The ghostly green light was barely visible in the blinding sunshine of the desert morning, but the occasional crackles of sorcerous lightning were unmistakable. The ancient stone archway was all that remained of whatever had stood here centuries ago. A temple? A city? Any trace of it was now buried beneath the sand, but some otherworldly power had kept this one piece of it standing here, forgotten for all this time.
Prince Caeladan stood in his stirrups at the top of the ridge and watched the artifact. To an ambitious mortal like himself, he thought, this was a ticket to greatness. His magician, Bel-Korath, had advised him that the alignment of the moons would reactivate the portal and the scene before him didn’t disappoint. The possibilities were limitless! Surely the gods themselves had caused him to be here at this time, to harness this energy and reclaim the lands of his ancestors. This could be no coincidence, he told himself.
“I sense dark magick from the relic, my Lord” cautioned Bel-Korath, from Caeladan’s side. “Great evil lies beyond that portal.”
“Evil is subjective, my friend!” replied the elf prince. “Power is the currency of this land, and either we control it, or our enemies do.”
“Yes, my Lord” responded Bel-Korath hesitantly, although he had to concede there was some logic in the prince’s argument.
The elf army was arrayed along a ridge overlooking the remote valley where the portal stood. Behind them was a sandy wasteland, and in front of them was the one obstacle preventing them from claiming the ruin – an army of dead men. Ranks of undead soldiers were arrayed in battle lines, waiting for the elves when they had come over the ridge. Even more still seemed to be clawing their way out of the sand. How long had they been waiting here? Hundreds of years? Thousands? Ready to defend this place against invaders? Or had they known the elves were coming and sent an army here in advance of them?
Caeladan had fought the undying before, but this army was different than the shambling corpses he had encountered in the human lands. They were more sophisticated somehow, he could see war machines, cavalry, even chariots crewed by dead soldiers. Some ancient military intelligence was controlling this force, he reasoned. Something in the back of his mind told him this battle wouldn’t be as straightforward as he hoped…
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Prince Caeladan’s Retinue |
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The undying legion |
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Elf chariots |
Suddenly the dead were advancing. Slowly they shambled forward, across the valley. Caeladan raised his sword, giving the order for a general advance. The trumpeter of his retinue gave a blast on his horn, and the elvish troops began to march down the hillside to meet the enemy battle lines. The elf general saw one of his chariots, far on his left flank, race across the dusty ground toward a group of cavalry scouting ahead of the undead army. The corpses crumbled to dust as the chariot smashed into them and roared across the valley. No contest, the elf general thought. His elite warriors would make short work of these dead men, although he could see his own troops hesitating in their advance, unnerved by the dead soldiers facing them.
Suddenly a scream from the ridge behind him caught his attention, as one of his archers was felled by an arrow from the undead bowmen. “Bel-Korath! Deal with them!” Caeladan shouted toward the mage, advancing with the swordmasters. The wizard launched a blast of magic at the skeletal missile troops, and a deafening explosion burst up from the desert. When the dust cleared, more than half of the skeletons had been smashed to splinters.
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One elf chariot charges but the other is too scared! Darned fear tests… |
The chariot makes quick work of the skeleton cavalry
But the dead had a plan, and soon the air became thick with magical power. Like all elves, Caeladan could sense it – a kind of salty, ozone taste. At first, he thought it was coming from the portal, but then he heard the familiar chants from both his mages as they tried to dispel magical energy being summoned by the spellcasters among the dead army. He glanced up at the ridge and saw Maeral, the astronomer, clutching at his head as the magical power began to overwhelm him.
Suddenly the slow, relentless advance of the undead army began to speed up. Clouds of sand and dust billowed up as the ancient chariots thundered across the valley, pushing aside ranks of dead soldiers as they raced toward Caeladan and his retinue, spurred on by magical force. The elf general could only shout an order to his knights to hold firm, and the chariots were upon them, knocking elven knights from their horses. Caeladan found himself face to face with the undead general, the skeletal visage of an ancient commander leading his soldiers to battle once more. His empty eye sockets expressionless, the dead warrior cut down elf knights with his blade, while the elves struggled to hold their ground against the undead onslaught.
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Tricky undead chariots charge the elf knights |
As Caeladan and his knights battled desperately against the charioteers, one of their avian allies spied an opportunity. The great eagle, from its vantage point in the sky above the battlefield spotted the source of the dark magic in the undead army. The eagle was a veteran of as many battles as any of the elves with a sharp intelligence, and with a screech it swooped down on the skeleton spell-caster, tearing into ancient decaying flesh with its talons. The corpse of the priest cried out silently in agony and collapsed into dust.
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The eagle helps itself to an early lunch |
Immediately the undead hesitated, as the flow of dark magical energy keeping them animated began to ebb. The elf general sensed the opportunity and shouted encouragement to his knights, who fought on with renewed vigour as their opponents started to disintegrate before them.
The fighting was brutal, and no quarter was given. The two generals fought relentlessly against each other’s elite soldiers, the living against the dead in conflict for domination of the battlefield. Elven knights fell bleeding into the sand, wounded by rusty weapons, while skeleton soldiers collapsed into heaps of bones, cut down by bright steel swords.
Just as it looked like the combat would dwindle to a stalemate, salvation for the elves arrived as the swordmasters charged into the flank of the undead, their long blades smashing the remnants of he chariots into boney splinters. Caeladan looked at the undead general, and the dead face stared back at him. The elf felt a chill run down his spine, and the dead commander opened his jaw as if to speak before turning to dust and falling onto the sand.
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The swordmasters charge into the undead general… |
Breathlessly, the Elf general greeted the swordsmen when a sudden shout from their flank startled the ranks. Undead infantrymen attacked the swordmasters, hacking at their armour with rusted weapons. Caeladan turned to what was left of his knights to order them to join the fight, when he saw yet more undead horsemen looming out of the desert. They charged into the elf knights with levelled spears and the silver helms desperately tried to hold them off, but they were exhausted from their previous combat.
The captain of the knights turned to the elf general. “We have to fall back, my Lord!” he yelled. The elf knights were outnumbered and overwhelmed, and the few still on their horses turned to retreat. As the undead horsemen overran their position, Caeladan and the remaining silver helms turned and tried to struggle back up the sandy slope. Caeladan saw the dead warriors beginning to crumble to pieces even as they chased after him, but there were too many of them and they kept coming. The terrified elves scattered, riding off into the desert in desperation. Some were cut down as their horses mired in the soft sand, only to have their pursuers disintegrate on top of them. Others ran until they were hopelessly lost in ocean of sand dunes. Meanwhile, the battle still raged on.
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…but then they get charged in the flank by the skeleton regiment, while the horsemen chase the elf knights off the battlefield |
…
Bel-Korath swung his sword desperately to parry the dead warrior’s attack. Beside him, the swordmasters struggled against the relentless ranks of the foes. Before the mage could strike back, the skeleton before him collapsed into a heap of bones. As he stared dumbfounded, another undead soldier pushed through the ranks, its ivory face grinning as it swung at him with a chipped and tarnished scimitar.
All of a sudden, an elven battle-cry rung out through the dry air as a battle chariot crashed into the flank of the undead, crushing bones beneath its wheels and the hooves of its steeds. As the chariot smashed their ranks apart, the last of the undead warriors fell to the ground, the magic controlling them dissipated. Bel-Korath and the swordmasters looked about at the empty desert valley. The battle was theirs.
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One chariot smashes the skeletons into dust, while a trick bow shot from the other chariot takes out the undead priest |
…
The two mages stood before the glowing, crackling portal, gazing into the ghostly abyss beyond. “We shall have to send out a search party to look for the prince,” mused Bel-Korath.
“And what do we do with this in the meantime?” asked Maeral, nodding toward the archway, a concerned expression on his face.
Bel-Korath looked around. The rest of the elven army was occupied tending to the dead and wounded. “The prince believed that power was the currency of this land… but of course, with great power comes great responsibility” said the mage. He raised a hand toward the portal, and the weathered stones began to shudder, then break apart. The archway collapsed into the heap of rubble, the ghostly light vanishing in the dust with a flash and a guttural whisper.
Bel-Korath turned toward Maeral slowly. “Whoops,” he said, sarcastically. “We’ll tell the prince the undead did that, shall we?”
Maeral looked at the ruins of the evil artefact before him with relief. “Probably for the best,” he agreed.