Stories of H Merrill

The army of Olgath had been slaughtered on the fields surrounding Byth. The Ashwood force had relieved the siege on the city, but Alis Gwynn’s conquest was not over; the city of Olgath still stood, a monument to those who defied the might of Ashwood. Gathering the armies of Byth and Ashwood, Alis Gwynn led the march on Olgath. 

The approaching armies would arrive at Olgath on the morning of the thirteenth day. The militia of Olgath ordered those who lived in surrounding villages to seek refuge in the city; there was a growing fear among the people that no one would be spared from the wrath of the Sorceress of Orphil; many spoke against the militia, arguing for surrender rather than battle. 

“We have little time to deal with the cowards that seek to turn their backs on Olgath,” Captain Leneth declared. “Leave them to die if they wish.”

“Fast approaches the Sorceress of Orphil and her legion; there is no hope of victory for the city guard,” cried the village elder.

“It is better to fight than give in to tyranny,” the Captain replied, “all those who wish to fight with me, come now. We must go to the city.”

“You are a fool, Captain.”

“And you, a coward.”

Seven village men joined with the Captain. As they rode away, one of the village men spoke.

“Is there truly a hope, Captain,” he asked.

“Hope is all we have,” the Captain said softly, muted by the trample of hooves. 

The gates of Olgath opened to them, an armoured man bearing the rank of sergeant approached the Captain as he entered.

“How many more,” the Sergeant asked.

“Only seven, but it is more than what the other villages sent,” Captain Leneth replied.

“That makes thirty-four from all the villages. With all the guardsmen and those willing to fight from the city, we have almost six-hundred against five-thousand.”

The Captain sighed, “We have to hold Sergeant, it will have to do.”

“Yessir,” the Sergeant saluted and led the village men to the barracks. 

Once again, Captain Leneth sighed, “May Thoyros grant us strength.”

The thirteenth day arrived, a thick morning fog hanging in the air. The thundering of the armies of Ashwood and Byth echoed around the city, but the fog hid them from sight. 

“With this fog we won’t know from which way they will approach the walls, Captain,” the Sergeant said.

“They will have to wait for this fog to clear,” Captain Lenenth said. “They cannot risk an attack without seeing our defence. All we can do is wait.”

The Sergeant nodded, “Hold steady men, wait for them to come to us.”

Alis Gywnn stood at the front of her armies, her trusted generals to either side. 

“What is your order, Mistress,” one of them said.

“Bring me the Chosen.”

“Yes, Mistress,” The general turned and nodded to his squire, “we will gather the Chosen at once.” 

The Chosen of Ilhawaen gathered beside Alis Gwynn, bowing deeply in greeting.

“Sorceress of Orphil, we have gathered at your command,” they spoke in unison. 

“The fog benefits no side. Remove it.”

“As you command, Mistress,” the Chosen spoke. They moved as one and positioned themselves in front of Gwynn. “Ilhawaen, grant us the power of your flame,” they said, palms outstretched upward. Bursts of flame erupted from their hands and arced into the sky heating the surrounding air. Steam rose from the field of battle as the sun touched ground, the walls of the city now visible. 

“What in Khebos was that,” the Sergeant shouted, “I could feel the heat from here, what god has given them strength?”

“That is the power of Ilhawaen, the Inferno,” Captain Leneth said.

“It is done, Mistress,” the Chosen said.

“No. It is only the beginning. Olgath must be purified for its unrighteousness.” Alis Gwynn did not turn her eyes from the city, then spoke again to her generals, “Encircle the city and engrave the Mark of Cleansing into the earth.”

“A Mark of that size is impossible. We have an army in the thousands, why not march on the city and take it,” the general of Byth asked.

Alis Gwynn placed her hand on his chest plate. The chest plate began to glow a bright orange and flames burst from the openings in his armour; he let out one last blood curdling scream before he was silenced by the flame. The stench of burning flesh rose into the air. 

“You will carry out my order General Vitus,” Alis told the general of Ashwood.

“Yes, Mistress,” he replied, signalling the armies to follow him.

The armies of Byth and Ashwood toiled through the day, digging up the earth around Olgath.

“What do the towers report, Sergeant,” Captain Leneth said to the arriving sergeant.

“All the same, they are digging around us, an inner ring and an outer ring. The rings are connected by straight lines,” he replied, “but no one is sure as to what they are digging. Perhaps they expect a counterattack and are entrenching themselves.”

“By now they must know they outnumber us. Even if they expected us to counterattack there would be no need for entrenchments.”

“What about sapping tunnels?”

“It is unlikely, but it is possible. Send a detachment of men to search the undercity for any signs of tunnelling,” the Captain ordered.

The Sergeant saluted, “Yessir.”

General Vitus approached the Sorceress. “Mistress, the circle is complete, the Mark is ready.”

“Order the Chosen to their positions around the circle. I must inscribe the final runes on the circle.”

The General bowed and left. Alis Gwynn pulled a black stone from her robe, its smooth surface glinted in the last light of the day, runes inscribed along its edge shimmering as darkness fell. She carried it to the edge of the circle and placed it carefully in front of the outer ring. Standing on the edge of the Mark, she stretched her hand up and fired a single ball of flame into the air. Balls of flame from around the circle flew into the sky in response, signalling that the Chosen were in position.

“Flares!” the cry went out.

“So they attack as the moon rises,” Captain Leneth said. “Sergeant, prepare for the attack.”

“We are ready, Captain.”

The walls of Olgath began to tremble, stones falling from the battlements. 

“What magic is this,” the Captain cried, stumbling back. 

Jets of flame shot from the earth, setting the city ablaze. 

The armies of Ashwood and Byth stood in awe at the tempest of flame that engulfed Olgath. The inferno swallowed the city, vanishing with a cloud of ash and the smell of burnt corpses. Alis Gwynn took the stone from the ground and wiped ash from its surface. The runes along its edge were now glowing a fiery red. 

“Through the Mark of Ilhawaen, we have purified this city of perversions,” Alis announced. She paused, raising the stone in the air. “Through this stone and the power blessed upon it by Ilhawaen, I invoke a curse upon this land,” she paused again, “Its seed shall be infertile, its fields blackened with blight—no more shall trees grow and birds sing, no more shall travellers and beasts find a field verdant, there shall be naught but a barren waste.”

With her final word, she plunged the first Obsidian Seal into the earth. The ground shook, casting a wave of silence over the crowded armies. Grass beneath their feet began to wilt as the land of Olgath drew its last breath.