The Sword of Retribution

The Underworld - Part 3

     Fort Dirk was the largest, strongest and best defended fortress ever built by man on the planet Tharia, making even Fort Battleaxe look like a pillbox in comparison. Every part of it, even the highest towers, had been carved out of the living mountain by the Agglemonians, who hadn't had to lay a single brick to build it up. It was the greatest remaining testament to the power of the Agglemonian Empire, their greatest legacy, and had played a greater part than any other single factor in Belthar's victory in the three previous Shadowwars. It had been built to defend the heartlands of the Agglemonian Empire against the creatures who had, at the time, inhabited the lands west of the Copper Mountains, although a few centuries later the Agglemonians had exterminated them, freeing that land for colonisation by the refugees who would one day found the Kingdom of Belthar.

     Nowadays, in addition to its formidable ‘natural’ defences, the name given by wizards and clerics to anything that didn’t depend on magic, the fortress had the Four of Fendoom. A quartet of warrior wizards whose prowess in magical warfare was unparalleled north of the Great Lake and who had been led past the besieging ranks of the enemy through a secret pass by a ranger who was a member of the Fellowship of the Golden Griffin. It also had an Orb of Proofing, taken from an abandoned Agglemonian fortress far to the south. Fort Dirk hadn't originally had an Orb of its own, as the fortress had been thought strong enough to endure without one and the barbarians of the western plains had possessed only mediocre wizards who were no match for the University trained spellcasters standing guard within its walls. Fort Dirk had therefore had no need to fear magical attack. That had changed as the threat of the Shadow grew, however, and so when the Beltharans had learned that there was an Orb standing idle in a half ruined castle in the Allendolian wastes, they'd sent a team to fetch it, just as they had again fifty years later when they'd learned of the Sen Camaris Orb, which was now helping to protect Fort Battleaxe.

     The vast majority of the assembled Beltharan army consisted of common soldiers, thousands of them in ranks and files. All dressed identically except for their regimental badges and proudly flown regimental colours. Scattered amongst them, though, so that every common soldier had one or more in sight at any time, were Champions. Exceptional soldiers, wizards and priests whose names had become legend over the years and whose presence gave confidence and hope to the lesser men around them. Many of them wore brightly coloured armour and helmets with tall crests of brightly shining real steel. There was no regulation that said they had to do so, and no officer would order them to make themselves conspicuous to the enemy. It was their own choice to make themselves visible, to be an inspiration to the common soldiers surrounding them, and General Poll was cheered and heartened that he had such men under his command.

     As the time to attack drew nearer the Champions readied their special weapons; artifacts of such power that only the mightiest could wield them without being driven to their knees by the effort required. Some loosened magic swords in their sheaths or muttered the words that would activate the protective spells impressed into wards and charms. Others wet their lips and tongues ready to blow mighty blasts into enchanted horns while priests gripped holy artifacts in their knobbly, arthritic hands as they whispered prayers to their various Gods. There was one weapon in particular, though, of such singular power that even the weapons of the Champions were overshadowed by it, and every eye in the assembled armies was drawn to the man holding it, standing at the very front of the assembled armies.

     Captain Tarros was a priest of Samnos, one of the most powerful of his order in the world. He was taking his place at the head of the column that would spearhead the charge, the holy weapon in one hand and his sword in the other, while other priests of Samnos rode alongside and behind him. Together they would plunge like a dagger into the enemy’s ranks, scattering them like rabbits. Destroying their carefully arranged formations and leaving them easy prey for the thousands of common soldiers who would follow. The enemy knew about Captain Tarros. His coal black eyes, blazing with righteous anger and his long, bright sword which never stopped dripping blood had been seen on many battlefields down through the decades. The mere rumour that he was coming was usually enough to send his enemies flying in blind panic. Now that he was carrying the Sceptre of Samnos, the impact of his coming would be a thousand times greater.