Prologue
With the thrust of my sword, the soldier in front of me yelled out in pain before falling to the ground clutching the spear that had very nearly impaled me in the gut. I had narrowly avoided my death, but the spear had still done damage, and there were far more men to cut down rushing through the breach of the stone wall that lay collapsed before me. I gasped for breath as I watched a new line of soldiers rush through the smoke-covered breech. My heart dropped into my stomach as their figures came into view.
They wore heavy black mail beneath thick cuirasses of black metal. Their legs and arms were similarly armored and looked unbreachable. Their great helmets bore metal horns and looked as if they had been crafted from a single iron block, and etched onto their chest plates was the symbol of a hand wrapped around a hammer held aloft. These were no simple soldiers, but the elite guard of King Ossirian.
Held in their hands were great swords, winged battleaxes, and spiked mauls. They looked forged to inspire fear as much as they were designed to break enemy formations and cause chaos amongst their ranks. They were tall men and broad, for only the strongest and most resilient devotees of the king could ever harness the will to don such weapons and armor of war. A look at my chipped short sword and a glance at the small number of tired, bloody comrades told me one thing, and I closed my eyes, savoring the thought and strengthening my resolve. My death was near, and I would drift honorably to the moon if I should fall now in battle.
Opening my eyes, I was surprised to find a cloaked figure quickly darting out from behind me, where my men had been fighting only a moment ago. He placed a gloved hand on my shoulder and pulled me back, placing himself between me and the charging soldiers. I thought for a moment he was singing or perhaps chanting beneath his breath, but I couldn't make out the words. It was then I realized fully what the man was, and I had only a few moments to warn the others.
"STAND BACK," I yelled as quickly as I could to my men. As the words escaped my mouth, the man raised his hands, and a glow had consumed his arms. Magic. What men could still move dived away or pulled their injured comrades and themselves behind fallen rubble. I was the only one left standing there, like a deer in the torchlight of a runaway wagon, too close to dive to safety. My only choice was to hope I would be spared from the attack, standing where I was, directly behind the mage.
The energy around the man's arms had reached its pinnacle and shone a bright red and orange glow as great heat washed over my face. I watched, mesmerized, as two torrents of flame rushed through the air towards the charging enemies. The roar of the fire silenced their muffled screams as they burned inside their armor. The fire persisted for a minute before the man lowered his arms, and the torrent subsided. Some of the soldiers lay on the ground motionless and charred. Others, unlucky enough to still be breathing, rolled on the ground trying in a futile effort to extinguish the flames. Their pained groans and gurgled screams soon stopped, and the last of them lay quiet and still on the blackened stone road.
Two lines of men, two dozen heavily armored elite guards, reduced to ash in a matter of moments. The smoke rolled through the street along with the smell of roasted flesh. Many more soldiers were hiding silently just inside the breach. Regular soldiers, conscripts, and levies from the countryside. Having witnessed the carnage before them, these troops dropped their weapons one by one, surrendering.
As my men rose out of the rubble, the Mage strolled forward. While stepping around the dead or dying bodies of the elite guard, the surrendering forces either dove onto their faces with pleas of mercy or stared blankly in terror at the man. He paid them no mind and simply walked around them and through the breach and into the keep. I stood there as my sergeant, an older man by the name of Gentry, limped to my side. Propped on his longsword like it were a cane, he cleared his throat.
"Good riddance. Those blind dogs of the king's would have never surrendered to us. Id take the smell over a maul to the skull any day." I nodded slowly, unable to take my eyes away from the smoking bodies. I shook my head and took a labored step forward, and readied myself to speak.
"... Forces of King Ossirian, your city has fallen! Surrender yourselves peacefully, and no more bloodshed will come to you. Stay where you are, my men will collect and bind you. Do not run. Do not take up steel against us, or I will call him back, and burn all of you here." They sat silently, but no one ran or picked up a blade.
Horns began ringing out all over the city. Gentry pulled a horn from his belt and blew a long and smooth note of his own into the air.
"Looks like we've taken the city. I counted 9 horns, including mine, which means all but two companies had completed their missions." I looked at the man and nodded, "Accompany the wounded back to the market district, we are to organize there. I will stay and take charge of the prisoners and set a perimeter. Keep an eye out, Sergeant, we don't need our own men burning like these poor fools here."
With a salute, he began barking orders at the soldiers and pulling the wounded to their feet. I walked forward to the bodies of the burnt and looked through the breach and up at the tall keep that stood within. I could hear screams coming from its battlements, and what he believed to be the roar of more fire. A chill ran down my back. Thinking of being one of the men lying here, burnt and unrecognizable. A life of training and tempering myself, only to be snuffed out as quickly as you would a candle.
I was not, however, lost in that thought. I had orders, and they could not wait. I turned my back on those dead men and began instructing my men to find any rope they could and begin taking the prisoners into custody. The battle is over, and the city of Nindollowin has been taken. The war was coming to an end. The thought comforted him greatly and gave him the strength to continue his duty through the pain of his wounds.
"I'm almost home… Just wait for me a little longer, Elonza..."
He turned to the keep again and to the sounds coming from inside.
"...The Reaper..."