Book of The Dead

Chapter B5: Upon the Field of Death

Once again, the remote town of Foxbridge was enshrouded in a thick miasma of darkness, blocking all sight of the horrors within. Mage Captain Elinon, gathered with his regiment at the rear of the gleaming formation, had no fear of the shadows that concealed their foe; his fear was reserved for something else entirely.

To his left and right stood his trusted officers, Mage Attendant Melissa Bertram and Mage Attendant Petyr, both of them tall and clear-eyed, ready for the conflict that was to come.

Behind him, the disciplined ranks of the Imperial Mage Regiment of the Golden Legion waited for their orders. As had been discussed at the officers meeting, they knew what their role would be today. Soon, they would be called upon to unleash the golden flames for which they had become known throughout the Empire, raining down destruction and holy light upon the traitor and heretic before them.

Yet Elinon had warned them the previous night, and again in the morning when he had emerged after a sleepless night and addressed the troops.

Things would not go according to plan today.

From the moment he had heard the Necromancer speak the Words of Power, felt the thunderous impact of his will upon the world, Elinon had not been able to push that sensation out of his thoughts. Just how strong did a mage have to be to cast magick like that? Just how gifted, just how loved by the arcane?

Against a mage like that, it was impossible to say exactly what they would be capable of. Basic spells became impossibly deadly, advanced magick became a force of nature. Elinon had only seen platinum ranked mages cast a handful of times in his life, but he would never forget how it had felt to stand in their presence. He’d done his best to warn the men and women who served beneath him what to expect, but it was difficult to communicate the exact feeling. Someone had to experience it for themselves.

A few dozen metres away, General Crow and his closest advisors stood in the heart of the formation, observing the field and discussing the upcoming battle quietly amongst themselves. As Mage Captain, Elinon had been privy to many such conversations and knew what they were talking about without having to hear it.

Would the weather of the day have any impact on the plans they had laid out the previous day? Was the deployment of the troops panning out as they had expected? Seeing the field laid out before them, had anyone noticed something that hadn’t been noticed before?Along with general discussions about the condition of the troops and their expectations for the opening moments of the battle. In the middle of it all, General Crow stood, going through his own mental checklist, ensuring every ‘t’ had been crossed and every ‘i’ dotted.For all of their obsession, the plan was a relatively simple one. Taking up positions to the west and south of Foxbridge, the Golden Legion aimed to box the necromancer in against the river, but leave an escape route for the heretic to the west. Dislodging the mage from his bunker was as good as killing him, since he couldn’t hope to outfight them in the open.

Long range bombardment, followed by waves of ground assault backed by heavy mage support. They would draw out every trick and strategy the enemy had prepared and crush them one at a time.

Completing his own internal review of the strategy, Elinon was drawn out of his thoughts when he saw the General turn towards him. A short nod was all he received, but it was all he needed.

“Let’s begin,” the Mage Captain said, drawing the eyes of his attendants.

He turned to them, knowing that the eyes of the entire regiment were on him now.

“Prepare your batteries. We begin in five minutes. Staggered flares of Gold Fire, two minutes apart, creeping barrage. Do you have your coordinate lists?”

“I do, Captain,” Melissa said.

“I do, Captain,” Petyr echoed.

“Good. Make ready.”

They snapped out a salute before collecting their staves from where they had been planted, turning to their own halves of the regiment. Orders were shouted, troops responded, forming into batteries of twenty mages each. Taking their places around the prepared arrays drawn out on the ground, they planted their staves and began to gather magick, pulling in the power they would use to fuel their first cast.

With so many mages at work, the influx of power was something that Elinon could feel in his gut and on his skin, like a rumbling in the earth and a strong breeze at the same time. For the enemies of the Empire, it would be an intimidating feeling, but Elinon doubted the Necromancer was afraid. Staring ahead into the distant darkness, he could only wonder what would emerge to counter their attempts to burn him down from afar.

As the minutes ticked by, each of the arrays swelled as more and more power was fed into them, until they were blazing fires of magick in the Captain’s mind. Soon, they would unleash hell.

“Batteries one through four are ready, Mage Captain.”

“Batteries five through eight are ready, Mage Captain.”

Narrowing his eyes at the miasma, Elinon nodded.

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“Begin.”

Melissa and Petyr spun away, barking orders instantly.

“Battery one. Begin cast! Battery two, two minutes!”

“Five, cast! Six, on standby!”

Around them, the world rumbled as two sets of twenty mages began to speak the Words of Power in unison, imposing their will on reality and moulding the arcane energy around them for their terrible purpose. Both of the active arrays now blazed visibly, licks of gold-tipped flames rising from the sigils, growing larger with every passing moment.

Ahead, the ranks of troops watched and waited, motionless as the mages did their work from the back ranks. They knew what was about to happen, had seen it many times before.

Elinon didn’t turn around. He knew the men and women who served under him, knew their professionalism and their capabilities. There would be no mistakes, no flaws in their work. He watched, waiting for the counter that he knew was going to come.

Right on time, the two active batteries reached a unified crescendo, power rolling off them in waves. Both spells completed within a second of each other, and the golden flames of the Imperial Mages roared to life. Deafening to the ear and searing to the skin, massive balls of gold-wreathed flames ignited and ascended into the sky. It would take a dozen or so seconds for them to reach the zenith of their arc and begin to descend, hitting their intended targets on the outskirts of Fobridge, just within the cloud.

A beat after the first batteries had completed their work, the second wave began to cast, barely a gap in the sonorous roll of the Words of Power.

In the distance, the miasma parted as something bloomed from within the darkness.

Elinon’s mind snapped into focus, using all of his magickal and mundane senses to assess the danger. It was enormous, a roiling cloud of black and grey that ascended into the air high above their heads.

Elinon’s hands flickered as he snapped out a rapid series of gestures, power gathering around his eyes as he did so. Spell completed, he stared hard at the cloud as it arched high overhead, turning down towards the Golden Legion below and sailing past the fire going the other way.

Concentrated Death Magick, in a formation he didn’t recognise.

“Prepare for incoming!” he snapped. “Counter barrage! Shields at the ready!”

As the dark cloud began to descend, its horrifying visage became clear. A grinning skull the size of a barn, ethereal light burning in its eyes and wreathed in dancing spirits, plunged down towards them. As it grew closer, a piercing, wailing scream reached Elinon’s ears, grating like nails scratching against the membrane of his soul, growing louder and more insistent over time.

What was this thing? What was it going to do?

Trusting in their comrades, the active batteries didn’t cease their cast, doing their duty and preparing the next wave of spell artillery.

While the incoming death’s head was still hundreds of metres away, the counter barrage ignited, a dozen mages raising their staves at once to launch projectiles. Streaking into the sky like beams of light, the spells pierced into the cloud in moments and detonated within, seeking to destroy or ignite whatever was within the looming skull.

Nothing happened, the spell continued to descend, its ethereal screech growing more pronounced and painful each second.

“Shields!” Elinon roared.

In the distance, he was remotely aware of the initial blasts of gold fire detonating as they landed within the miasma. Great gouts of fire and light burst out from the cloud of darkness, speaking of the force of the impact.

No one could question the nerve of the men and women who formed the ranks of the Golden Legion. As the death’s head descended from above, not one flinched or took a single step away from their place in the ranks. In unison, mages raised their staves, forming a great magickal shield that covered the point of impact.

“Brace!” Elinon barked.

He had expected the spell to detonate upon impacting the shield, exploding in a shower of bone shards or ghostly flames. It did not. Instead, the skull seemed to... deform, bending and rolling away as it moulded around the shield like water being poured over an upturned bowl.

It wasn’t solid.

“Wind!” Elinon roared. “Conjure wind now!”

He didn’t wait for his subordinates to begin before he raised his free hand and began to flick out sigils. Even if he had been Tel’anan himself, he wouldn’t have been fast enough.

Safe inside the shield, he watched as the cloud rolled down the sides and plunged to the ground. Completely covering the dome of magickal energy that guarded the point of impact, swirling clouds of miasma cut off all sight and sound to anything beyond the dome of protection. Hundreds of troops were exposed to the cloud, whatever it was.

His first failing of this battle.

As soon as his spell was prepared, he raised his staff.

“Drop the shield!” he commanded.

A moment later the cloud roiled towards them, no longer barred by the dome of protection. Elinon released his spell, confident that the rest of his brigade would do the same. A breeze began to stir, brushing against his cheeks and setting his cloak to fluttering. Gaining strength every second he and the others maintained the spell, it wasn’t enough to prevent the smoke from overtaking them.

Sick, cloying and sweet, the miasma burned his eyes and invaded his lungs. It clung to his skin, and immediately he could feel it sapping at his vitality. Cursed Death Magick, it was trying to suck the life out of his flesh!

Although resistant to the wind, the cloud soon began to disperse under the combined will of the gathered mages. As the cloud blew away, it revealed the massed ranks of the Golden Legion, still in place, not a single soldier having taken a step out of line.

Elinon felt a fierce sense of pride surge in his chest. These men and women had such total trust in each other, and he would not let them down.

Two more bursts of golden light exploded behind him, roaring into the sky as they arced towards Foxbridge. In return, he saw another skull blossom from within the miasma, faintly screaming into the sky.

It appeared as if the Necromancer was fully prepared to engage in a war of artillery magick against the Golden Legion.

Mage Captain Elinon was perfectly willing to see who would last in this contest.

“Prepare to shield! Cast it two hundred metres overhead. We’ll disperse the death’s head before it reaches us.”

The cloud would still reach the ground, which would force the mage regiment to maintain the wind, depleting their magick over time. If the Necromancer thought he was going to win a battle of attrition, he was welcome to try.

Meanwhile, he would be forced to defend against the fire raining down from above.