CHAPTER II
Might and Magic
"When there is no enemy within, the enemies outside cannot hurt you."
Cyn looked back on the city of Westmarch, the bleak fortress nearly lost in the horizon. Fleeing from the guard had certainly been necessary, but the sorceress wondered whether or not it would prove to be even more costly. It hardly seemed a serious crime to burn a passing wagon, especially if it was an accident, but resisting arrest and fleeing were definitely crimes worthy of pursuit.
Though she carried no weapon, the mage certainly wasn't unarmed and she was sure that if the guards did choose to come for her, she'd be prepared. Turning back toward the direction of the woods she had fled to, Cyn scanned her surroundings. The landscape was dotted with thick shrubbery, which gave the numerous trees a wide berth, leaving small patches of clear ground. Fallen leaves and needles spackled the ground, almost completely covering the nutrient-rich soil of the Western Kingdoms. In the dense canopies above, the sorceress listened to the songs of birds and chattering of small mammals.
Pressing forward, the woman carefully began navigating her way through the underbrush. Reaching out with her heightened senses, the sorceress could easily find the safest routes, ensuring she avoided the presence of bigger animals. Westmarch was said to be filled with giants, human-like in appearance, but brutish in strength and heavily corrupted by the presence of Hell's minions. She had even heard tales of organized clans of 'goatmen', corrupted beings who had once been locked away in deep labyrinths that now came to heed the call of Hell.
Suddenly, she heard the snapping of a nearby twig and went rigid. It had been several minutes since she last scanned the area with her magic, and she was now beginning to doubt her previous thoroughness. Sending out a magical probe of her immediate area, she picked up the presence of another.
Turning in the direction of the said presence, she began drawing on her magical strength, preparing to cast any number of spells should the need arise.
A childish giggle came from behind her and suddenly she picked up the presence of several beings. Whipping around, she caught a glimpse of something moving through the brush. With a wave of her hand, magical energy burst forth, manifesting in the form of a bolt of lightning. The magical projectile burned through the brush and struck something solid. Cyn heard a cry of pain follow and quickly moved toward it.
Pushing aside the singed shrubbery, the sorceress found the charred corpse of her intended target. The smell of burnt flesh pierced her nostrils immediately, making her cough and forcing her to cover her nose. The fallen creature before her was half her size in height, twice her thickness, and bore a resemblance to the fabled imps of Hell. In it's hand was a curved scimitar and the only clothing it wore was a simple loin cloth. She bent down to further investigate the corpse when it suddenly began glowing, golden energy emanating from it's every pore.
The glow became even more pronounced with each second, forcing the sorceress to shield her eyes. She could sense something moving where the corpse had been and shuddered. When the light finally faded, she uncovered her eyes just in time to throw herself to the side in order to dodge a vicious slash from the creature's scimitar. The once-dead imp was now on it's feet and charging her.
To Cyn's horror, brush all around her gave way to more of the imps, each wielding crude weapons. Some were even adorned with shields or primitive breastplates. Before the sorceress could get to her feet, the demons had her surrounded and were hooting and chanting in high-pitched voices and guttural growls.
The sorceress smiled. The little fiends thought they had her captured. With a simple thought, she disappeared from her laying position and flickered into existence several feet behind the demonic party. She watched as the creatures looked around in sudden confusion. A few even broke out into fights, appearing to blame one another for her disappearance. As the sorceress turned to run, she was nearly scorched by an incoming ball of fire.
From straight ahead of her, another imp appeared, this one decorated in animal skins and skulls and carrying a staff. The special clothing and weapon indicated the creature as a shaman, meaning it was responsible for the magical assault that had nearly done her in.
Cyn did not flee this fight. If the shaman wanted a fight, it would certainly get it.
Flicking her wrist forward, Cyn called on her own magic. A spike of pure ice energy rocketed from her palm, leaving a trail of frost in it's wake.
As the incoming projectile neared it, the shaman hooted in some indistinct, primitive language. Another ball of fire leapt from it's staff and intercepted the sorceress's attack. Both spells clashed, sending repercussions rippling though the air. When the dust settled, the shaman remained unharmed.
Cyn was impressed by the small creature's improvisation, having clearly underestimated her opponent. She would not make that mistake a second time.
Just then, the other demons broke through the foliage behind her and she was forced to turn her attention away from the shaman. Focusing her will on the ground between her and them, Cyn cast a spell. A barrier of pure flame erupted from the earth, catching one of the demon's mid-jump and turning it to ash. The others hesitated, then retreated, clearly intimidated by the death of their comrade. Cyn made out a roar from the shaman, one of obvious anger at the warriors for fleeing.
The sorceress turned back to her magical adversary just in time to see the shaman's staff begin glowing a familiar gold. Necromantic powers suddenly resurrected the woman's latest victim. The impish creature picked up it's club and started toward her, the fire wall now behind it. Cyn's brow furrowed and she sensed the return of the fled demons. Whatever cowardice had struck them before was now gone. A few made their way around the length of the magical barrier the mage had erected and charged.
Putting two and two together, the sorceress ignored them and focused on the shaman. It was clear to her that she wouldn't rid herself of the warriors until the magic-user had been slain.
As mana coursed through the woman's body, Cyn's eyes transformed into globes of white light. Her hair began thrashing in all directions and sparks of energy flickered in and out of existence all around her. The built up magic surged, having been contained for too long, but the sorceress held her control over it. Pointing her finger at the shaman, Cyn began chanting an incantation. Though she knew her spell to be overkill, she wouldn't risk leaving the shaman only injured.
With a final word, the sorceress's finger crackled with power. Swinging it back, then thrusting it forward, Cyn's spell took shape. The stream of lightning that sizzled into being was easily twice the size of her previous one and flew like a thrown javelin, striking the shaman in the chest.
The demonic mage shrieked in terror as it's entire body was consumed by electricity. When the spell had faded, what was left of the shaman blew away in the wind.
Horrified calls came from the imp warriors swarming her, the demons mourning the loss of their leader. Still invigorated by massive amounts of stored magic, Cyn turned toward her remaining foes. With a simple gesture, she released the leftover power of her spell. Chains of lightning leapt from warrior to warrior, their weapons acting as lightning rods.
Her body now utterly drained of power, Cyn's eyes and hair returned to normal and she nearly collapsed in exhaustion. Staring at the defeated corpses of her enemies, she let loose a single sigh of relief.
Argus hefted the weight of his long sword, shifting it to more accurately gain a secure grip on it's hilt. The paladin was drenched in sweat, both from the heat and the amount of energy he had used to slay the undead duo. Years of traveling and fighting had given him excellent endurance though, and the paladin easily shrugged off any sign of exhaustion, pushing himself forward.
Who or whatever was controlling the undead in Windsong was still at large and ultimately he couldn't quell the danger until he had defeated them.
A moan from behind him alerted him to more danger. Argus whirled around, sword at the ready. But when he saw the source of the noise, the sorrow that struck him nearly caused him to lose grip of his weapon. The dead infant he had seen earlier now stood before him, the child's corpse now horribly rotted by the same magic that had caused it to rise. The zombie moaned again, before flashing a devilish smile.
"You should leave" the infant said, in multiple voices. One belonged to the dead child, the other was demonic in nature. "You're intruding, and we don't like intruders."
"We?" Argus asked, his voice shaken by the injustice.
From behind the undead boy several more zombies shuffled forward, their eyes gleaming with desire. Desire for his flesh.
"Release your hold over these people or face the wrath of the Light!" the paladin shouted.
A chuckle came from the undead child. "Your Light is a false divinity! There is only one being worthy of devotion, and that is Baal, the unholy Lord of Destruction!"
"Cease this puppetry and face me, coward!" Argus yelled. "Or will you forever hide behind the clever cloak of a child?"
Suddenly, whatever had possessed the undead infant seemed to vanish and the boy began shuffling toward him in unison with the other undead townsfolk.
"Is this what you so desperately seek?" a deep, raspy voice asked, one very akin to the demonic side of the boy. The voice came from behind the paladin, and sounded almost like a whisper.
Argus carefully turned around, still keeping the oncoming horde of corpses in his line of view. Before him stood a figure that vaguely resembled the skeleton warriors he had fought, but was far more sinister. Twice as thick and a good foot taller then Argus, the newcomer wore golden armor that had worn from being buried decades underground. The figure wielded a sword that made the paladin's look like a butter knife, swinging the enormous weapon with ease. His eyes burned so red that one couldn't stare at them for long without their whole world turning the same color. Though this puppet master of sorts was very much undead himself, he moved with far more grace and power then the others. Argus guessed this fiend had come straight from the pits of Hell.
"You should've left when I gave you the chance" the newcomer said. "Now you'll have to join the others." He beckoned toward the shuffling horde of zombies.
"Who…..what are you?" Argus asked.
"I am the Terror that Stalks the Plains, the Heart of the Undead, the Crimson Knight of Hell!" the skeleton bellowed. "I am Lord Balthazar De Mascus!"
"You're also full of yourself…" Argus muttered.
Having obviously heard the comment, Balthazar pointed a finger at the paladin and roared an inhuman cry that shook the paladin to his core. "Vile Light-lover, you're existence on this plane is about to end!"
At that moment, the first zombie swiped at Argus with claws mutated by the process of undeath. The attack bounced right off his armor, but nearly knocked him off balance. The paladin raised his shield to block a second swipe from another walking corpse, only to be thrown to the ground from the impact.
A hideous cackle came from Balthazar as the zombie army swarmed over the fallen paladin, their moans of chorus of death and decay. On the ground, Argus desperately slashed away at his opponents. But even after the loss of limbs and heads, the zombie's kept attacking. It wouldn't be long until he was overwhelmed at this rate. Then, all he would be able to do was wait until they broke through his armor and began to devour his flesh.
"Yes, my children, yes! Feed!" Balthazar bellowed, reveling in the imminent death of the holy warrior.
As Argus began to buckle under the weight of his opponents, he cried out to the High Heavens. The paladin's words were old and full of both faith and magic. If the Light saw fit to answer his call, maybe Argus would have a chance to survive.
When at last his call had finished, the first zombie broke through his guard and slashed at his face. Pulling away, the paladin managed to minimize the damage, with only a trio of scratches across his cheek.
But as the zombie pulled back to prepare another strike, the air began to be filled with specks of light. A smile found the face of Argus.
"Behold Knight of Hell, the power of the Light!" the paladin shouted.
All around, the specks of light began spinning in spirals towards one another. As they got closer and closer, they began to take shape and the cries of Argus became merrier and merrier.
Balthazar watched the spectacle from afar. It was only when he realized the growing power the paladin had gathered that the confident smile left his bony face. Turning around, the skeletal demon slashed the air with his rune blade, the weapon leaving a trail of hellfire in it's wake. The hellfire spread into a circle, forming a burning portal. The demon stepped through, disappearing to another plane.
The specks of light had now fully combined, taking the form of a hammer of righteous power. The blessed hammer spun around at a surprising pace, striking all undead in it's path. Whenever a zombie was hit, it's wound was wrapped in a holy fire that spread across it's body until nothing but embers remained.
When enough of the zombies had been relinquished of the burden of their second lives, Argus got to his feet and joined in the holy slaughter. The minions of Hell fell by the dozen under the power of the paladin and the holy hammer. When only one opponent remained, the hammer stopped spinning and exploded into a nova of light. The power washed over the final zombie and completely consumed it. When the light faded, only Argus remained.
Completely exhausted, the paladin's sword slipped from his grasp and he fell to his knees. Nothing but prayers of thanks escaped his lips for the next few hours.