“He has followers at his side though, my lord,” said the Illusionist. “He could be a formidable opponent.”
The cloaked figure dismissed the Illusionist’s worries. “A ragtag band consisting of a thief and two mounds of muscle all lead by a man whose ambition exceeds his capabilities. Do you think he would ever dare come near these walls? I did not have them built just so they could be easily breached by a nobleman and his lackeys. The very ground itself cried out in pain when I had the gates erected and took shelter here in the north. First I have taken the north to be my domain and at the end I will have the south. When that day comes there will be no more need for this gate.”
The Illusionist agreed with his master. He was the leader of all the Illusionists, leader to his six brothers who were once called the children of the Forest Mother. But now he answered to none save his master. The days of the Forest Mother were at an end.
“What do you suppose happened to Hamilton?” asked Hector, who was still standing at the edge of the lake with Brutus and Rashek. “He should be back by now. I have the strange feeling that Ing and Alma disposed of him. They will pay for this.” Brutus and Rashek nodded in agreement.
Ing and Alma made their way back across the Lake of Promises as quickly as they could. They docked the boat at the water’s edge and got out.
“I wonder what has been happening back in Ganwin since I left,” said Ing. “I hope the people are okay.” He thought back to the image of his mother lying on the ground in a bloody mess.
“We can only hope we are not too late,” said Alma as they were traversing through the snowy fields. “We need to figure out some way to get around the large gate.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” replied Ing. “We’ll have to think of something as we get closer.”
When Ing and Alma finally reached the strange town, Akram, with the tall tower, they were met with shock.
“What’s going on?” asked Ing.
“It looks like some sort of fight has broken out,” replied Alma.
As they got close, they recognized who the opposition was. There were archers dressed in snakeskin hides, and warriors wearing adamant armor. It’s the warriors of Dharma, Ing thought to himself. He spotted Bartock up ahead--his muscular frame gracefully seated atop a beautiful white horse--and began running towards the chief as fast as he could.
When Bartock spotted them, he shouted, “Ing! Alma!”, and dismounted from his steed. “The battle for this land has begun! Here, take my horse! Without it you’ll have no hope of reaching Ganwin, Ing.”
“Thank you, Bartock!” said Ing. He hopped in front and Alma got behind him.
“Farewell, my friend!” shouted Alma.
“Farewell!” he shouted back. Ing saw General Soren approaching Bartock, and he was worried that the chief was doomed. He quickly turned his gaze away, towards the South where the black gate lay.
Never having ridden a horse except for when he was very young, no older than five years old, he had to let his instincts guide him.
As Ing and Alma galloped away, they caught a glimpse of the vicious battle the people of Dharma were engaged in. Archers pierced the skies with a legion of arrows, hoping to take down the winged creatures that hovered above. Warriors frantically attempted to overcome their odds in fierce combat with a variety of foes, ranging from evil creatures, to bandits, to strange beasts. The sheer determination that gripped all involved was a sure sight to see. Bodies crumpled to the ground before their enemies. Swords clattered together, and the sound of clashing steel resonated across the battleground. Blood painted the land crimson; sweat trickled from the frantic faces of men. Battle cries shattered the silence of the once tranquil town, albeit a melancholic tranquility.
The cloaked figure had already fled away on horseback; he had left General Soren behind to take care of the village chief, Bartock. General Soren brandished his massive, two-handed Claymore sword as he strode towards his foe.
“Soren Abbalah,” said Bartock, eyeing the general’s foul armor and deadly blade.
“SO IT WOULD SEEM,” replied the general. “THIS TIME, I WILL FINISH YOU OFF, BARTOCK. I AM NO LONGER ONE OF THE MOUNTAIN PEOPLE OF DHARMA.”
“Your dark armor has covered your true self for too long,” said Bartock. “You betrayed us all that day when Slithzalien found us. We could have fought and survived, but you let fear drive you to kill your allies. Everyone except for me. You couldn’t beat me then and you will not beat me now.” He held onto his falchion tightly. It was a suitable weapon for him and he had had much training with it. “I see your master left you behind. Not a very noble action. Was that truly Slithzalien?”
General Soren slashed at Bartock, but he blocked the strike with ease. “You may be powerful,” he said, “but you are slow. You have forgotten much of the old ways of the sword that you learned under Lanar.”
“SILENCE!” shouted General Soren. He swung his sword in a horizontal fashion to cut Bartock in two, but Bartock jumped backwards. It took the general a moment to recover, and Bartock took the chance to strike. He quickly moved in and banged his sword against the general’s armor…but it was too strong. General Soren grabbed him with his left hand, and heaved him backwards, nearly breaking his back. Bartock flipped over, but quickly got back to his feet.
“You can’t win,” said Bartock, fierce determination gleaming in his brown eyes.
“IT WOULD SEEM THAT NEITHER CAN YOU,” bellowed the general.
A bandit jumped upon Bartock’s back, trying to strangle him, but was killed by a hail of arrows.
“I see your people don’t like to fight fair,” he said.
General Soren spotted a four-legged
