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Death and Destruction I Part 1: The Mission

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“Captain,” called a leather-clad messenger as he came in through the tent flap. He paused a moment to catch his breath before speaking. “The Nine wish to see you immediately.”

“Can’t you see I’m trying to work here,” I said with no little anger, motioning to the maps laid out before me. “Can’t they wait? I have no time to give them a report.” I scowled in disgust, making the young man cringe with fear of my wrath.

“I’m very sorry sir,” he said regretfully, “but I was told to say that it was of the utmost importance, and that you must come regardless of what you are doing.”

“Very well,” I told him, “I will come, but I am not happy about it.”

“Thank you, sir,” he said before hurrying away, eager to leave my presence. I rolled up the maps which depicted the area around Castle Ramir, to which we lay in siege, and tucked them into an inside pocket of my jacket. “Gentlemen,” I said to my lieutenants, who were gathered round the old oak table in the Command Tent, “our revered leaders wish to distract me from the business of winning this war, so I must leave you for a time. Please return to your legions while I am away. Thank you.”

I hurried after the messenger, with some difficulty as I tried to not appear too anxious – I did not want the troops to think that anything was afoot in case they got worried – while still trying to move with haste. I settled for a walk interspaced with short dashes when I thought no one was looking.

Not being aware of the reason for the summons, I racked my brains to try and think what the meeting could be about. Our offensive was not planned for some days yet, so that could not be it, unless they had decided to bring the date forward. I dismissed that thought from my head, as such a move would be akin to suicide. The army was not properly prepared, and some men still suffered ill effects from the revelry of a few nights before, after the taking of Keep Grieldhulm, Castle Ramir’s closest ally.

As I approached the tent within which were the Nine, I had still not come up with a reasonable reason, and so I had a look of puzzlement upon my face instead of one of anger.

The guard outside the tent let me pass through without challenge, as my face was known to all in my force. I made it a rule to circulate throughout the ranks because each soldier seemed to gain confidence from me. This, of course, made it even more necessary for me to keep worry from my normally stony features.

The tent was equally as large as the one I had just left, despite housing only nine men, if the druids of Ashnaror could be classed as such. Some of us maintained that they were creatures of another world, masquerading in human form. I knew not the answer to this for sure, but I knew that our war against the Brotherhood would be lost in a day without their help. They fought against the Brotherhood for their own reasons, reasons they did not discuss with those whom they were allied to. Personally, I held the belief that they fought against the druids of the Brotherhood, whom had roused the rabble of half-men and scum into a fighting frenzy. The way I saw it, the Nine Druids’ fight was a holy crusade against renegades of their own kind, whilst ours was one of necessity. We had to halt the Brotherhood’s advance before they reached our women and children, which was why we had moved to encounter them on their own ground.

Each druid was clothed in purple robes, and sat upon a silken cushion. Before eight of them I could see bowls with smoke rising from whatever they held. From the glazed look on the druids’ faces I supposed that it was the intoxicating fumes of the maltrieg, a drug which many troubled people turned to.

“The siege goes badly,” stated the only conscious druid. He sat in the centre of the tent with his fellows spreading out to either side of him. I knew him to be Ashtor, leader and wisest of the Nine.

“It certainly does,” cried I, “if all but one of the Nine choose to spend their time half-dead. Have they no sense of responsibility?”

“You are wrong. They prepare themselves for a task we must do.”

“What task?”

“Quiet. As you doubtlessly know, we have run into difficulty. The food supplies are not getting through as well as we had hoped they would, and so our food is running low. It is time for drastic measures, and you are a part of these.”

I held up my band, ready to protest, but after a wave of the druid’s arm

I found that I could not speak. He continued unabated.

“We are planning to storm the castle, with a major offensive, but we believe that our troops could be massacred due to their three magic-users. It is all we can do to even the battle between man and orc, so we will not be able to combat the magic-users as well.

“However, we have prayed to our Gods,” he said with a slight smirk on his face, “and they have granted us this.”

There was a pop of displaced air as a beautiful sword dropped into my lap. My eyes were drawn to the magnificent jewel embedded in the golden hilt. As big as my fist, it was in the shape of a springing lion but although it was marvellously crafted, it was not upon this that my attention was focused. It was the colour of the jewel. It was an indescribable non­colour, which made ones eyes feel uneasy, yet was hard to tear one’s gaze from. As I drew the sword from its inconspicuous leather scabbard I was not surprised to find that the blade itself was of high quality. The edges had been honed to an incredibly fine edge, which cut my finger as I touched it, and the steel appeared strong enough to slice through the finest of opponents’ chain mail. I resheathed the sword in its scabbard as Ashtor continued to talk.

“It is a magical sword, one not of this plane, but you will need its powers sorely inside Castle Ramir.”

I looked up at him in surprise.

“As the finest warrior in camp, nay, t be country, we have chosen you to undertake this quest. You will have twenty-four hours to end the lives of these three – the wizard, Kazmir, user of foul potions; the cleric, L’Horim, manipulates artefacts of hidden power; and the druid Malthor uses ancient incantations to summon the eldritch power.

“After one day the army will be mobilised, and we will launch a full scale attack upon the castle. If you have succeeded, we stand a chance. If you fail we, and your home, will be doomed. It is imperative that you do not let us down. You have time for one question.”

With a wave of his hand, I found that I could speak again. I was resigned to the quest, as it was for the benefit of the cause, but I was not certain whether I stood a chance and I did not want to get killed hopelessly.

“What good will this sword do? You say that it has magical powers but what form do they take, and how can I control them?” I asked, knowing that the answer would be no reprieve from my task.

“The sword’s magic is not of the offensive sort – it will only defend the bearer from other magics, although sometimes it will reverse the magic so that it attacks the sender. Do not rely on this though for if the working is strong it will only negate it and you will have to rely on your own skills. I!

He waggled his little finger up and down a bit and as he said, “I’ll give these to your second-in-command – is Hervac the name? – so that he can plan the attack while you’re away,” the maps which I had tucked into my jacket removed themselves and floated out of the tent. I stared after them in surprise.

“I’ll need a map of Castle Ramir,” I told him.

He squirmed for a moment, the first time I had seen any hint of emotion from him, before replying, “I’m afraid that we haven’t been able to procure one for you, as the druid has woven a web of magical concealment about the place so we have not been able to pry into it’s secrets. Despite this, we will be able to get you in there but it will take a great deal of our strength, so much so that we will be nearly useless for the next half-day.”

“If you don’t know what it’s like inside the castle, how do I know that you won’t materialise me inside a stone pillar?”

“Pray to your God, human,” the Ashnorian advised me, “that you do not materialise in the iron guts of a troll. That would be most irksome for both of you, would it not? Though I think you would come off worst.”

Before I could voice any more protests he began to wave his whole arms about theatrically. I found myself frozen as I watched him proceed. As his arms moved faster and faster they began to leave multi-coloured trails behind in the air, which stayed until they were dissolved by another sweep of his arms. As the rushing of his limbs seemed to reach an impossibly high velocity there became a yellow glow in the air a few feet before him. Slowly, very slowly, the other druids lifted their heads in the direction of the glow. Then, in complete unison, their eyes snapped open to reveal an intense white light which burnt at my retinas. They remained like this for a fraction of a second before twin beams of light shot from the eyes of each and ended at the glow which swelled to man size proportions and then seemed to throb with grim regularity. Ashtor ceased to wave his arms, and pointed one in my direction while his eyes stared with a ferocious intensity.

I stared in horror (I could do little else, being rooted to the spot) as the light came towards me. When it came close to me, it seemed to recoil, as if in shock.

“Relax yourself,” cried Ashtor, “let the power engulf you.”

I did as he said, closing my mind to all that happened around me, seeking the place of inner quietness that lies within everyone’s soul. On the fringe of my awareness I felt the energy surround me, and become integrated with my soul. I felt a higher calmness consume me and I lost all feeling of the tent. I felt the energy within me, and then I felt a great sensation as if I was flying with great speed.

Then I felt the energy leave me. My soul called out for it to return, but there was nothing but a feeling of wetness upon my palms, and darkness all around.