Book of The Dead

Just how much magick did the damned Necromancer have access to? Fire roared into the sky once more, arcing high overhead before plummeting down to vanish into the darkness. Plumes of golden flames burst from the miasma, able to be heard even from kilometres away and searing into the eyes of all who saw them. Even so, Elinon could pay no attention to the bombardment of Foxbridge. Overhead, a wailing scream like the howl of the damned drowned out almost all sound as another skull-shaped cloud descended on the Golden Legion.

“Shield!” he called, bellowing his orders to be heard over the din.

Weaving the shield at the very limit of their range, the mages responsible snapped it into place on his command, high overhead. Rather than detonate, the skull of dark magick merely bent and flowed, losing its shape and becoming a formless cloud. Part of the miasma, robbed of its momentum, began to drift and disperse, but the rest, closer to the edges, continued to fall, rolling off the sides of the shield and raining down on the massed ranks of soldiers below.

Only the magickal wind maintained by the mages prevented it from reaching the ground and sapping the life from their flesh.

Yet, this was a losing game. Creating the golden flame took enormous amounts of magick, as did forming the shields, as did maintaining the wind. Even more than the cost of the spells, the strain placed on the minds, hands and voices of the mages under his command was beginning to worry Elinon. From here they were expected to assist in the assault on the darkness, providing close-range magickal support to the soldiers in the front ranks. If his people were too depleted from this exchange, their usefulness would be greatly diminished.

Which only begged the question. If he was worrying about this, with hundreds of Gold Ranked mages by his side, how much strain was the Necromancer under? There was nobody else in that cloud casting spells except for him and his minions, who drew on his power to do so.

After two hours of bombardment, how worn down had he become?

For a single mage to contest with an entire company of the Empire’s finest was… absurd. No matter how depleted his mages became, Elinon was confident the Necromancer was suffering to a far greater extent.

From the corner of his eye he saw General Crow approaching and snapped out a salute, maintaining the pose as his commanding officer approached.

“At ease, Mage Captain,” the General said.As always, the man was as solid as a block of iron, unmoved and unperturbed by anything he was seeing. There was a reason the soldiers on this expedition had come to respect the General to such an extent. Of all the commanders Elinon had served under, this man was unique in his steady calm and iron discipline. It reassured him.

General Rasmus Crow stepped beside the Mage Captain and turned back to look toward Foxbridge and the cloud that covered it.

“Is it worth maintaining our barrage, or should we move to the next stage of the battle?” Crow asked forthrightly. “As the ranking mage, I would like to hear your opinion.”

Elinon nodded, gathering his thoughts.

“We haven’t been able to see what effect the barrage has had with our own eyes, but we know it must be significant. If the enemy has been shielding the impacts, then it has cost them a tremendous amount of magick and effort. If not, we can assume a significant amount of damage has been inflicted.”

Almost every inch of Foxbridge had been hit as part of the creeping barrage, each subsequent blast falling in a slightly different location than the previous. No matter where the Necromancer had hidden his undead, they had been hit at some point.

Even if he’d been moving them around to try and dodge the barrage, any arrays he had prepared would have had to be vigorously defended or be destroyed. Elinon had every confidence in the golden fire his mages had been raining down. An artillery spell without peer, capable of immense devastation at the point of impact, and the flames burned for hours if not suppressed. No matter what he did, the Necromancer had to have been struggling.

“We can maintain the barrage, but I believe we may see diminishing returns. If you wish to engage on the ground today, then I believe it would be best to conserve the mental energy of the mage division to support the soldiers during their offensive.”

General Crow nodded, hands clasped behind his back, posture straight as an iron rod as he stared into the darkness in the distance.

“Do you believe it would be worth extending the barrage another day? Moving the assault to tomorrow?”

Elinon hesitated. Making such a judgement was a difficult task, since he couldn’t know just how successful the bombardment had been.

“Our enemy is a platinum ranked Necromancer. Giving them more time is probably a poor idea.”

After a moment, the General nodded in agreement.

“As you say. Cease the bombardment and prepare your mages to advance. Five minutes, Mage Captain.”

“Yes, General Crow.”

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Although the men and women under his command were drained, they were gold ranked mages, capable of superhuman efforts. No mere Slayer could hope to match their strength of will and discipline.

No sooner had the General stepped away, officers responding as he issued his orders in an unyielding tone, than his own Mage Attendants were by his side.

“Disperse the artillery arrays and instruct everyone with less than seventy percent of their magick to replenish it immediately. The ground assault will proceed, ensure your teams are ready.”

Melissa and Petyr saluted quickly, eyes alight with anticipation as they rushed back to the regiment, organising and harrying as they went. After raining fire down on towns and slaughtering heretics from afar, everyone in the Golden Legion was looking forward to some proper fighting, and the mage brigade were no different in this respect.

Some up-close battle magick, crushing a traitor and enemy of the Empire. This was what they trained so hard for.

Elinon strode up and down the line, staff in hand as he stared at the mages under his command, searching for any sign of weakness, any hint of unpreparedness. A short word here, a clipped command there was all that was required to instill a sense of urgency and caution amongst his people.

Overconfidence was a killer and he wouldn’t tolerate its presence.

He needn’t have worried, every mage remained clear-eyed and determined, despite their exertions earlier in the day. Every action was swift and disciplined, the collective minds of the brigade sharp and focused, enough to harden the magick in the air as it responded to their will. They were ready.

Once again formed into perfect ranks, Elinon took a moment to address them. Staff planted in the ground, he folded his hands behind his back and spoke.

“We will move to the next phase in only a few minutes. Remember your assignments and concentrate on your roles. We are to perform close-range battle-magick and support.”

There was a certain eagerness in their eyes. They wanted this, had wanted it for a long time.

“Be mindful,” he warned them. “We are the Golden Hand of the Empire itself. Mistakes will not be tolerated, lapses in judgement will be met with the harshest possible measures. This is not a game and we are not here for fun.”

He almost spat the last word.

“We are here to put down heretics and traitors in the name of The Five Divines. You will execute on your assignment with that in mind. Am I clear?”

“Yes, Mage Captain!” they roared in reply.

With a short gesture, he dismissed them, allowing his two Mage Attendants to start dispersing the brigade. Each individual had already been given their role and position within the formation, it was only a matter of keeping things organised as they broke off to find their places.

Elinon too had a place to be. He would not spare himself from the fire and fury of the battle to come. As the highest ranked and most powerful Battle Mage present, it would be nothing less than cowardice to do so.

Filled with purpose, he strode forward, heading directly to the centre of the line, passing General Crow and his gathered officers on the way. A mere five ranks from the foremost soldier, he stopped, planted his staff, and waited.

He needn’t wait for long.

Trumpets sounded and every soldier around him straightened almost imperceptibly. Sergeants barked orders to their troops, who lifted their shields and drew their blades, faces masked behind their golden helmets. Readying himself, Elinon drew on the magick within, feeling the enchantments in his staff ignite as he allowed power to flow into them.

Once again, the trumpets sounded, and in brutal unison, the Golden Legion stepped forward.

They had surrounded Foxbridge on two sides and severely restricted the flow of magick into the town, yet the cloud of darkness still loomed before them. Even though it clung to the ground like mist, Elinon could feel the immense reservoir of Death Magick held within it. It appeared as though the Necromancer had spent the night reinforcing the miasma, ensuring it wouldn’t be blown away as easily as before.

It wouldn’t matter.

Amongst the thousands of soldiers, there was no hesitation in their stride or fear in their eyes. Confident that the gods themselves were on their side, the darkness inspired no terror in them. Elinon himself could feel the power of his allies rising like an unstoppable tide as they marched. He was convinced that nothing could stand against them.

“Shields!” roared a nearby sergeant, the call taken up by others nearby.

The Mage Captain had heard and seen nothing, but he knew better than to doubt these men and women. Certainly, the soldiers around him didn’t. Shields were raised as he himself created a warding with his staff. Seconds later the sound of whistling arrows could be heard, mere moments before they shattered against the shining steel of the Golden Legion.

Still hundreds of metres away, the darkness stirred as arrows continued to be fired outward in steady barrages. It didn’t take Elinon long to realise the shafts were formed of bone, likely human bone. Every shot had significant power behind it, but not enough to seriously threaten an army of gold ranked soldiers. The advance continued, arrows occasionally blasting back the other way, spearing into the miasma whenever an archer thought they had pinpointed one of their undead counterparts.

With every step, the ranks drew closer and Elinon could feel the tension rising. They knew for a fact there were over ten thousand undead within the mist and they would cross blades with them any second.

Elinon was confident. No undead could hope to stand against thousands of gold ranked soldiers, even if the Necromancer who controlled them was platinum.

A voice spoke somewhere ahead of them and reality rocked.

Elinon stumbled in his stride as he felt the magick warp around him. An immense mind had seized reality and begun to bend it to its will, so strong he could feel it in his bones.

Words of Power rolled like thunder and cracked like lightning, a ceaseless tirade, and made Elinon feel like a flimsy boat adrift in a storm. How could one person have such authority! Such power!

“Raise the Golden Dome!” he bellowed, lifting his staff.

A moment later, the other mages followed suit, the head of every staff radiating a soft golden light that grew over time. Soon, the lights hardened as it continued to expand, merging and blending with each other and forming a dome of gold that covered every soldier within its embrace.

Their enemy finished their cast with a crash, reality rippling around them from the aftershock. Elinon braced for impact, but nothing came, except for the voice, which rose once more, casting another spell.

Darkness rose right in front of them now, but as the light touched it, they battled each other. Elinon continued to channel his power, holding steady while his other hand was raised, ready to counter whatever came their way.

Then, from the shadows, the skeletons came.