Chương 39: Singed on all Sides

Beyond Sparfydl, the map burned from all four corners. In the Southeast, the three harbor cities of Scimitar Bay were engulfed in a strange plague. Borne by rats and bad habits, the Gray Malaise kindled in the dockside slums of Pikerton and burgeoned through the stilted shantytowns of Blacker's Bay. The disease snuffed one in three, but none were truly spared. The infected developed a dull, gray film over their eyes and horrid pockmarks that oozed ink-black ichor.

A week-long fever baked their brains, and they writhed in gutters, beset by religious visions. The few who survived the fiery gauntlet were forever changed. They cut all ties to family and friends, abandoned their possessions, and wandered as holy men. They were eager to share their new perspective with the world. In horror, the Merchant Lords of Aza Majora enacted a strict quarantine. Sprawled across a lush archipelago, the island-city was the jewel of Scimitar Bay.

A thousand bridges spanned the Isles of Azhez and a hundred thousand souls lived beneath her blue-domed spires. The Lords halted all trade. Foreign boats were turned away. Those who did not obey were barraged and sunk. With her deep springs and fishing fleet, Aza Majora was poised to ride out the plague while the mainland burned. Early one morning, a gray-eyed man washed up on the white beach of the Governor's Manse. Somehow, he'd survived the swift currents and sharks.

A lone watchman found him and swiftly ended his raving with a spear through the throat. He told no one what he'd done and turned the body back into the surf with the butt of his spear, a problem for the sharks. The next morning, he woke with a black pock on his cheek. It began. In a panic, Anvillan dispatched her most devout clerics to save Aza Majora. They came with their holy water and censers, blessing everything with the Emperor's sacred name.

Within a week, every last priest was infected and raving in the streets with the rest. A familiar face came to lead them. Defrocked for heresy and depravity, Bjerg the Usurper had been locked away in the Tower of Tribulation ages ago. Already cracked, he embraced the plague and its revelations and set about shaping the madness into a movement. His scriptures were gibberish and his 'miracles' were actually pacts with the Black Princes. The infected did not care. They were eager to join the Gray Crusade.

Aza Majora swelled with strife until it burst. Boats fled in all directions and the plague sailed with them. Soon the neighboring provinces were aflame and in danger of falling under the Usurper's sway. There was no one to quell the rebellion; the Grand Imperial Army was deployed half a world away. In the northwest, the Black Legions of the Bladed Lady spilled from the Vaniyan mountains and stormed across the cold plains of Skyre.

A string of empty cities lay in their path, abandoned as refugees fled for Lastgate Fortress. A string of reeking wagons rattled behind the Chaos host, pursued by great swarms of flies. Inside were the skulls of all who'd failed to flee, intended for a great tribute to the Bladed Lady. There were twenty thousand more heads to claim in Lastgate. From the northeast, a tide of fiends spilled over the blasted hills of the Raeskenjøne, bent on the same goal. A still darker fate awaited the unfortunates in their path.

Whole villages were captured and paraded before the black palanquin. Reborn, the Riftmaster worked his vile will on the captives. Their skin stretched, their bones shifted, and their limbs split. The Cohort of Chaos drove these spidery wretches before them in a skittering herd. The abominations begged for death, but their masters only scourged them forward, toward battle. The alignment of two Chaos factions was as rare and terrible as a total eclipse.

Rune King Hymionier dispatched his swiftest ships to beg for aid. Each carried a grim warning: if Lastgate fell, the realm would follow. Inside the fortress, the Windsworn prepared with little hope. Doom marched closer by the day. In the Southwest, a battle for the ages raged. High in the soaring mountains of the Uld Enterwaald, the Bla'Claw Horde warred against their oldest rivals. For a week, the Ulden Dwarves of Shining Peak withstood the siege, but the outcome was never in doubt.

The Bla'Claw Goblins came night and day, possessed with an unnatural discipline. The Dwarves were too few and each Goblin they slew had three more behind him. As defeat drew near, a new hope thundered in the east. A great rumble of flapping feet churned the earth and a haboob swallowed the horizon. Painted faces emerged from the dust, crazed with bloodlust. The Gorelord had come to settle the score. High above, Brakakak-Bak cackled with glee.

Mounted on monstrous bats, the Sorcerer Supreme and his wizards swooped over the battlefield and rained down withering hexes and flasks of acid. The Bla'Claw were trapped between two foes. There was no way out but through. For seven bloody days, the three armies ground against each other in the salt plains and stinging geysers of the Great Cecidius Crater. When the battle ended, not one spot of white sand remained. All was red. The Bla'Claw were the victors, but what had they won?

There were no Dwarves left to enslave. Every Dwarven warrior and even the women and children had been thrown into the final battle. When all hope fled, the Dwarves triggered their last resort. The great lever was thrown. A thousand supports crumbled at once and a titanic avalanche broke Shining Peak in half. The Ulden Kingdom was no more. The spoils Blakabaa sought were entombed forever. The Bla'Claw Horde was cut to a quarter. The Gorelord had fared even worse.

Battered and bewildered, Brakakak-Bak bent the knee and begged for mercy. Blakabaa longed to behead him, but their losses were too great. He had to swallow his fury and deal with the inevitable betrayal later. The Sorcerer Supreme was spared and the Gorelord pledged allegiance to the Bla'Claw. For the first time, all of Goblinkind marched behind one ruler. At last, Blakabaa Ba'ah was the one true Maja.

Flush with newfound power, Blakabaa Ba'ah stood upon the Ebonstone at the heart of the Cecidius and looked at what he'd wrought. Even now, he was unsatisfied. When the victory feast began, Blakabaa ate little and quickly lost interest. He retired to the command tent to plan his next move. The others showed no such restraint. The celebration raged all night and well into day. No one stood scout, for they believed all their foes were slain. They were wrong. A fourth army approached from the south.

The Grand Imperial Army marched to the aid of Shining Peak, bound by an ancient treaty with the Ulden Dynasty. They were days late, by design. The commander was Fairleigh, the Emperor's own son. A devout humanist, Fairleigh saw no reason to rescue the dirt-grubbing Dwarves, or to sully his golden armor with rank Goblin blood. He aimed to arrive after both sides had bled each other dry. Once the survivors were mopped up, he could claim the Dwarven treasures for himself.

By the bedlam below, he was certain he'd hit the mark. The Dwarves were long dead and the Goblins were obliterated by grief and potent Dwarven rum. They lay in the bloodstained dust, beaten without a blow. Fairleigh only needed to wait for the footmen to catch up with his cavalry. The Grand Imperial Army would roll down the rise like a boulder and flatten the Goblin dregs. But the sun was high, and the moment seemed very ripe. In the righteous glare, the night-loving Goblins would be all but blind.

At the center of the Cecidius, Fairleigh spied a chance for unequaled glory. The Goblin command tents were pitched around a disc of black stone. Fairleigh's horsemen could charge into their midst before they could rouse. There, he could challenge Blakabaa Ba'ah to single combat. The bards would sing of his charge forevermore. Fairleigh gave the order. To a man, his officers refused. Veterans all, they argued to wait until the footmen arrived.

Fairleigh cursed them as cowards, stripped them of rank, and field-promoted his closest friends. He would not be denied! At his call, the Imperial Cavalry flew over the ridge and charged downhill to meet their destiny. Though his troops were drunk and disorganized, Blakabaa Ba'ah was cold sober. A Maja could never afford to let his guard down. As the imperial cornetts blew, he threw open the flap of his tent and squinted south. The southern horizon seemed to be a single line of armored horsemen.

Blakabaa's cruel lips twisted into a grin. Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Fairleigh blazed like a star at the vanguard of the charge. Since birth, the Emperor's Son had trained for war alone. He ignored art, abhorred philosophy, and certainly cared nothing for ancient history. He knew nothing of the Enterwaald, the Cecidius, or why the armies of old had shed so much blood to control the Ebonstone. Blakabaa Ba'ah knew.

He dragged the stupefied Sorcerer Supreme by his pointy hood, out the center of the black tableau. With a vile incantation, he offered Brakakak-Bak to the Void. She never answered, but she was always hungry. Brakakak-Bak and his tawdry soul were swallowed into the Ebonstone as if they'd never been. On a cloudless day, the crater grew dark. Blakabaa blew three piercing notes on a silver whistle, loud enough to rouse the dead. Across the camp, insensate Goblins rose from their squalor, eyes wide with panic.

As the Imperial Cavalry roared down the hill, the Black Moon swallowed the sun. A molten rain fell upon the battlefield and struck both sides, growing fiercer all the time. As Fairleigh drew near the Bla'Claw encampment, meteors screamed down and blasted his ranks. Knights were flung from their mounts and trampled. Warhorses balked and wheeled, thrown riders crashed together like cymbals. The Goblins woke into black pandemonium and rose against their foes.

A hail of sling stones and arrows clanged against the thick imperial plate. The Imperial flanks faltered, but the main thrust still followed Fairleigh. They were halfway to the Ebonstone. At the fore, Fairleigh raised the Hammer Standard and sang out a prayer to his father. They were nearly at their goal. Fairleigh met Blakabaa's yellow eyes and called out a challenge. The Maja smirked at his gauntlet and stepped behind his bodyguards.

They closed around him, bearing shields stripped from the defeated Dwarves of Shining Peak. Farleigh cursed Blackaba Ba'ah as an honorless dog, but he was drowned out in a peal of horns. From the north, a chevron of horsemen crested the silver hills with the Imperial standard raised high. Reinforcements at last! Fairleigh shouted to rally his troops and bore forward. He did not see the stains on the new arrivals' armor, nor the madness in their eyes. Traitors!

At the vanguard, Duke Yomone thundered inhuman laughter and charged directly at Fairleigh. The Emperor's son wheeled to meet his charge, a moment too late. Yomone hurled himself from his saddle and unhorsed Fairleigh. Mounted, Fairleigh was matchless, but Yomone dragged him into the dirt and hammered him like an anvil. The gilded armor crumpled like tin. A mailed fist crushed his windpipe and squeezed until his spine snapped. With a bloody grin, Yomone tore off Fairleigh's head and raised it over the battlefield.

The Emperor's Son was slain. The Goblins went mad with delight. A green tide welled around the horrified cavalry and dragged them down. A few managed to flee, but Yomone's horsemen gave pursuit and rode them down like dogs. The battle was over in minutes. The Imperial infantry caught word and diverted east in full retreat. The Invincible Cavalry of the Imperium was no more. Now, all four corners of the map were singed black. Only the center held.

Columns of defeated troops and refugees limped to Blagg Bore and begged for shelter. Already, the Bla'Claw Horde was on the move, in a slow-moving wave that gained strength by the day. Goblins and monsters issued from all the crevices of the world, drawn by the Maja's aura. By the time the Bla'Claw Horde returned to the Valley of Six Mists, it had doubled in size. Once more, Blakabaa Ba'ah stood atop a bluff, stared across the Viridian River, and dreamed of conquest.

The Gorelord were no more, but Blagg Bore remained. Clever, yellow eyes peered up at the Moon Gate. He could feel a presence, a real challenge at last. Blakabaa looked higher, to the falls where six rivers met. He looked higher, to the stars above, to the black moon that slid between them. When the signs were right, the final battle would be fought here. In his dreams, all was red. The Maja's lips twisted in a jagged grin. There was a massacre ahead.

"YES! This is so much cooler than the river war scenario. The club is gonna love this."

"Imagine all the armies on the table at once. It'll look so cool," Robin breathed. When he closed his eyes, he could almost see the doomed knights charging down the slope with smoke billowing from their hooves.

"There's just one problem," Duncan said.

"What's that?"

"Imagine a nightmare scenario where Vlad beats everyone at once. You have no idea how insufferable he'd be. Like, for years to come."

"How will we tell the difference?" Robin smirked.

"Ha! Good point. Win or lose, this is an awesome development for the campaign. I'm gonna bring two tables together and build a massive crater. I'll have my dad figure out the scenario rules so it's fair for everyone."

"I wish I could be there to see it."

"I'll take pictures! And record all the moves. When I call I can give you the whole play-by-play."

"I can't wait."

"Me neither. You're gonna be out of there before you know it. Right around the time you're clear to come back to the club, we're going to be building up for the final act of the campaign. We have a huge duos battle every year to kick off the summer. Then, eventually, I want to have a gigantic siege at Blagg Bore."

"It would be so cool to have the giant ramparts with all the waterfalls in the background. Maybe we could do a painted backdrop, like a play."

"That'd be really cool. I've been thinking about making some waterfall terrain with a compartment for dry ice, so mist billows out of it."

"Oh man, that'd be killer! You'd get in Black Labyrinth for sure."

"That's the dream. My dad says our LOR sales go nuts every time we get in the magazine. Speaking of sales, did the Heartbroken Brigade have any roster changes recently?"

"Yes! Thank you for helping my Grandma pick 'em out. She gave them to me one at a time, as rewards for making it through each daunorubicin session."

"What's that?"

"It's this bright red gunk that will melt your skin off if it touches you. They call it 'the Red Devil.'""Woah, that's metal. And they pump that into your veins?"

"Yeah, and they measure it to the tiniest degree because it can kill you super easy. You can only take so much during your lifetime before it stops your heart."

"Wow." The line grew quiet. Robin had said too much.

"Anyhow, it was rough at the start, but I'm doing all right now. It's mostly just boring and the food is awful. When they let me out of this tank, I'll have lots of time to read and paint. I'm not sure if I'm good enough to paint Abaxios yet. All those little runes on his robe are nuts."

"He's tiny! Maybe just paint your new rank-and-file troops for now. When you're back in action, I'll bet Sandy would give you a hand with the characters. He's been almost subdued without you around. Chuck and Vlad don't really get his jokes."

"Their loss, that guy is a riot."

"Yeah, he's a goof, but a good dude, too. He said he hopes he draws you as a partner for duos. Oh! And his mom wants to know if she can send you some of those cookies you liked."

"Ahh. That's cool. I wish she could, but they won't let me have anything from outside yet. Please tell her I said thanks for thinking of me."

"Will do. Hey, do you want the rhinestones I have left over from making Aravitrimore? You could use them to mod the Berserker with the Sharddrake Plate."

"Ooh. Yeah, that could be cool. Maybe I can fit the Mastersmith into the story somewhere."

"Totally. Maybe they have to go on a quest to find him, or free him from a dungeon or something. The Mastersmith is so good. Nobody really fields him anymore since the Dwarves are out of favor, but he hits like a truck and his bonuses would be nuts with two legendaries."

"Don't tell Vlad."

"Ha! Never. I can't wait to see the look on his face. Hey bud, I gotta start on inventory soon. Hang in there and rest up. Thanks for all the great ideas! I'll call again next Sunday and tell you how it went."

"Thanks for the call, Dunk. Really cheers me up."" De nada, amigo." Robin held a hand over his mouth so he didn't laugh at Duncan's accent." Oralé! That means 'right-on'," Robin explained.

"Right-on, right-on! By the way, I told the other guys your room number. Some of them might give you a call. I hope that's all right."

"Yeah, that's great actually. I'm like a prisoner in here. I'd even talk to JC."

"The harder the battle, the sweeter the victory. We're all rooting for you." The glow hung on for a while after the call. Robin almost didn't feel like he was in a hospital. Thoughts of the campaign burned behind his eyes. He laid back in the bed and let them run wild. The Heartbroken Brigade had so much more to do. He just had to make it out of this room.