towards Mara’s voice, trying to protect her. Out in the edge of the fog, Talis noticed Rikar talking with a shadowy figure. He turned his head towards Talis, as if surprised at being found. The figure disappeared into the fog. Rikar frowned at Talis. What was Rikar doing?
Soon four undead warriors strode towards Talis, leering at him, weapons raised. The fog lifted, and Talis could see they were beaten. Rikar charged at the undead, slicing off a leg and kicking another over. Talis joined in, severing the other two in half.
But the necromancers, hovering fifty feet off the ground, shot a stream of grey and black particles towards the slain undead, causing them to reassemble back to life. The undead warriors shook their fists above their heads and glowered at Talis. Looking around, Talis could see they’d lost. Almost every soldier from the party had been slain or beaten down. The undead surrounded them and the necromancers floated down to gloat over their victory.
“We can’t die like this,” Talis said, edging close to Rikar.
“Dying is for quitters,” Rikar said, and raised a ruby to his lips. He whispered a name, a name that Talis could barely hear, a name that sounded familiar, like from his nightmares. Aurellia… The ruby glowed red and bits of silver shimmered inside.
Instantly, it was dark again, so dark, Talis couldn’t see his hands.
A rumbling sound, as if millions of bison charged across a plain. Then a whooshing sound, like when the wind from a storm races through the trees. Brilliant lights pierced the darkness, forming a magical portal, filled with shadows and light.
An ancient man, face distorted and leathered, wearing a black hooded robe, stepped through the portal and glanced around, chuckling to himself like he knew some secret joke. He rammed his ruby-tipped staff into the sand. An explosion of red and orange and silver light shot out in all directions and vaporized the undead warriors and horses.
“Be banished to eternal night,” he said, his voice slow and slurred, and he aimed his staff at the bald necromancer, and pointed a finger at the other. A rift appeared in the sky and moans and screams of agony from a million dead souls cried out from that rift, as if the sound came from the torments of the Underworld.
The necromancers were pulled (or rather the darkness enveloped them) into the rift and they fought and shrieked against the force, but in the end lost the struggle.
And then the shadow portal came to the old man, rushed over him, and consumed him, until he too disappeared.
The air was clear. The sun was strong. The wind, cold from the north.
12. THE NORTHLANDS
After the dust settled, Talis felt the cold dew falling, sending a chill under his skin. He’d searched through the bodies, bones and fetid flesh and soldiers still dying, trying to find Mara and Nikulo. Rikar helped, illuminating the night with a shimmering orb, turning over bodies, revealing the hideous faces of undead and former living alike. Finally, a trembling lump lifted itself up, a dirtied face staring around in horror at the destruction.
It was Mara! Talis felt a wave of relief and joy washing over him like a warm summer rain.
“I was so worried…I’d thought you were killed,” Talis said. “Thank the gods you survived.”
“What are you doing here?” Rikar eyes went wide.
“You think I was going to let you guys go off on an adventure by yourselves?”
“This is not some kind of game…you could have been killed,” Rikar said. “And your family is probably worried sick about you….”
Mara scoffed. “Forget about them… They want me to marry some old pig.” She glanced around at all the undead bones lying around. “When they attacked I knew it was best to pretend I was dead. They went right after the soldiers and ignored me.”
“You did the right thing.” Talis brushed the sand off her clothes.
“Nikulo is probably shivering in his boots, somewhere around
Soon four undead warriors strode towards Talis, leering at him, weapons raised. The fog lifted, and Talis could see they were beaten. Rikar charged at the undead, slicing off a leg and kicking another over. Talis joined in, severing the other two in half.
But the necromancers, hovering fifty feet off the ground, shot a stream of grey and black particles towards the slain undead, causing them to reassemble back to life. The undead warriors shook their fists above their heads and glowered at Talis. Looking around, Talis could see they’d lost. Almost every soldier from the party had been slain or beaten down. The undead surrounded them and the necromancers floated down to gloat over their victory.
“We can’t die like this,” Talis said, edging close to Rikar.
“Dying is for quitters,” Rikar said, and raised a ruby to his lips. He whispered a name, a name that Talis could barely hear, a name that sounded familiar, like from his nightmares. Aurellia… The ruby glowed red and bits of silver shimmered inside.
Instantly, it was dark again, so dark, Talis couldn’t see his hands.
A rumbling sound, as if millions of bison charged across a plain. Then a whooshing sound, like when the wind from a storm races through the trees. Brilliant lights pierced the darkness, forming a magical portal, filled with shadows and light.
An ancient man, face distorted and leathered, wearing a black hooded robe, stepped through the portal and glanced around, chuckling to himself like he knew some secret joke. He rammed his ruby-tipped staff into the sand. An explosion of red and orange and silver light shot out in all directions and vaporized the undead warriors and horses.
“Be banished to eternal night,” he said, his voice slow and slurred, and he aimed his staff at the bald necromancer, and pointed a finger at the other. A rift appeared in the sky and moans and screams of agony from a million dead souls cried out from that rift, as if the sound came from the torments of the Underworld.
The necromancers were pulled (or rather the darkness enveloped them) into the rift and they fought and shrieked against the force, but in the end lost the struggle.
And then the shadow portal came to the old man, rushed over him, and consumed him, until he too disappeared.
The air was clear. The sun was strong. The wind, cold from the north.
12. THE NORTHLANDS
After the dust settled, Talis felt the cold dew falling, sending a chill under his skin. He’d searched through the bodies, bones and fetid flesh and soldiers still dying, trying to find Mara and Nikulo. Rikar helped, illuminating the night with a shimmering orb, turning over bodies, revealing the hideous faces of undead and former living alike. Finally, a trembling lump lifted itself up, a dirtied face staring around in horror at the destruction.
It was Mara! Talis felt a wave of relief and joy washing over him like a warm summer rain.
“I was so worried…I’d thought you were killed,” Talis said. “Thank the gods you survived.”
“What are you doing here?” Rikar eyes went wide.
“You think I was going to let you guys go off on an adventure by yourselves?”
“This is not some kind of game…you could have been killed,” Rikar said. “And your family is probably worried sick about you….”
Mara scoffed. “Forget about them… They want me to marry some old pig.” She glanced around at all the undead bones lying around. “When they attacked I knew it was best to pretend I was dead. They went right after the soldiers and ignored me.”
“You did the right thing.” Talis brushed the sand off her clothes.
“Nikulo is probably shivering in his boots, somewhere around
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