgent voice and almost prophetic tone.
"I heard a voice from the heavens, and one can only presume it to
be some kind of angel - it chanted a prophecy that might hint to some
future battle against the Damned" He then fixed them all with a clear
gaze and in a final speech said. "In my heart I am afraid, but in my
dreams I do not fear - so I know that on this day, we shall win." He
stood and slammed his hands onto the table with a sound like a
thunderclap. "For if we lose, how can our few enslaved descendants
battle Chaos for a third time?"
Their eyes never left his and as the sun rose, they all knew what must
be done - so it was with hearts as heavy as their armour, they left the
marquee and prepared to meet their fate.
The sun climbed into the sky as the two armies positioned themselves
for a final confrontation, climbing slowly over the course of three hours
- until at last they were ready poised on the brink of battle. The Damned
were formed before their demonic allies, ready to fling spell after spell
at their enemies, but as soon as fighting turned into hand to hand, they
would retreat behind their demon foot soldiers. The glowing glimmers of
the orb's rays glanced off sword and shield, armour and warrior as it lit
the way for the carnage to come. Ulthring stood to the side of the Lord of
Chaos; they both presented a frightening image to the army of the
League…the mage dressed in full armour, stained as crimson as blood. In
his hand rested the Sword of Lies, that blade which Chaos had gifted him
with…the madman's eyes gleamed as he waited for the signal. Then there
was the ebony hued figure of the Lord of Chaos; he stood over twelve feet
tall and seemed to be made out of the shadows appearing as a naked,
hairless human - unarmed but terrifying to look upon, even from the other
side of the battlefield.
Against this oppressive horde of terror stood the League of Seven,
patiently waiting for the order to advance their armour gleamed in the
light, their weapons were ready - they would win or they would die trying.
No quarter would be asked and none would be given. The humans, orcs and
dwarves were a block of heavy infantry in the centre - the imps, elves and
lizards were the faster light infantry on either flank. Battlemages
interspersed the ranks, ready to throw warspells and support their
comrades - Archers of all the races formed the back row of the infantry
block, ready to fall back and send hails of arrows into the foe. Then
there was the League cavalry, composed of every race once again, they were
before the infantry and held the banners - horses stamping their hooves,
snorting the air and showing signs of impatience.
Ruben Ferol and the other League leaders were mounted to the side of
the main force, a little way off - they had their own small force of two
hundred elite horsemen, formed into a neat wedge. They could all hear the
derisive voice of the Chaos Lord as he urged them to flee the battle, to
run before it was too late how they would all fall, fail and die trying.
But these were not recruits, they were well trained fighting men who sat
on their mounts, unmoved by the sound of that dark voice while their
horses' ears flickered nervously, the men calmed their beasts and began to
chant a low droning chant - that even the men in the rank behind could not
hear, it was spoken in unison.
Ralph, the young apprentice of Ferol's gave the order to advance, which
was signalled by the trumpeter who blew a loud and clear wailing note into
the air. The League cavalry broke from the group and thundered towards the
dark army - behind them quick marched the infantry; their shields were
raised to fend off any long range enchantments that were flung towards
them. As spells flew, the Damned had great difficulty in targeting their
magics against the galloping horsemen, but even so, enough magic found its
mark to break the cavalry's charge and down a third of their horsemen
before they could even get close to the wizards.
The League infantry opened their ranks to allow the now fleeing cavalry
through and to the rear, rushing onwards so fast that the Damned mages did
not pause to loose another deadly barrage, they turned and melted quickly
behind the ranks of their demon allies flanks. Not wanting to wait that
long, the Chaos Lord bellowed and the demon soldiers charged forwards to
meet the League with a howling, screaming yell. The two armies clashed on
foot and while they battled furiously Battlemages and Damned cast spell
after spell, arrows were volleyed from both sides over the heads of their
comrades and sank with bloody finality into the bodies of their foes.
Fighters of both sides fell in scores; blood slicked the field and mixed
with the ichors of the foul and their allies it was obvious from this
battle that the League were being cut down like wheat while the Damned
suffered minor losses.
The dwarven, orc and human warriors in the very middle were slowly
falling or being pushed back by the onslaught of mad Ulthring and the Lord
of Chaos, they left a mound of the dead or dying in their wake, as the two
pressed on their advantage a League trumpet blew a forlorn note in the
battle and the middle section of the heavy infantry turned as one, and
fled at full speed. Sensing he had already won the mad Ulthring followed
the Chaos Lord's charge as they pursued the fleeing warriors like cats
hunting mice. At this moment, the carefully timed trap was closed with a
grim smile from those who had played the game till this point they had
lost much, but hope soared as they beheld their elite warriors from either
flank suddenly close in behind the two leaders and block their demonic
allies and wizards from following their masters.
Suddenly it seemed that the fleeing troops were making a carefully
choreographed and orderly withdrawal and not a bloody, scared rout at all.
This was further clarified by the action of opening their formation to let
the League leaders and their galloping, thundering horses through,
supporting the wedge of two hundred which bore right towards the Damned's
leaders at a great pace. The Chaos Lord simply roared in delight, he knew
in his foul heart that this was no match for he and the wizard at his side
- so he let them come knowing that they would be crushed under his ebony
feet. Then his demons would tear the thin line between him and it would be
all over in a second. His eyes burned ferally.
Ralph, Ferol's apprentice, chose that moment to break the powerful
invisibility magic that had kept him hidden for the time and took aim with
his longbow at the wizard Ulthring the arrow shot from the bow and time
seemed to condense down into a single brief moment, the arrow pierced the
wizard's left eye and the shot was so fierce that it split the eyeball and
ploughed right through the back of the mage's helmet - appearing in a gore
soaked tide of red. Chaos had no time to react to the attack on his now
screaming unnatural ally for the leaders of the League were almost upon
him, and as the two hundred cavalry rode past to close ranks against the
demons behind him Go-Dar and Ulf Twohuts drove lances into the dark
creatures body, he gave them a bellow of contempt and reached out with his
powerful hands, snapping the lances like rotten wood - then he closed
those same hands about their necks, plucking them off their mounts like
cherries there was the sickening sound of cracking bone and both were
tossed to the floor lifeless.
Jemthorn of the elves slammed his waraxe into Chaos' skull and it
connected with a bone-jarring crunch, without seeming to be harmed the
black shape tore the elf's arm clean out of his socket in a spray of
gouting blood. Carnage was the master of this battle as Zakx fell to the
Chaos Lord's black finger, driven into his skull like a twisted dagger he
staggered backwards and fell to the ground. Duke Dylan Ferol leapt from
his horse and tried to wrestle with Chaos, who grabbed the man held both
his arms, tilted his own head to the side then slammed him into the ground
- breaking his back, rolling him over and crushing his chest like he was
treading on a pair of well used bellows he died spitting blood.
As she saw this, Grondtha of the lizard folk tried to come to the
Duke's aid but she perished as Chaos raked her with a terrible kick as he
turned around. Her hands went to her gut and she tried to staunch the flow
of blood and bile as she fell next to the pale, bloodless corpse of
Jemthorn of the elves. In dying, the leaders of the League had not given
Chaos the satisfaction of one single scream of pain.
As he watched this Ruben Ferol shook his head sadly and gritted his
teeth, he saw the demon king rip Jemthorn's axe from his head and take up
a defensive posture. Ferol rode towards him and at the last moment, he
simply dropped his guard and swung down off his horse, which skittered
slightly in the presence of this being. As he strode towards the Chaos
Lord the mage began to laugh, it was a hollow, derisive laugh he stood
before the demon and raised his eyes defiantly. Needing no time to react
the Chaos Lord spread his fingers and drove his black hand deep into
Ferol's chest, the man bucked and gritted his teeth as he felt his body
shake and his eyes dim slowly his blood rushed past him onto the gore
soaked ground, but all he gave the demon king was a grim smile - then he
died.
Part 4