III

 

In the forest thicket, Xenor gathered the bulk of his army, which grew stronger by the day. Sent to all corners of the Realms, the dark legions gathered new forces and incorporated them into the Warlock's hosts. Anyone capable of bearing arms was transformed by the Lord's necromancers and joined the gathering horde near Ravenhill. Time was on the horde's side, and with each passing day its ranks grew.

"Sir, the first forces have been routed," announced the servant named Anarthar as Xenor landed in a forest clearing. Yendwill sat on his haunches, the grass around him covered in frost. The saddle attached to the dragon's back glowed with a cold light thanks to the diamonds sewn into its leather.

"Prepare a second assault," the dark lord replied casually, in a whisper that sent a chill down his spine.

The servant retreated, bent double. All sorts of creatures gathered around, ready to leap into the fire at the Warlock's beck and call. The treacherous orcs, who had always hated other races, were thronged. They built new huts, granaries, and armory where the horde gathered supplies and weapons. The Undead—dead beings brought back to life by Xenor's necromancers—wandered aimlessly through the camp, awaiting orders from their master to attack. The humans who had been transformed were transformed into soulless creatures, and with each passing day, they became more and more devoted to their new ruler.

The Warlock moved to the largest building constructed by the orcs. Inside, aside from the carelessly thrown-together basic furnishings, there was nothing else to enhance the comfort of the warlock's dwelling. Xenor paid no attention to this, knowing that he would soon ascend to the throne in Earthland's capital.

Three other necromancers, clad in black robes and hoods, entered without a word. They were the generals responsible for each of the races fighting on the side of the army of darkness. They looked almost identical: bald heads covered in intricate tattoos, faces thin and pale from hiding. Each wielded a staff similar to Xenor's. Only their staffs possessed less power. Only the Warlock's staff was imbued with the most powerful spells, allowing Xenor to control the remaining sorcerers.

They leaned over a map depicting the immediate area. It marked the positions and types of defending forces. The Warlock didn't want a repeat of the siege of Charlesdam, which he had to abandon for now. The largest city in the lands was a magnificent elven structure, so Xenor had postponed its capture until later. Besides, his forces already controlled the entire northern part of Lhydia. From the eastern range of the impenetrable mountains of Paranoor to the western coast of the Land of Salen. In every major center, the Warlock stationed his lieutenants, who ensured that the horde and its ruler lacked nothing.

The map also marked the approximate strength of the forces of the rulers of the Lands. The Warlock smiled, stating aloud,

"We outnumber them three to one, my fiendish friends. We will lead the main assault from the right; they have Kharonaey's dog troops there. When they fall, they will all fall before us. "

Xenor mentally summoned a servant, a small but exceptionally nasty orc, who a moment later entered with a jug of wine.

"Excellent wine from the cellars of Northernhill," the servant announced.

"Mroddigus, you and Bhalless's horde will strike first against the Templars. Their spells protect them from the ice, so I won't attack there. Together, the orcs and the restored will occupy the order's cavalry for good. Then Xollomius and I will advance from the front with a wolf horde. I will summon a lich to the right wing. Before they realize who they are dealing with, he will have inflicted heavy losses. Then I will unleash the undead upon them."

The door opened with a creak. A servant announced the arrival of another ally. A moment later, a slender man entered quietly, his face shielded from the light by a rotten green hood.

"Marthie ard Salley, at your service.

" "The black sun of the elves!" the Warlock exaggeratedly shouted. "I am glad you chose well, Prince."

"It's not a matter of choice," the elf replied, removing his hood. "My people hate Kharonaey's minions, and we've suffered many wrongs and humiliations from humans.

" "You'll have a chance to settle the score with the elves.

" "Then the bows of Sardthe Salley are yours.

" "What strength do you have?

" "Three thousand.

" "You will support the center in the second attack.

" "For the glory of the black sun."

The elf with a dark gray complexion had long, equally faded, almost gray hair tied back in a thick braid. Black plate armor peeked out from under his cloak. A finely crafted bow hung from his back. With that, Xenor ended the meeting. The five left the building and dispersed to their respective units. The sorcerer paused for a moment and looked at the army preparing to march. He smiled wickedly.

"Lord, what should we do with the captured scouts?"

He glanced at the servant, who was pointing at two prisoners tied to trees at the edge of the clearing.

"On a stake," he replied, and mounted his mount, giving the signal to march.

At the edge of the forest, Xenor's forces were gathering, preparing for a decisive assault. Mroddigus and Bhalless had earlier led the orcs and transformed humans through the forest near the defenders' right wing, where the heavy cavalry commanded by Nilf Appendale, the Supreme Commander of the Order of Kharonaey's forces, was stationed. Xollomius and the dark elf commanded the largest number of the horde, among which lesser commanders bustled about, shouting at their subordinates. A light snow was falling.

Suddenly, a shadow fell over them. It was Xenor, mounted on Yendwill, who flew low over the trees. The wind picked up. The army of darkness raised a battle cry. Drums and orc horns sounded. A prolonged dragon roar announced the attack.

Driven by whips, the army with wild screams rushed towards the fortifications of the kingdoms' troops.

Lhydia. As with the previous attack, the first ranks of the horde fell under a hail of arrows and royal spearheads. But at that same moment, the transformed orcs, led by Mroddigus and Bhalless, attacked the Templar cavalry. A great uproar arose. The horde's soldiers rushed into battle with fury. The highly trained monks quickly recovered from their initial surprise and skillfully repelled the attack. However, it became clear they would no longer be able to support the infantry. Xenor charged the archers. He cared nothing for himself or the dragon, whose icy breath wreaked havoc on the defenders' ranks, as even the elves' special arrows could do no harm. The royal mages were too slow to cast protective spells, much less offensive ones. The sorcerer casually shouted an incantation. The head of his staff glowed, and a moment later, a brilliant bolt of lightning shot out towards Matthiss of the Purple Fields. At the last moment, the mage managed to deflect the spell, which exploded nearby in the forest. Fierce fighting raged on both sides. Seeing that the horde had engaged the Templars, Lewinthian decided to reinforce the center with cavalry from the left wing. Xenor was waiting for this, signaling Xollomius and the elven prince to attack with their reserves. A wolf cavalry force numbering over ten thousand orcs rode out of the forest. Unmolested, they charged furiously into the defenders' ranks, nearly crushing the royal infantry. Only the dwarven axemen remained calm and, in a cohesive group, offered fierce resistance to the invaders. The wolves, enlarged by the necromancers' spells, posed a great threat to the infantry. Even wounded, they were incredibly dangerous.

Meanwhile, the Warlock soared high, out of arrow range, and shouted a summoning spell. On the right flank, where the almost defenseless royal crossbowmen continued to fire at the attacking horde, a glowing circle appeared. It grew rapidly. From it emerged a humanoid creature, which immediately attacked the disoriented soldiers. Three powerful demons appeared, resembling a cross between a human and some long-forgotten reptile. One of them breathed fire, transforming the immediate area into pandemonium. The panicked crossbowmen began to flee in panic. Xenor, satisfied with the spell, summoned a further snowstorm, obscuring visibility, and then directed Yendwill toward the epicenter of the battle, where the fiercest fighting was taking place.

He descended like a falcon upon the fighting men, spreading fear intensified by Yendwill's icy breath. The defenders' ranks crumbled. The remnants of the common folk fled, abandoning their scythes and axes. The elite royal guard, severely battered, now focused solely on covering the elven archers. The Templar cavalry, unable to accelerate, were also forced to abandon their mounts and engage in hand-to-hand combat. The battle was evenly matched. The Templars, shielded by numerous spells, put up fierce resistance to the attacking horde, inflicting numerous casualties on the orcs and the transformed. This proved to be of little avail, as the horde's ever-increasing forces seemed unspent, unlike the declining defenders. Many bards would have had ample material for their songs if any had dared to participate in this battle. The priests couldn't keep up with their summoning and fled to safer positions. The necromancers leading the attack cast curses on the soldiers, which the priests were unable to counter. The Horde had an overwhelming numerical advantage, but their training was no match for the defenders. The fate of the battle hung in the balance.

A charge by the royal cavalry brought hope, driving the invaders back up the slope, freeing the remnants of the dwarves from their trap. They sang a counterattack, supported by the reserves of King Hollowdsen's bodyguard. This hope, however, quickly faded; deprived of their crossbowmen's support, they were attacked by new forces deployed by Xenor's necromancers. The summoned demons scattered some of Lewinthian's bodyguard, slaughtering them skillfully and systematically, while the dark elven archers decimated their kin on the western coast. The creatures from another dimension were stopped by Matthiss of the Purple Fields. He dealt with the demons quite easily. He trapped one with a simple spell, first immobilizing it in place, then fired a beam of pure energy from his wand, which the demon couldn't neutralize. He simply sent the other through a doorway through dimensions. But the short duel with the lich, rich in lighting effects, cost him a grievous wound that eliminated him from further combat. Before the lich's ice ball reached the yew, it managed to unleash a fiery claw, which struck the mage in the chest. The priests carried the gravely wounded mage to the rear, where wagons were waiting to transport the wounded from the battlefield.

At that same moment, a cavalry of wolves mounted by orcs attacked. The scales tipped in the horde's favor. Faced with the enemy's now overwhelming might, despair crept into the ranks of the united forces. Knights of noble families, the most famous heroes of the lands, and royal mages perished. Fallen were Prince Preammonn of Addle, Simon Hakll of Southville, King Engelheard's son Erick, heroes of many battles and songs—the dwarf William de Hammersburgh and the elven prince Amvinn Hakhannor. Mages from the courts of Myrd and Baarkhadd—Devon the Golden and Aerie Haas. Nilf Appendale, the leader of the Templar Order, and many other masters from fortresses across Lhydia, also failed to return from this battle.

Xenor triumphed. He rose high to survey the battlefield. Only the Templars, now fighting their way to the threatened royal tent, offered resistance. Horns were blown, a signal to retreat and a signal that the king's tent was threatened. The sorcerer wanted complete satisfaction. He directed his dragon at the tent perched on the hill, dove down, and Yendwill breathed his breath, freezing a third of the defending crossbowmen who had regrouped after the lich's attack. The rest fled in panic, abandoning their weapons. Only the bravest remained in front of the tent: just over a hundred knights. From the west, the remnants of the Templars joined them, badly wounded and mortally exhausted. Behind them, like a swarm of orcs and transformed warriors, approached like a swarming arrow within bowshot. From the north, the wolf cavalry had a clear path to the king's tent, finishing off the scattered remnants of the united Realms' army.

Defeat. This word perfectly describes the clash on Ravenhill Heights. The army, composed of the most distinguished knights and warriors of the Realms, was utterly defeated and scattered. A wounded officer of King Lewinthian's bodyguard ran to his lord.

"Flee, King! Before the horde closes the ring around us!"

Lewinthian looked absently at his soldier. He shifted his gaze to the battlefield, where the horde was already heading towards them. He couldn't believe that the entire might of the Realms had crumbled in the course of this battle. A young Templar officer, who had regrouped and taken command of the decimated Paladins, also joined him.

"He's in shock, like everyone else. Get him out of here. Quickly!"

The guardsmen escorted the shattered man, who had aged several years during the battle. The paladin called all those still able to fight and ordered a retreat, taking command of the rearguard himself. Xenor's soldiers raised a shout of joy and triumph as they saw the last remnants of the enemy fleeing from the heights of Ravenhill towards Everwood. The Warlock himself set his dragon down in the middle of the corpse-strewn battlefield and began to revel in the sight of his enemies' defeat and his own victory. He left the creature to feed. He walked towards the rise where Lewinthian's tent had been erected. By the time he reached it, the orcs were already celebrating, cutting off the heads of the slain, impaling them on swords and halberds. A banner, the same purple as the Warlock's cloak, hung above the tent, and in its center was a golden symbol depicting a serpent's head.