El’Korr’s hammer connected squarely into King Manasseh’s chest. It was the first strike to hit, and it was a mighty one; the forged mallet and armor collided in an ear-splitting crash. Manasseh stumbled backward a few steps, but recovered just as the others came in hard. The evil human sidestepped Dulgin’s executioner style attack and then quickly backhanded the Dwarf to send him flying across the room, grunting in pain.
Manasseh looked at the new dent left behind, then addressed the Dwarf king, “It is nice to see a Dwarf who knows how to use a weapon. I will save you for last, El’Korr.”
Abawken stepped back and then issued a command from his sword, “Erez!” The stone elemental instantly manifested behind Manasseh. The titan brought its earthen clubs down upon him. Both connected, and Manasseh’s armor clanked hard as he slammed into the ground. Rondee followed up with his devastating golden titan maul, smashing into his back. There was no more movement from King Manasseh.
Just then they all heard the sound of a lightning bolt from outside. Xan stepped out to see an undead mystic launching his dark crackling energy spell at Zeffeera in the distance. It clipped her wing, but she continued to fly away.
“Bridazak!” He yelled back into the room.
“Oh, there you are,” the Ordakian said as he spotted the remaining lich.
His last Crimson Hand arrow, as the glowing writing on the shaft indicated, flew true. Cheers erupted from below as the hundreds of dwarves witnessed the death of the mystic. This was the first time Bridazak had seen the outside battle. The thousands of undead pushed in. There was no escape for El’Korr’s men. One by one the heroes came out to see, and their hearts dropped.
“This is not good,” Dulgin whispered.
Battered, bruised, and bleeding, they watched helplessly. They had just defeated Manasseh, but his wicked power raged on without him.
“It’s that damn, cursed tree!” El’Korr spat.
“What can we do? The Orb is lost,” Xan stated.
Bridazak wheeled around at the Elf’s statement, “What did you say?” Xan, with a dire face, didn’t answer him. Bridazak’s eyes narrowed, “What do you mean, lost?”
“I’m sorry, Bridazak,” El’Korr confirmed what he never thought could be.
His knees buckled and he collapsed to the ground. Spilf intercepted him halfway down, grabbing hold of his long time friend to comfort him. “I failed, Spilf. I truly failed God. He told me that I would have to sacrifice everything, but I never thought it meant this.”
Spilf consoled him, “You didn’t fail, Bridazak. You rescued me, and that means something. We have not lost everything yet.”
“This is not how it was supposed to be,” Bridazak whispered through burning tears.
.
20
Sacrifice
“Where do you think you are going?” Zeffeera’s powerful claws snatched the Elf, barely clinging to life and still clutching her wooden staff, as she sailed through the air above the battle. Zeffeera rose back up in elevation.
“I need to get you to Xandahar. You need his healing power,” the dragon communicated within her mind.
“There is no time, my friend. Fly to the heart of the undead army.”
“Raina, you are too weak to take them on.”
“Just clear an opening and set me down carefully.”
“I won’t be able to hold them off, Raina.”
“I know, and that is why you will need to leave the area.”
“Raina—”
She cut the bronze beauty off, “Trust me.”
A blast clipped her left wing from behind her. She wavered in flight and then recovered.
“Hurry, Zeffeera. My time approaches.”
“I don’t like the sound of that, but I will do as you wish.”
Reanimated warriors flew back as the gigantic female dragon breathed an electrical discharge and she came in for a soft landing. She laid Raina ever so gently on the charred ground.
“Now go quickly!” Raina commanded.
Zeffeera’s wings came to life and her powerful hind legs launched her up into the air. She hovered fifty feet up.
“I will miss you, Raina.”
“The Sheldeen Mystic is not one to be rid of easily, my dear Zeffeera. I will rest in the annals of legends forever.”
She soared away. Raina’s eyes were focused and resilient like her spirit, gazing at the heavens above. She had no strength to look around at her surroundings, but her elven ears could hear the muffled, haunting moans of the evil creatures sensing her life force; they soon would be upon her. The elven mage raised her wooden stick into the air. She was holding her final breath of life. There was no more pain. Her senses were now dull. Her lips instinctively moved as she spoke her magic word to release the power of her staff.
“Korban,” the word and her spirit rushed forth from her body.
The heroes watched the immense explosion. It raced through the heart of the corpse army and incinerated all in its path. A bright flash of light rivalled the waning sun in the distance. The shockwave finally hit the castle and shook the very foundation. Thousands of King Manasseh’s army fell.
“What has Raina done?” Xan fought back tears.
“She has given us hope,” El’Korr responded solemnly.
“Well, I hope you weren’t planning on leaving,” King Manasseh announced from behind them.
His black, two-handed sword sliced through the rock elemental. The earth creature crumbled before the human king as he began to supernaturally grow. His armor expanded with his bulk, and a massive, towering version of himself stood before the heroes.
“That was a good first round,” the deep voice behind the helmet spoke.
“We are getting out of here, boys!” Geetock yelled, cutting down another walking corpse.
The dwarven army rallied and began to push through. Raina had given them a miracle and punched a hole large enough to give them a chance. Now that their wizard was gone, they lost the protection they’d had from Manasseh’s army, who continued to unleash volleys of arrows from within the castle; Geetock was losing dwarves by the second. The loss of many of his brethren was inevitable, but their escape from the guaranteed kill zone was forthcoming. Eruptions of intense light summoned through the divine clerics of old, blasted the undead as they surged through the weakened ranks. Jets of fire streamed from outstretched hands and burned the decaying flesh of the walking dead. Dwarven priests yelled out the same spell command El’Korr and Xan had used. Celestial power penetrated flesh and bone and shattered the vile, lifeless puppets. They moved in unison further away. The back ranks held up shields to protect themselves from the relentless arrows, and every man pushed on until finally they emerged, outside the range of the distant shafts of death.
Geetock stood on top of a larger mound as his men pushed past on both sides, like a raging river. The soulless beings continued to pour into the vacant wake of the army’s march. The automatons sensed and pursued the life inside each of them, like insects attracted to light. He breathed a Dwarven prayer for his dear King El’Korr and the others, that they would find a way to join them. The battle was far from over as the undead knew nothing of pain or tiring, and would continue to attack relentlessly.
Manasseh had been more powerful than they had imagined was possible. Abawken summoned another rock monster but it was quickly destroyed. All of the fighters were hard pressed to protect themselves from the evil king’s devastating sword. The slim openings that came along didn’t do much to damage the malevolent king.
Menacing laughs erupted from within the armored fiend. “You cannot defeat me!” He bellowed proudly.
Abawken used the power of his blade and soared above him. Manasseh’s eyes followed the sheik fighter. Dulgin went in while he was distracted, as did the others. Hammers and axe plowed into him. He stumbled back from the impact of all three weapons and grunted in pain. Then he roared back with a counter attack of his own. His black sword came down upon Dulgin. The Dwarf brou
ght up his axe to block it. His axe shattered and he fell back to the ground.
“That was my father’s axe!” He cried.
“When you see your father, tell him I said hello,” Manasseh mocked.
“You bastard!” Dulgin charged, weaponless.
The wicked enemy let the Dwarf grapple him with open arms. Spikes magically sprouted out from the armor. Dulgin was impaled. He fell backwards as the spikes retracted, making the sound like that of a weapon being pulled from a scabbard.
Xan caught Dulgin as he stumbled back. The Elf slid the dwarven fighter away from the battle zone.
A magical arrow sailed between the fighters that remained and slammed into the chest of King Manasseh. There was a loud explosion. Smoke engulfed everyone, and the smell of burnt metal intensified. Manasseh stepped through. He was still standing. His black armor had a gaping hole in the chest and they could see his charred skin underneath. Melted metal sizzled and vapors escaped around the edges.
“That hurt! You die next, Halfling!”
El’Korr and Rondee stepped in his way. Abawken flew in from behind him and slashed at the back of his neck. It was a good hit, but it still didn’t put him down.
“I grow tired of you, pests!” A caustic green mist began to come off of his armor.
“Acid!” El’Korr alerted the others.
Spilf tapped Bridazak on the shoulder to get his attention. He pointed to the bronze dragon flying in. Its head was enormous and it hovered before them.
“Climb on!” Zeffeera said aloud inside their minds.
Spilf looked to his friend and waited. Bridazak pushed him to go first.
“Xan! Grab Dulgin. We need to get out of here.” The Elf was already carrying the Dwarf to the balcony.
El’Korr and Rondee continued to fight defensively, backing themselves toward the dragon.
The glow of the Tree pulsed as Manasseh pulled on its power. The bluish, hovering fog stretched throughout the cavernous chamber. A flash of the protective domed shield ignited as small rocks and dirt fell from above. The sound of the debris clacking amongst the rubble and bones echoed as they skipped and ricocheted.
From a crack in the ceiling, a single drop of blood fell. The Spirit of Truth descended upon the evil. A sizzle of intense heat resounded as it bore a hole in the shield, and the first drop struck the highest of the gnarled branches. Then another, and another. Blood oozed down the limbs and the roots began writhing within the ground. Faint and distant, a haunting shriek bellowed within the spindly frame. The smooth, dark wood of the trunk began to split and crack. The root system popped and snapped as it shriveled beneath the ground. The once mighty tree toppled over and fell down the steep incline of the pyramid it rested on. It’s aura slowly faded, the power severed, and soon the room was cast into utter darkness, silenced once and for all.
King Manasseh drove the dwarves further back with each of his powerful swipes. There was no way that they would escape together. Rondee stepped forward to try to push his assault away. El’Korr understood what his loyal friend was attempting to do, but he couldn’t abandon his sworn protector.
“Go, my Malehk!” Rondee yelled.
“We do this together,” he insisted.
They pressed in as a unit. Hammers swung with rage as they knew this would be their last fight. Weapons connected into Manasseh’s right leg. It caused him to fall to one knee.
“I knew you would bow to me, Manasseh,” El’Korr jabbed.
He roared back in anger and fought through the pain he suddenly felt in his leg as he stood. The dwarves noticed that his height had lowered.
“Coming down to our size, eh?” El’Korr taunted as he came in with another blow.
“Yit, yit, yit!” Rondee said in a high pitched voice. The Wild Dwarf grew taller and now matched the seven-foot frame of the diminishing human.
Another slash came from Abawken’s scimitar, but Manasseh quickly grabbed the fighter.
“I’ve had enough of you!” He tossed him out the closest balcony and then waved his hand to cast a spell that never came to fruition. There was a noticeable confused turn of his head within the dark helmet. Abawken quickly flew back into the room.
Another reduction in his size occurred and Manasseh was now back to his original height.
“What is happening?” King Manasseh panicked. He began to feel pain inside his body, his right leg throbbed and the back of his neck stung as sweat and blood intermingled from that scimitar slash he had absorbed earlier. The sudden taste of blood inside his mouth intensified.
The dwarves delivered another punishing blow simultaneously, and the malevolent king fell onto his back. Manasseh bellowed in agony as his black armor and sword faded out of existence.
“He is losing his power!” El’Korr announced.
The dwarves both brought their weapons around for the kill, but relented when they noticed a pool of blood forming around Manasseh’s body. The former king’s eyes stared blankly as his vital fluid poured out from underneath. Slash marks suddenly materialized on his body, dark purple bruising in his flesh came to light, and then the sound of his breastbone cracked as his chest caved in. The wicked king was no more. The Elf broke them from their gaze of the gory aftermath.
“Hurry, get onto Zeffeera!” Xan yelled from the back of the dragon.
“Go!” The giant Rondee commanded as he pulled on his dwarven king. El’Korr relinquished his stubbornness and climbed aboard the dragon.
Troops suddenly emerged from the stairway chasing two individuals. It was Jack and his father, Ghent. A crossbow bolt stuck out of Ghent’s leg. His son was helping him hobble along.
“Jack! Over here!” Bridazak yelled.
It was an all-out hustle to get to the Ordakian, but three of the King’s men bent one knee, lined up their shots, and clicked the release trigger on their crossbows. Ghent suddenly positioned his back to protect his child and blocked the shots—all three bolts struck. He fell forward, but pushed Jack into Rondee’s arms.
“Dad!” the boy cried.
“Jack, go! I love you son,” he called in a strained voice before his head slowly sagged against the stone floor.
“No! Dad! Dad!” the boy wailed.
Manasseh’s body suddenly began to convulse on the floor, limbs contorting, and he sat straight up. He acted differently; his body moved stiffly, but it was his eyes that said it all. They were pearly black, with no pupils.
Bridazak felt a familiar chill tingle the back of his neck. He was certain of what his senses were alerting. “Get out of there!” he shouted. “It’s not Manasseh!”
Rondee quickly brought the struggling teenager to the dragon. Zeffeera began to lift away. The Wild Dwarf, still in his giant size, grabbed onto her leg.
More troops were coming up the stairway to the Tower. Abawken summoned an air elemental to keep them occupied and then flew after the others. He grabbed hold of the dragon’s other leg. They looked back to see King Manasseh, or what appeared to be him, on the balcony watching them fly away.
“This is far from over,” the evil being said in each of their minds—the voice smooth and sinister.
“That was not Manasseh. Who was that?” El’Korr asked.
Bridazak paused, “Xan knows who it was, he told us about it.”
“I do?” the Elf was surprised. He paused for a moment, but turned white as he realized the only tale Bridazak could be referencing. He turned to the others, “That was the dark ruler of Kerrith Ravine.”
El’Korr snapped, “How do you know this, Xandahar?”
“That level of power—it had to be him. It is the only thing that makes sense. He was controlling the Tree and Manasseh, all along.”
The heroes sat dumbfounded as they soared over the scattered undead army remnants and soon caught up to their own men. Only four hundred of them had survived. The pursuing horde had fallen after the power of the Tree was severed and destroyed. The dwarves were now deep into the Desert of Guilt, a layer of ash and dust clung to
their bloody armor and matted hair.
Zeffeera landed and everyone was reunited. There was a solemn exchange of good tidings; no cheers, just appreciation for survival. Their loss was heavy.
“You did well, Geetock, all of you did,” King El’Korr announced.
“Without Raina’s power and your successful mission of defeating the Tree, we wouldn’t have made it,” he responded.
“The Orb was destroyed before we could get it to the Tree. We are uncertain as to what happened.”
Bridazak stepped forward, “The Orb. It changed color.”
“I am not following you, what do you mean?”
“It changed from gold to red. I think it,” he turned his head away to compose himself. “It knew it was going to be destroyed.”
“But why? I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I, but—”
Xan cut Bridazak off, “We have a problem.”
“What is it?”
“Dulgin is not responding to any of my healing spells.”
“No,” Bridazak quickly rushed to his fallen friend.
The others gathered around with concerned looks. Dulgin had lost a lot of blood through multiple wounds.
“Is there nothing we can do?” El’Korr questioned Xan.
“I am at a loss. Perhaps being in close proximity to Kerrith Ravine has blocked any healing, but I can’t be sure.”
Bridazak no longer held back his tears and buried his face into Dulgin’s armored chest. “Don’t leave me Dulgin,” his voice cracked.
“I just got my brother back. Find a way, Xan!” El’Korr demanded.
“I have given him my most powerful healing spell, but still he is dying. I am sorry.”
Suddenly the Ordakian lurched in surprise and looked around at each of them.
“What is it, Bridazak?” Spilf asked.
“You didn’t hear him?”
Their puzzled looks answered him.
“The voice of God said ‘the Holy City’. That’s it! We need to get him there.”