The Necromancer's Reckoning: Chapter 11

Chapter 11

His team had been assembled. Rokan rode through the Glade with twenty armoured sorcerers behind him. All sorcerers were equipped with their weapon of choice, armour, a horse and a dagger. As well as other supplies such a medicines, elixirs and food.

His party cantered across the freshly cut grass, as green as emeralds. Ancient archways towered over the Glade, casting long shadows across the gardens. Magical plants and flowers bloomed in the spring. Giant ivy grew up the stone like snakes and flowers released beautiful sweet fragrances that lingered in the warm spring air.

The Glade was a long strip of beautiful gardens and giant grass plains and on the very far side of each of them was a white cliff face. The Glade stretched for about two leagues but never seemed to end. It was a place of harmony and beauty. Thousands of years ago when the Guild began the elves used to grow beautiful and strange plants, and one day upon the hill at the end of the Glade they built a fortress and temples. It was a place where sorcerers didn’t have to hide in fear and could train in safety to achieve everlasting peace throughout the realm. For generations the Glade has been preserved and used as a garden for training and tournaments within the Sorcerer’s Guild.

The colossus stone sanctuaries and temples of the Sorcerer’s Guild loomed over the Glade like a god peering over mortals from the heavens. The Sorcerer’s Guild looked more grand and luxurious from a distance. Rounded temples and fortresses erected from over the hill. They made Rokan feel so small.

As Rokan Highrush cantered through the Glade he gazed to the left and right spotting students training and practising their sorcery in the gardens. He spotted one girl, appeared to be the age of around fourteen, making the plants around her grow until they were the size of herself. Others were controlling fire, water, levitating objects, freezing plants and other wondrous acts.

Water fountains were dotted across the Glade either side of Rokan. They were beautiful elegant designs with smooth curves and curious shapes. Other small streams ran through the Glade in random directions, some leading to ponds and other leading to water fountains. Blossom trees arched over the Glade with masses of pink petals drifting in the wind. Often Rokan took the beauty of the Glade for granted but at this moment, before galloping into combat once more, he took time to examine the true beauty of the paradise they lived in.

Few had ever set eyes upon the Sorcerer’s Guild, never mind the Glade. That was what made it such a safe place for sorcerers young and old. In a world where magic was condemned and frowned upon, the guild was a safe haven for hundreds of sorcerers.

Rokan hadn’t led a scouting party to the Forbidden Lands for months. As a general himself, it was his duty to get his hands dirty in battle but recently, the generals of the Sorcerer’s Guild didn’t have a lot to do.

The alliance between the King and the Sorcerer’s Guild had recently been renewed. The King had the sheer cheek to send the Sorcerer’s Guild to do his dirty work. The Council had decided to send a scout party to the outskirts of the Forbidden Lands to search for neighbouring Goulrath camps. Rokan had been chosen to lead the party and it was Rokan’s duty not to refuse the offer.

So he had chosen fifteen of the Guild’s best and five young teenage sorcerers who were still in training. Rokan thought his team was acceptable and would have a good chance of slaying the Goulrath. In fact he knew that his team would slay the Goulrath camp. There was no denying that victory was expected. But with five trainees joining the team and only slowing them down, the Goulrath still had a chance of being victorious. They were ferocious fighters but knew little of tactics and strategic formations. The Goulrath lacked feeling and emotion. They would never hesitate in plunging a blade through a man’s throat. They are merciless killers, and that is what makes them so effective in battle.

The party approached the end of the Glade and a huge archway lay before them gazing out onto the open plains before them. Rokan signalled them to halt. The sorcerers trotted around Rokan in a semi-circle. They gathered around him waiting for their orders. The students kept together close, they seemed nervous. So they should be.

“We have been ordered by the Council to go out north, and destroy a nearby Goulrath camp. Many of you won’t know who the Goulrath are. They are no ogres or goblins; they are trained warriors that fell extinct thousands of years ago and have now been resurrected from the dead. The infamous necromancer, Void was the one who resurrected them with dark magic. We plan to stop him before he can muster an army and march through Axion causing destruction in his wake.

“The Sorcerers Guild are not entirely sure of his plans are or what he wants to achieve but we know that he wants revenge for his banishment into the Forbidden Lands all those years ago. We know that he’s unpredictable, ruthless and has a severe hatred for the Guild. So if we happen to spot him, be cautious, he could kill no matter how powerful you think you are. The plan is that we enter the camp and slay every Goulrath in sight. It’s simple and efficient but we still need one captive to interrogate. If we don’t leave any survivors for questioning, this whole mission is for nothing.

“In the chance that we are ambushed and are forced to retreat, do not flee from the camp unless you are with a fellow sorcerer. We cannot leave anyone behind. The northern forests are dense are overgrown, getting lost is a possibility which we cannot let occur. Are there any questions?”

Everyone was silent and nodded their heads awkwardly.

“Then we ride west until nightfall, if we keep a steady pace we can be deep within the woodland by dawn.” Rokan craned his neck from side to side and turned white stallion around and began to gallop through the great arches that towered over him. “With haste!”

They rode to the west. The twenty sorcerers on horseback didn’t say a word during their journey. Not even the students spoke. The only sound was the impact of their hooves on the grass. When the sun was at its highest, Rokan put his hand over his face to shield his eyes from the blinding sun.

They had been riding for hours. They rode through the mountain passes and around the hills that surrounded the secluded Glade. They neared flat land where there were simply leagues of grassy plains as far as the eye could see.

They rode in a V-formation with Rokan at the centre leading them into the horizon. They occasionally went past small hamlets and abandoned taverns. Once or twice they rode through large burned down villages with no signs of life.

They didn’t stop, nor did their horses lose speed. All twenty sorcerers were fixated on one goal: killing the Goulrath. Nothing slowed them down. Nothing made them stop. Nothing made them hesitate.

Wind slapped Rokan in the face like cold palms. The warm glow of the setting sun caused long shadows across the giant plains of grass. Digging his heels into his horse, Rokan gritted his teeth and leant forward towards the west. His stallion went faster and faster. The other sorcerers increased in speed and galloped alongside him like a pack of wolves following their leader. They rode as one.

Over in the distance a line of trees started to appear in the warm glow of sunlight. It was a pleasurable feeling to see the forest. There, they could rest after a long days ride. It was the final stretch. The horses rode desperately over the hill, towards the forest.

“Almost there! Keep going!” Rokan called out.

When they reached the edge of the woodland they tied their horses to trees and started to collect wood for the fire. In time, mighty flames swirled into the night sky from the camp fire. They roasted slabs of beef and chicken on the fire, slowly tilting the spit from side to side. Morale was high after a long days ride. The young sorcerers sat in a circle practising their magic and manipulation of the elements. Older sorcerers told tales of their battles and encounters with the Goulrath to each other.

Rokan sat by himself admiring the excitement among the camp. He took a large bite of beef from his stick. He chewed intently, eyes slowly glazing across the camp. His eyes darted across the treeline searching for any signs of Goulath. His suspicion probed his mind. It was his weakness. His fatal flaw.

Rokan had encountered many ambushes in his lifetime, more than he would have liked. When all was calm and the night was full of joy and merry men which was when ambushes always occurred. He knew these woodlands too well. He had seen to many good sorcerers die from surprise attacks, he wouldn’t let it happen again.

“Rokan!” Zerone, his fellow comrade called out from the camp fire. “join us around the fire and share your tales of the legendary battles you have witnessed! Just like old times!”

Rokan smiled, stroking his grey beard. “I would love to join you but I am deep in thought. Someone needs to keep a look out.”

“If you say so. But the offer still stands.” Zerone replied.

“Understood.” Rokan smiled. Zerone was one of his oldest friends in the Guild. They had shared many adventures and travels together. They had spilt blood together. They had drunk ale together. They had fought battles together. Their friendship had almost become famous among sorcerers within the Guild. People told tales of their valour and bravery together in battle, some of the stories were true, others were not.

Rokan took a swig from his waterskin. He gazed out into the shadowy woodland, contemplating the coming battle on the morrow. Rokan wasn’t frightened, he was just worried. He had spent so many days confined to small chambers, reading, writing, that combat now felt unnatural. His sword was heavy and his footing was clumsy. His magic was still powerful, but attacking spells didn’t seem to have as much impact as they used to.

Rokan was getting old. He stroked his grey beard and staring into the fiery embers of the campfire. The fire was slowly dying, and needed relighting. Rokan swiftly and quietly flexed his palms towards the glowing embers and a small ball of flame struck the fire and wood erupted into flame. He stared at his palm and wriggled his fingers. Even simple spells aren’t as effective, now, he thought grimly.

Rokan grunted and closed his eyes, attempting to fall asleep. Breathing heavily, Rokan slowly drifted into a heavy slumber only to be shrouded in a sea of dreams and echoing thoughts.

Rokan woke to the sound of whining horses. He slowly rose up and leapt to his feet. The camp was alive, some were cooking bacon, others were belting their scabbards and some were trying to calm the horses. Something didn’t feel right, why hadn’t anyone woken him?

Rokan belted his sword to his hip and planted his gauntlets onto his forearms. Rokan walked through the camps towards Zerone.

“Zerone, what is wrong with these horses?” he asked, fastening his breastplate.

“I don’t know, Commander. They whined all night, you seemed to be the only one asleep. I think it is the Goulrath presence, it unsettles the stallions. We must be nearing a camp by now.”

“Or the Goulrath are nearing us.” Rokan replied gritting his teeth and shaking his head with distaste. “We must depart with haste. Goulrath scouts may have spotted us already. The element of surprise is vital for this mission.”

Zerone nodded. “I understand. I shall prepare the horses and get everyone ready to leave.”

Minutes later everyone was mounted on horseback. The camp was completely barren, the fire was erased from existence and there was no trace that life had been there. It was essential Goulrath didn’t pick up their trail; the whole mission depended on it.

They rode as one. They trotted slowly through the trees, careful not to trip over logs, twigs or stones. They were well into the Forbidden Lands by now, and they couldn’t afford for it to all go wrong now.

Rokan led the group forward. The further north they got the colder it became. Rokan wrapped his furs tightly round himself, trying shield off the howling ice cold winds, but it made no difference. In these wretched lands, there was no escape from the winds of the north.

The stallions became uneasy the deeper into the woodlands we went. There was a startling eerie presence shrouding their path. But Rokan had felt this before. Many times he and Zerone ventured into the wilderness of the Forbidden Lands, fought mythic creatures of old and new. This was all too familiar.

They broke into a canter and zipped through the trees, trusting the horses’ instincts. Then he saw it. What seemed like a young man, was impaled on to a wooden spike. The shaft ripped through his back and out of his blood stained mouth. Violent red drops of blood slowly slithered down his face. His eyes were still open with a look of horror on his face. The man’s hair was blood encrusted brown with pale white skin. His hands had been bound behind his back and his legs in shackles. Rokan squinted and cringed at the sight of the rotting corpse. The smell was unbearable.

“Hold!” he ordered and the party came to a halt behind him. There were sounds of gasps from a crowd behind. They tried to shuffle through to get a look. They sounded as disgusted as Rokan was.

Rokan approached the impaled corpse with caution. It could have been a trap. He walked over bowed down to one knee. He muttered ancient words of The Three. It may not have been the man’s religion, he looked like a religion from Kunkree, down south, but he needed respecting after dying in such a horrible way. It was the least Rokan could do.

“Off your horses!” Rokan ordered. “From here on, we go by foot. We must tread these forsaken lands carefully.”

Every sorcerer in sight dismounted their stallions. They took their horses by the reins and tugged them along. Rokan had to be cautious. Any false move, his company could be ambushed, kidnapped and slain. Rokan was responsible for their safety, especially the trainees, whose inexperience could be their fatal flaw.

They kept together, in a tight arrowhead formation. It was efficient, practical and perfect in case of a Goulrath attack. They had to be prepared for anything. They trod carefully, Rokan drew his gleaming sword. Oakmere. Oakmere was a famous blade amongst the sorcerers of the guild. Its steel was forged by the dwarves, and the oak hilt was crafted by the elves. It was an enchanted blade, riddled with charms, enchantments and spells. How long had he carried this blade? It must have been over a two decades. Passed down the generations through the various Highrush sorcerers. The Goblin Lord, Tuvak had been slain with this very blade and plenty other foul beats. Hopefully the blade’s luck was with Rokan this day.

“We leave our horses up here!” Rokan announced.

Zerone confronted Rokan. “General… What if-”

“No. They are a burden and our enemies will spot us from a mile off. These Goulrath are no foolish beings. They can smell the weakest odours from leagues away, and examine the faintest footprints. If we bring these horses, we are as good as dead.”

Zerone nodded and turned back to his horse.

All twenty horses they tied to the neighbouring trees. The chance of the horses being butchered while they were away was likely, however the safety of his companions was far more significant than that of the horses.

Rokan looked up the sun which hung at its highest point in the skies. Long shadows stretched across the woodlands and branches hung above their heads like archways. Swords tight in hand they warily journeyed through the forest.

That was when they saw it. A fire! Up ahead!

Rokan made a signal to the others behind him to stop. He warned them of the fire up ahead. They heard noises, grunts, growls and screeching. Noises became voices and harsh sounding tongues echoes through the woodland. There was a clearing. Rokan counted approximately a hundred or so Goulrath. They were thickly armoured and had strong builds. Their faces were pale and grey. Their eyes were a deep shade of red. Blood red. All of them were wielding at least one weapon. Guards patrolled the outskirts of their camp watchfully searching for their prey.

A huge bonfire was ablaze in the centre of their camp, surrounded by dirty brown tents. They piled bodies onto the bonfire. Human bodies. Rokan spat in disgust and. The smell of burning flesh erupted in his nostrils. It was sickening.

These monsters are the stain of the realm.

They were heavily outnumbered. However, a well-coordinated attack could put aside such worries. Rokan span round and all twenty sorcerers knelt down like him. They lay low if the shrubs waiting for their next order.

“Do we have any archers here?” Rokan asked his company.

There was a silence and a sea of blank stares, he had collected the Guild’s finest warriors and most talented students and there was no archer in sight.

A young girl stepped forward and unslung her bow from her shoulders. She was tall and thin with dark black hair and hazel eyes with attractive features, looked seventeen years of age.

“Good, what is your name?”

“Tora Pine, sir.” She replied feebly.

“Good, I need you to arch round the left flank and eliminate the patrolling guards on the left. Make sure no one sees you. Once you kill the three on the left, signal me.” Rokan pointed to the nearest three sorcerers, “Once we have been signalled, you four will kill the Goulrath on the right Then you give us the signal and we storm the camp. Quick, simple, efficient.”

The sorcerers nodded in agreement.

“Remember this, my companions. These are no goblins or woodland beast, these are Goulrath. Legendary warriors from the Forbidden Lands, they are bred for battle and will not surrender and will not show any mercy. Brace yourselves, for this will not be a skirmish, this will be a first taste of battle for many of you. You may be afraid, but we have been ordered here from not only the High Council, but the King of Axion himself. This is for the good of the Guild and for the protection of our realm!”

The sorcerers smiled up in admiration, gripping their blades tightly. As a solid formation, they lay undetected in the thicket. The young archer rapidly moved through the bushes around the left flank. She removed her bow from her back, and notched an arrow slowly. She pulled her bowstring back and released. The arrow whizzed through the air and buried itself into the Goulrath’s neck. A dark splatter of purple blood sprayed the forest floor. She swiftly did the same to the other three guards, and immediately dragged their bodies into the undergrowth. She sounded a silent high pitch whistle.

Rokan met her eyes. He nodded and acknowledged her.

He commanded the other to take the right flank. Once all the patrolling guards were dealt with he faced his comrades. “This is it, my friends. We will not leave these wretched lands until every damned Goulrath his nothing but mounds of cold flesh.”

This was it, the moment he had been waiting for. Finally he was about to get into the heat of battle once more. His lust for battle had grown strong in the past months and Oakmere had grown hungry for Goulrath flesh.

Rokan gripped his blade tightly. He stood up in plain view and every Goulrath in sight turned towards him. “Intruder!” One of them called out in a deep growling voice.

Rokan glided forward with large strides, two palms gripped around his blade. “For the Guild!” And as he cried those words a wave of battle-hungry sorcerers charged up with him, swords waving savagely and bursts of magic at their fingertips.

The Goulrath were unprepared and scrambled for their armour weapons and shields. The sorcerers were upon them firing bursts of dazzling magic and fire from their palms. Rokan approached a raging Goulrath and thrust his blade deep through its belly, wrenched it out and kicked its corpse to the mud.

A screaming Goulrath tried to attack him from behind but Rokan quickly rolled to one side and emitted a ball of fire from his palm. The fire bolt collided with the Goulrath sending it tumbling in a ball of flame.

My taste for battle has been unsatisfied for too long… Rokan thought to himself as he blasted bolts of magic towards the hordes of fumbling Goulrath.

The Goulrath were being slaughtered. Arrows whizzed from the underbrush and brilliant balls of magic soared through the muggy air and towards the mustering forces of Goulrath. The students were coping well, their swords hacked through the Goulrath troops and they frequently used their magic to disarm or attack the enemy.

A grey faced Goulrath lunged for Rokan with its blade but he dodged, narrowly missing his death. Rokan launched his palm through the air and used his tendrils of magic to grip the Goulrath and levitate it up into the air. The Goulrath struggled to break free. Rokan relased his sword from his palm and let the beast float helplessly in mid-air. Rokan concentrated his mind on the sword and it flew through the air and into the chest of Goulrath. It fell from above and slumped to ground. Rokan approached the Goulrath and ripped Oakmere from the Goulrath flesh.

The battle raged on. The Goulrath were decreasing in number. However the sorcerers were not faring well either. They had lost four and five were wounded. Although the central campfire was now withering embers, the battle was still at its most intense.

A Goulrath arrow cut through the air towards Rokan. The sorcerer quickly summoned a panel of purple mist. The arrow collided with it and deflected backwards onto the mud and Rokan shot a quick green ball of light from his fingers which hit the Goulrath archer, sweeping it of its feet.

Rokan slashed through dozens of Goulrath. He hacked, he lunged and he beheaded. Oakmere swung wildly through the limbs of the enemy Goulrath. Zerone fought beside him piercing Goulrath flesh with his spear. He blocked oncoming attacks with his iron shield and then countered with a devastating lunge. As a Goulrath blade swung towards Rokan’s head, Zerone dived forward and blocked the blow with his spear shaft. The wood shattered in his palms and the remains of his spear lay in splinters on the ground.

Rokan was speechless. “Thank you.”

Zerone winked and plunged his shield into a Goulrath’s neck. “Just like old times, my friend!”

They both roared with laughter and continued in butchering the Goulrath. Zerone had only a shield and a fist to defend him, but it didn’t slow him down. He rammed his shield into his foes with the most ferocity Rokan had ever seen. The anger in his eyes was enough to suck the air from a Goulrath’s lungs.

“We have victory!” shouted Zerone as he crunched his metal shield into the breast plate of a Goulrath.

Hours passed. The battle was won. The last few Goulrath remained who were quickly killed. “Leave no survivors! We cannot let any escape and return to Void!”

Although Void probably already knows what has happened, Rokan thought to himself. This victory will not stop Void, it will only slow him down.

“Brother! We have victory!” Zerone cheered and embraced Rokan. “This will be recorded as another fine tale of Rokan and Zerone’s fine act of valour!”

“Aye.” Agreed Rokan. “This was a bloody battle but victory is a victory, and we will return to the Guild with good cheer.”

“You fought bravely, Rokan.” Zerone began. “When we return to the Guild, we will have a grand feast in honour of our victory and talk of battles old and new.”

“You make my tummy rumble, Zerone.” Rokan laughed, sheathing Oakmere.

The two grizzled veterans strolled across the battlefield. They gazed upon the dozens of Goulrath corpses. The Healers began to pile the bodies atop of one another for the burning and others were still tending to their own wounded. Many of the students remained in shock however others were still telling stories of their first battle. The camp was ravaged. The tents were ripped to shreds and the grass was now a sea of blood and dirt. No captives were brought in, all had murdered themselves before any could be interrogated.

Rokan unbelted Oakmere and lay it to rest beside a tent. The taste of victory is sweet, but the taste for blood is sweeter.

Zerone walked away to greet his other fellow comrades. Rokan stroked his beard and grimaced. Blood soaked the leaf-covered floor and screams of the dying Goulrath still echoed throughout the trees.

“Take down these tents and burn the Goulrath bodies. Take any valuables, weapons and armour! I don’t want any trace of this wretched camp left! We depart at first light!” Announced Rokan.

Suddenly the archer, Tora, who shot the three Goulrath guards prior to the battle approached Rokan. She dragged a boy across the mud, who looked around the same age as her. He was bleeding heavily from his calf and the girl gripped his hair tightly. The boy was skinny, but tall with greasy hair and a dirty face. Small patches of stubble grew around his face and his hair was dark brown. His bright blue eyes gazed into Rokan’s. The boy looked helpless and defeated.

Rokan sensed magic. It seemed to hit him like a hammer but he felt it. Rokan gazed down at the boy and as he peered into his eyes Rokan seemed to feel a wave gush over him. The boy had magic in him.

“I found him in one of the tents, sir. He was trying to escape when I found him so I put an arrow through his leg. He’s not one of us and he’s certainly not a Goulrath so he has to be important to the Goulrath, somehow. I can sense magic within him, sir.” She explained.

“I felt the same thing, girl.” He paused. “Can I ask what caused you put an arrow through his leg?” he exclaimed, glancing down at his bloody calf which twitched violently.

“It seemed like necessary measures at the time, in case he was a Goulrath scout. Never take any chances.”

The boy gazed up back to her, seeping in pain. “Do look like a damned Goulrath to you?”

Rokan still sensed the strong essence of magic on the boy. It seemed to radiate off him like the sun. All of Rokan’s senses were ringing like the Bell of Jad’ir.

“What is your name, boy?” Rokan asked.

The boy looked up, spat blood and replied, “Valdor… Valdor Farcry...”