The Mortal Rebellion: Episode 9

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic
The Necromancer's intentions are known, the revolt is staged, and war is on the horizon. It is close to the end, and the story reaches its climax. What will happen?

Submitted: June 07, 2015

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Submitted: June 07, 2015

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THE MORTAL REBELLION

episode 9

Elias Holmquist

 

The time had come.

100 Lore warriors were stationed at the East wall of the city, led by Erik Travisson. Awaiting the signal to attack, they were camped just beyond the view of the watchtower. There, they would begin their move once their allies had come forth. And all that was riding on the King. If the King did not help, then their only option would be the elves in the far North, past the Capital, so far that the snow laden the trees and the mountain sides year round.

As if foreshadowing the reaction of the King, the sky grew overcast, and shut out the sunlight.

The King would not help. The aid that could have been provided was a fluke, a lie, and Commander Feyheart felt it in his very soul. He would definitely get the people out of the town, that much he knew for certain, but the chance to finish the job would be all but gone.

On the fifth day, if the Commander did not send word to the Lore warriors that they had allies, they would start the attack on the dawn of the sixth. So much was counting on help, on the kindness of others, on the courage their world had. But so much had been lost, so quickly, so painstakingly, that the Commander doubted armies upon armies would flood through the passes even if this was the end of their world as they knew it.

Lorain had finally figured out what the Necromancer was looking for.

Deep in the caverns beneath the city, she had seen glimpses of what the people had been harvesting from the earth, and now understood.

There had been stories of a great war fought here, before the Empire, before Kadelvacaer, even before the mountain passes were established. This was in the age of the Elves, or, the Varinians. The world of the humans was flooding past the brinks, destroying forests and reeking of industrialization. The Elves made war with them when the Mountains Passes were built, wrenching the mountains apart and destroying countless lives. Great battles were fought, and though the Elves were many, the humans had more.

Finally, when both sides had suffered innumerable casualties, the representatives from each army made a truce on the last battlefield. They would forever more greet each race as ‘companions’ and therefore be allies, no matter what would come to pass.

That very site where the truce was made was where Kadelvacaer now stood. Its name in the old language meant “Companion City” and was positioned strategically, so all trade would flow through it, and all manner of people, too. Elves and Humans alike, so the truce would always be remembered.

Now, the Necromancer was searching for the bodies of the dead, some humans, but mostly elves. The Varinians had changed since then, and had become peaceful folk, wise and all knowing. The Necromancer wanted to bring back the dead, to have an army of Primordial Elves, all muscle and hatred, with a blood lust in their eyes.

With this weapon, Kadelvacaer, not even the Empire could stand in his way.  The carnage would spread across its borders, for Elves were immortal save when killed in battle. Undead primordial elves were a weapon to be reckoned with.

Lorain felt like bawling, screaming, fighting. She knew it would be a miracle if the people of Kadelvacaer lived, not to mention bringing the Necromancer down.


 

Dranon had also  figured out what the Necromancer planned to do. But he understood what the Necromancer had to sacrifice to bring the undead elf army back to life. For every dead elf to become waking, one living life should be taken in exchange. That meant that the people of Kadelvacaer would not have long to live. 300 people would soon become 300 undead primordial elves.

  The world will burn, thought Dranon. Unless I do something.

 

On the third day, word reached the Commander that the elves of the North were coming to their aid. 500 strong, a small army of highly efficient, wise ,and skilled beings were just what the Commander needed. Now, their forces equaled around 610 people, barely enough for what Erik, Feyheart, and Serun had planned. But it would have to be done.

Commander Feyheart sent Henry with George to inform the Lore warriors of the allies they would now have gained, quadrupling their previous size.

But the message would never reach the Lore warriors. And undead patrol found the pair sneaking past the gates, and apprehended them. Torture was out of the option, for the Necromancer needed healthy souls for the ritual.

Little did he know, Lorain and most of the people didn’t plan on being sacrificed. There was fire of Rebellion in their hearts, unquenchable, dangerous.


 

On the Fourth day, throngs of people, leaving the caves and making for the square, whispered amongst themselves. Gone was the tattle-tailing. Those that had done so were shunned out or shut up. A plan was hatched, and Lorain was the one going to lead the people, they had decided. If anybody could transform these broken, whipped, dirty people into a deadly mob of humans fighting for their freedom, she could do it.

 

As line after line of people came in, carrying the bodies of the dead elves, the Necromancer walked in the middle of the people. Laughing sadistically, he whipped every person he came near.

“This is your last hour, slaves! What do you think of that, huh? Come on, try something, I’m just aching to teach somebody a lesson.”

Spotting a straggling boy (Who, incidentally, was Henry) the Necromancer launched himself to Henry’s side. The boy instantly became stock straight, looking straight ahead, and picked up his pace. For those in sight, in hurt their very hearts to see him do this, because any sane person could see the boy was bone tired and scared to death.

The Necromancer was not a sane person.

 “Oh, straightened up, now did ya’? You’d make a fine soldier if I let you live through the night. Hey, why don’t you take a swing at me, huh? Like a good soldier would. How about this; I order you to hit me.” When Henry did nothing, the Necromancer suddenly changed. Black wisps of void and chaos slipped out of his robes, infecting the ground with poisoned death.  His face became ragged, pale, and he bared his teeth as he bellowed, “HIT ME, YA’ LITTLE RUNT!”

And Henry did.

Right in the face, so fast nobody saw it happen, his little fist clocked the Necromancer squarely on the nose, right between his eyes.

Startled, the Necromancer lost all sense of death and destruction, and slid down so that he was resting on his haunches.

 “Ow.” Was all he said.

Lorain took the chance, and shouted to the people in the square, “NOW!”

In seconds, more chaos ensued.

The Necromancer was hoisted up on the shoulders of the strong men, and the women worked to break apart the stretchers that housed the bodies of the elves. In five minutes, the Necromancer was in the center of a ring of dead bodies, tied up like a pig on a roast, and all of the adults had makeshift weapons made from the stretchers. Sticks and fists, thought Lorain. That’s our garrison.

“We make for the passes!” She called out, and the people followed her.


 

“Commander! Look at this!”

Anthony called for his attention, as their company was scaling the west walls.

“It’s the people! I think, there was an uprising! Let’s get ‘em out of here!”

“That we will, Master archer.” The Commander murmured, then bellowed in his great, husky, commanding voice, “PEOPLE OF KADELVACAER! OVER HERE! OVER HERE! WE CAN GET YOU OUT OF HERE!”

Lorain saw the distant figure of the Commander, and pointed him out.


 

 In less than an hour, all 300 people had left the square, and were tramping along the undergrowth through the secret pass to the camp. In another hour, word had reached Erik that the people were safe.

Hearing the news, he breathed a sigh of relief.

“I knew you could do it, James.” He turned to the warriors around him. “The diversion is no longer needed. But,” he added darkly. “That means we prepare for all out war.”


 

 The Necromancer opened one eye, then the other. Taking in the lack of people, he became very silent.

And then he laughed.

  These people don’t know the extent of my powers, he thought. I don’t need living sacrifices to bring the dead to life. I’ll just use the 300 undead warriors I have already.

That night, a monstrous bonfire burned in the square. The entire army of the undead fit in its perimeter, filling every space that wasn’t needed for the ritual.

The Necromancer called incantations, waving his arms in the needed maner. After that, he began to stamp his foot. The rest of the undead took up this cue, and stamped their feet also.

Following that, the army began chanting livrat canstat ver cuel meinvrath. These were the words needed to be said for the elf body to switch with that of the one saying the chant. To give a view of how many elves would arise from the dead and switch places with the undead humans  here is the number of the undead in the square, not counting the Necromancer; 1,000.

At midnight, after chanting and stepping for five hours,  wisps of darkness began seeping out through the cracks in the earth. The Bonfire began to glow green, and the silence became filled with whispers, that of the dead. The black wisps began to cover the area above the square, circling and spiraling around to form a cloud of  darkness. The stars could not even cut through the clouds.

Suddenly the fire dimmed, and the cloud formed a funnel, but instead of sucking things up, black shapes flitted out of it, glanced off of the bonfire and into the warriors. When it stopped, undead warriors did not stand in front of the Necromancer, but 1,000 undead Primordial Elves, ready for war.

End of Episode 9


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