| SORCEROUS SIGNALS |
| Written by Robert William Shmigelsky / Artwork by Lee Kuruganti |
| Time, Mist and Wind |
Edgar and Dante magically rematerialized in a bright halo of light. The Pegasus Feather Edgar had been
holding was gone, having disappeared after being used.
As Edgar had planned they found themselves back in Alexandria inside the castle. Unfortunately, what he
hadn’t planned on was rematerializing in the same room the Chamberlain happened to be in.
“Ha! What luck! Falling into my lap like this,” Magus boasted at their expense, obviously enjoying the
moment.
“Curses! Useless feather!” Edgar cursed.
“Edgar, you should know better than to leave the castle with no mention of where you are going. If you’
re father found out, given his condition, the mere worry of what could happen to you might be enough
to break his heart,” Magus reminded Edgar. “And you too, my boy,” Magus added, giving Dante a quick
but deep, attentive stare.
“To my defense, with the plan I had, we both would have been back before you had time to search the
entire castle,” Edgar retorted.
“And what if I had?” Magus retorted back. “And that’s assuming I would not inform him I suspected you
had left.”
“But I knew you wouldn’t unless it was of vital importance,” Edgar surmised.
Magus shook his head in mild annoyance. “My dear prince, you are lucky I think of your father’s health. A
lesser man might…”
“Oh, just admit it: you simply don’t want to see me get in trouble with my old man. There’s no shame in
getting off your high horse: you’ll live longer,” Edgar told Magus. He spun a short dance and gave Magus
a small pat on the shoulder as encouragement.
Magus stepped back and scoffed. “High horse? I believe the phrase you mean is called high standards.
And spare you the punishment you so rightfully deserve? In your wildest delusions perhaps. And if I
wanted to live longer, I would have retired long ago, but being Chamberlain means responsibility:
something I gather you have yet to fully understand.”
“By now I would have imagined you would know better than to allow Edgar to drag you along on one of
his so-called adventures,” said Magus, turning his attention back onto Dante. “Although I suppose
someone has to accompany him to ensure he doesn’t get in over his head.”
“Speaking of which—how were you supposed to not notice we we’re gone?” Dante asked.
Magus swapped the expression on his face for a stoic one. He pulled out, from his pocket, an opaque
white orb with two distinct but distorted, miniaturized images etched on its surface.
Dante’s brow rose in slight amusement.
Magus tapped the stone three times and doppelgangers of Dante and Edgar appeared before them,
sitting down at a table, playing a game of checkers.
Magus tapped the stone three times. The images streaked across the room, stretched in a multitude of
colors and retreated back into the orb before he dropped the orb back into his pocket.
“Well, I thought it was clever,” Edgar commented.
Dante assumed that was for Magus was avid checker player and champion. Dante imagined Magus seeing
the two of them playing, coming over to watch them then having his well-meaning commentary go
unheeded.
Magus looked at Edgar and grabbed him by the ear. “Right, that's enough adventuring for you, today.
Come, off you go. There’s a couple sacks of potatoes with your name on it,” he said and he dragged
Edgar away, much to Edgar's chagrin. Edgar offered the usual complaint (this happened often). When
that failed, he shouted to Dante for help, but Dante simply smiled ruefully. You reap what you sow,
Dante believed the saying was.
Eager to take off his jacket, throw off his cape and change clothes, and not to mention do without the
weight of the sword hanging from his buckled brass belt, Dante sighed, swung around and headed in the
direction of his room. Through the pristinely white halls, the rows of alcoves and statues of temporal
knights of old, he followed a gilded red carpet and exited through an arced doorway. A couple doorways
and a stairs or two later, Dante appeared before a thick oak door arched by a bridge of large, polished
stones. He opened the door and walked in.
Nightfall approaching, the last of daylight shone in from an opened glass-paned window to his left,
casting a faint glow on Dante’s chamber, which—as it so happened—was as modestly furnished as his
father’s room. Although the Chamberlain was a high paying job, paying plenty of coin, and highly
reputable, Magus preferred a down-to-earth outlook on life so not to alienate him to that of common
man. This of course rubbed off on Dante, whose room was adorned with the least expensive furnishings
and decor.
In the exact center of the room sat a simple wooden bed, covered by a red woolen blanket and topped
with a fluffy white pillow. To the left, was an old, round and scratched up wooden table with three legs,
one of which was a little crooked and had to be propped up with a handkerchief, and a couple of
matching, hard-looking but sturdy chairs. Behind that were the bookshelves, to the right the dressers
and cabinets. No pictures depicting great hunts hung on the walls, leaving them unadorned, and on the
floor there was only a small mat at the door and a rug at the side of the bed. Even the location of Dante’
s chamber was modest, located at one of the far corners of the keep on one of the lowest levels.
The air inside was a little chilly—like it usually was this close to night, but he preferred it that way. Castles
had poor ventilation and as such it was a privilege to have a window to let the air come in.
Dante closed the door, walked to his dresser, stripped naked and climbed into a scratchy woolen
nightgown (even some of his clothes were modest). As he was doing this, by chance his gaze fell on the
alcove pushed into the right wall of his chamber, farthest from the window, between the dressers, where
sat a display bearing gleaming gold platemail armor. Except the helm was missing.
Dante looked down at the ground at the feet of the display and saw it tipped onto its side. Without
giving it much thought, instinctively thinking the wind must have knocked it over, despite not
remembering there being any wind today, Dante walked over, picked up the helmet, revealing its crowns,
and set it back up before swinging back around, intending to head to bed.
Just then a gush of wind blew from the window, past Dante and knocked the helm back onto the exact
same spot on the ground.
Thinking nothing of it, Dante turned around, picked the helm back up, but quickly examined it for dents
(after all this was a rare and valuable item, handed down through the ages) before setting it back on the
display.
Dante swung around to head to bed when the wind blew past once more and knocked the helm back off
again.
A little annoyed, Dante calmly walked straight to the window, closed and locked it before picking up the
helmet and setting it back on again.
Dante finally was able to climb into bed. He closed his eyes to get some sleep when the window blew
open from a great gust of wind and knocked the helmet off the display.
Trying hard to keep levelheaded, Dante calmly, uniformly, climbed out of bed. He closed and locked the
window then, keeping his composure, walked over to the display, picked up his helmet and put it back on
the display.
Dante climbed back into bed. Not sure if it would last, not trusting whether the helmet would stay on, he
kept one eye open and on the display. When nothing happened, Dante’s suspicions all but vanished and
he closed both eyes.
Clank! Something hit the floor.
Dante’s eyes spread open: he didn’t need to see to know what had fallen. He felt a gentle breeze against
his neck.
Unable to keep his level headedness, he threw back the covers, lifted up his feet and bolted out of bed.
He walked up to the helmet. Again it had fallen onto the same spot, but this time he decided not to pick
it up: the sight of it drew his attention, fixed his gaze upon it, and as he stood there, looking down at it,
his face tilted towards it, he was reminded of the history they shared together and of the days when the
seasons stopped following their natural order, monsters began to multiply in greater numbers and new,
unheard of beasts emerged from the shadows as an unseen force pressed itself upon every horizon.
~ * ~
A slightly younger Dante was at his desk in his cramped captain’s office, which was small to begin with
and the space that he did have was dominated by walls of leather-bound books and stone bookshelves
and stacks of crumbling, brown, dusty paper.
At the moment he was busy poring over the most recent mission reports from the countryside over
increased and unconfirmed monster sightings. After that, his partial attention would shift to filling out
inventory logs, making sure the men were paid, distributing food rations evenly amongst them, ordering
more supplies as well as completing a host of other unexciting and uninspiring book keeping duties left
for him to perform.
When those were finally finished, it would be Dante’s sole responsibility to assemble the men into
formation, inspect every weapon and armor in the armory and listen to and rule on a wide variety of
grievances and appeals (mainly concerning wizards).
Expecting a great deal from his subjects, particularly a knight and a captain of the Guard, the king placed
much responsibility onto Dante’s broad, tireless shoulders. Despite the uneven workload, Dante did not
complain: to him it was just another way to serve his city and his liege.
A knock came from the door directly in front of him.
Dante was about to open his mouth to bid the person entry when the door flew open. An ordinary guard
and footsoldier, clad in ordinary iron mail, and forgetting to check his uncrowned helmet at the door,
rushed in and slid to a halt before Dante then gave a quick, low bow of his head.
“Come in…” Dante said, with the slight shake of his head.
“Captain, sir!” the lieutenant shouted awkwardly, addressing Dante by rank in a tone of obvious urgency.
Dante sighed in embarrassment and pardoned the intrusion. “You know, I do not like such formalities,
Glenn,” Dante reminded the lieutenant, making a calming gesture with his left hand.
The lieutenant’s face went abashed. “Sorry, sir,” the lieutenant quickly apologized. Dante recognized the
look of awe on his face as he stared at him and his gold plate and the eagle-insignia of a captain inset on
his right collar. Dante knew the lieutenant wished to become a knight like himself—and perhaps even a
captain someday—and so it was understandable that in some respects—he might revere Dante.
Unfortunately, not everyone could be knight.
Dante ignored the ‘sir.’ He waited for Glenn to come out with it, but the lieutenant was too tongue-tied
to speak. “What is it, Glenn?” Dante inquired, mildly impatient.
“The mist, sir,” the lieutenant uttered, almost stumbling on the words.
“Yes, what of it?” questioned Dante; his face twitched. By mist the lieutenant was obviously referring to
the mist of the Misty Shores, which—like strange things went in Gaia—wasn’t dispelled when the sun
appeared or drifted far from the marshy, low-lying tidewater regions.
“It’s moving, sir,” the lieutenant finally answered, making that last statement seem false.
“Really now?” Dante replied, wondering if the mist was finally acting like mist should.
The lieutenant shook his head. “No sir. You don’t understand. It’s not breaking up and dissipating: it’s
moving up the Piedmont towards us.”
“What? That can’t be,” Dante said out loud, leaping up to his feet, knocking his wooden chair to the
ground with a loud thump.
The Misty Shores was in the realm of Dalahan: a militaristic and rival city-state, and a sea power at that,
bent on expanding its sphere of influence into Alexandria. Dalahan used the mist to mask the movement
of its soldiers along the Misty Shores, controlling its movement through what was believed to be sorcery.
Dante had always believed it was because of the natural ambience of that particular realm. Obviously,
that wasn’t the case anymore.
Dante saw Glenn momentarily glance at his scabbard, but ignored it.
“Where is the mist now?” Dante asked in an obvious tone of urgency.
“Nearly half way up the Piedmont…”
That meant they still had some time before the mist reached the mountains and the valleys therein. One
such valley was the valley they were in. Before there might have been some doubt as to where the mist
was heading, but now was a tense time in Alexandria: the other rival city-states having already fallen to
the might of Dalahan and bought to ruin, which epitomized the Age they were in.
“But perhaps you should see for yourself,” Glenn said, suggesting the obvious.
Dante did not need to hear that: he knew he would have to see it eventually.
Glad to get away from his paperwork, Dante looked down at his desk to his helmet, picked it up and put
it on before heading out. The lieutenant following close behind, they made their way from the back of the
citadel, down the winding hall of the round structure to the main corridor and out the front doors, where
they emerged outside into an open courtyard.
Hearing the river flowing normally through the middle of the ancient bastion, and seeing the two hundred
knights, in their own brigade, honing their skills against each other out in open, Dante led the way down
a long marble road. The temporal current permeating through the stones quickened the pace of his
steps and in no time at all he found himself at the front of the unusually round rampart, designed to
amplify the temporal magic emanating from the heart of this place, looking over the wall towards the
cause of Glenn’s concern.
A thick almost unpierceable curtain of deep blue mist slowly but steadily billowed over the rolling
landscape—towards the mouth of the valley at the center of which stood the templar bastion.
Dante knew the mist would precede the arrival of the might of Dalahan; Alexandria being the last
remaining city-state capable of challenging Dalahan for supremacy in the Realm of Men and knowing that
the tyrant Darius would do everything in his power to change that.
After a tenuous stalemate and years of rebuilding, it was bound to happen one day: like most men, both
kings sought more land, power, resources and subjects to impose their ideologies on. King Ither, King of
Alexandria, sought to impose order on the whole Realm of Men while his counterpart sought to spread
destitution and conscription through military might. Two vastly different ideologies were sure to create
conflict one day. Although in Dante’s eyes it was just another chapter in the long, never-ending story
that was the Wars of Men.
“Your orders, captain?” Glenn asked, loosening the grip the horizon held on Dante.
“Have any of the scouts returned?” Dante asked, without turning to face the lieutenant.
“No. They could have simply gotten lost in the mist or they may have been captured.”
Dante went deep into thought for a moment: situations such as this one was like playing a highly
intellectual game of chess. One had to cover all angles. One miscalculated step and you could find
yourself in checkmate. And life was no game: there may not be a rematch.
“Send out additional scouts and have them report back at the first sign of enemy activity,” Dante told
the lieutenant. While Dante did not want to risk any more lives on what might prove to be a hopeless
and fruitless mission—any information obtained could prove vital; the sooner—the better.
Dante turned and faced the youth, who was too old to be considered a boy, but not old enough to be
considered a man. "Meanwhile, while I’ll try finding a solution to this dilemma," he began to tell Glenn. "I
want you to make sure every knight and footsoldier is standing ready-at-arms at their stations. Oh, and
let our wizard friends know we will probably be needing their help today. This may just be Dalahan trying
to test us, but on the slim chance it isn't, I want to be ready, not caught unprepared. When you are
done I want you to personally ride north to warn Alexandria and begin the withdrawal of the
countryside." Glenn was a good soldier, but the battle to prove himself would not come this day. If
Dante managed to remove him from harm's way—Dante felt like he was at least doing some good.
“Yes sir, but if you don't mind me asking, how do you plan on defending the base?” Glenn asked
anxiously.
Dante looked down at the medium-sized river pouring out of the culverts in the wall, slowed by time
magic. “The same as always, but with some added creativity and a small measure of luck. In the
meantime, you have your orders. Dismissed.”
“Yes sir!” Glenn shouted before he turned and marched away.
“Oh, and one more thing,” Dante quickly added before Glenn was out of range, to which Glenn stopped
and turned to attention. “Have the leaders of the two hundred come and find me. I have a feeling I will be
needing their help before this day is done. They'll know where to find me."
“Yes sir!’ Glenn shouted, this time for the third and final time.
Dante left the rampart, returned to the citadel and walked round the winding hall. The pristinely white
walls of birthstone curving before him as he strode on, the echo of his footsteps was amplified by the
time-defying magical properties of the stones, forewarning his arrival.
Dante came to and turned down a long narrow hall, which seemed to squeeze out the sight he held
before him.
When Dante came before such a sight, a large mirrored chamber opened up before him. In the exact
center of this chamber, inset in a small, rotating and oval-shaped pedestal hovering in midair, was a
golden hilt, engraved with two looped crosses on either side, grown over by vines; slightly different
angles of Dante were reflected in each of the mirrors, lending the chamber a strong golden glow.
Dante took a few steps closer before stopping and looking up at the hilt. The sword was the source of
the bastion’s power. As evident by the river flowing through, any enemy approaching from the south
would be slowed down by the sheer weight of time, giving the defenders more time to fend off an attack.
Ever since Dante’s ancestors used the last ounce of temporal magic at the end of the Age of Legends,
before it was lost at the start of the Age of Darkness, no enemy has managed to breach the Shinning
Walls of Lightingale.
Unfortunately, Dante knew that meant very little at the moment. With the mist on their side, the forces
of Dalahan could simply sneak past and attack from behind where the Lightingale was most vulnerable.
Dante did not have the ability or the knowledge to set the temporal field to encompass the north side.
When it involved a stabilized vortex of time, which the sword now was, what was done could not easily
be undone; the architect believing it would have been too inconvenient for their own forces to have to
move through slowed time.
Suffice to say, Dante knew what he must do, just not how to do it.
Dante sought inspiration. He himself came here often when he sought help with something, preferring
the near-silence the vortex provided by its dampening field and finding the sword encasing it—inspiring.
Despite have one himself, he felt in awe being in the sword’s presence.
Dante slid his sword out of its scabbard: instead of metal, a long radiant beam of white light slid out of
its golden casing and hymned an angelic-sounding melody when Dante drew it before him.
The brand of a temporal knight of old in his hands, he rotated it before him and admired its beauty, but
no matter how long he looked no inspiration came to him.
“You’ve been promoted,” Dante heard a man’s voice say behind him.
Dante’s face loosened in the knowledge of being in the presence of close friends; he sheathed his sword
back into its scabbard, swung around and saw the leaders of the 200 standing before him, having been
too absorbed in his own thoughts and the sword to hear them coming.
“You called?” Ariel asked, one of two women in the group and the usually quieter of the two.
Dante looked over the 200: those he considered to be better than him in every way, but—for whatever
reasons—gave him their trust.
The men were tall, muscular and had long auburn-brown hair and deep attentive blue or green eyes, well-
groomed beards and broad symmetrical faces. The two women, while a little shorter, were equally
stunning with their long blonde hair, piercing blue eyes, fair complexions, full-lips and hourglass curves.”
In Dante’s eyes, their gold plate only amplified their greatness, making them look like they could be the
heroes or heroines of any story.
Dante caught a second glimpse of himself in one of the far mirrors and, while his armor looked
magnificent, he himself with his short brown hair, dull brown eyes and long shaven face seemed to pale
in comparison.
“Yes, I did. Thank you for coming,” Dante answered Ariel’s question. When Dante was troubled, the 200
were always there behind him, ready to help.
Dante turned and looked at Cyril: the highest ranking of the 200 and the one who had spoken first. “I
came here looking for inspiration,” he started, “but it seems to have left me.”
“Thankfully, that’s what friends are for. Must I keep telling you or do you simply like being reminded?”
Serene reminded Dante, giving him a small smile. There was obvious flair in the way she said it.
“Couldn’t have put it better myself,” Alastair, the knight-historian in the group, said.
Dante’s mood brightened a little bit, putting a small smile on his face. “You’re right: I’ll try to remember
that,” he told them.
"Right," Alastair began, slapping his hands together in excitement. "Let's start with what we know."
Alastair was also the planner in the group, almost rigid to a fault about starting from the beginning and
carefully planning each step and was famous for meticulously not forgetting anything, even the smallest
detail. "First, we know Dalahan uses the mist for cover, knows our tactics and is familiar with the inside
and outside of this citadel and, not to mention, outnumbers us at least two-to-one. By every indication,
it looks like the mist will reach the Alexandrian Valley. If it does, the battle we face will be unlike any
before. We simply have to think up an entirely different way of fighting before it does.”
“We know the enemy will try to sneak past us on our left, right or both flanks, using the mist as cover
from our archers. Although the time distortion will slow them down considerably with the mist covering
them it won’t matter if we don’t know when they’re there,” Cyril said, stating the enemy’s only known
strategy.
“Then we’ll have to make sure we know where they are,” Serene retorted.
“How?” Ariel asked. “We can’t simply keep shooting arrows.”
“We could head into the time distortion and set up spell traps,” Alastair suggested. “Whenever the
enemy walks into one, the spell will evaporate the mist, allowing our archers to know where to shoot.”
One might think the time distortion would slow down arrows, giving the enemy time to react, but the
field only extended to a few feet about the ground.
"We'll have our wizard friends cook something up then," Dante said with a slight grin.
“See, we’ve had progress already,” Serene told Dante.
“I guess we have,” Dante admitted.
The group finished brainstorming the plan soon after. Dante left to retrieve his triangle shield from his
office and found it leaning against the wall by the door. The vine-encrusted sword, the emblem of
Alexandria, emblazoned on its center, he picked it up and carried it with him, knowing he would soon
need it, before going about to put everything into effect.
Dante had four infantry companies, six axillaries and eight mercenary archer divisions under his
command. He kept the axillaries inside the bastion as a garrison, reorganized the companies, dividing the
majority of the 200 amongst them, and posted, in standard formation, outside the temporal field, two
companies in the center of each flank, positioning them to cover the lanes left purposely devoid of traps.
He deployed all of his archers onto the left and right walls and assigned wizards to them to dispel mist
coming into the bastion, had the rest cook up something special for their guests. Lastly, he inquired
about the whereabouts of any the scouts, but none had returned. Dante knew what that meant.
The mist, meanwhile, continued to flow up the Piedmont before reaching deep into Alexandria and the
other valleys.
Everyone became anxious for the first sign of the enemy. Dante knew it would come soon or not at all.
Dalahan would not want to give them any more extra time to prepare if a battle was to be fought this
day. On the other hand, they might simply want to know how Alexandria would react in the threat of an
invasion.
That question was answered when a bulky wooden ship, against a mighty current, emerged out of the
mist atop a vast blue surface, pushed ahead and stopped in plain sight before them, out of spell and
arrow range, where the rivers of the Four Valleys fed the mouth of the river Andain.
The ark signaled the arrival of the might of Dalahan: that this battle would be won fairly through sword
and sorcery against sword and sorcery, not stolen through magical trickery.
Now, it was a matter of waiting for the first trap to be set off.
Peering closely down into the mist from their high positions on both sides of the rampart, ready to leap
down the stairs onto the road and use the temporal currents to speed themselves to the other side,
Dante and Cyril waited patiently, but did not have long to wait before the first trap set off.
The Eldaeron archers on the left flank immediately turned and shot in the trap's direction, but it turned
out only to have been a scout that had set off the trap.
The next half a dozen or so traps were again set off by scouts, who this time, instead of being riddled
with arrows like the first, were simply dispatched with a single arrow each.
Dante began to worry the enemy would use all their scouts to clear the temporal field of traps so their
soldiers could cross relatively unharmed, but when the next trap set off, sending a bolt of lightning up
into the air and evaporating a twenty five meter radius of mist, a small section of the enemy phalanx was
revealed.
Dante caught a quick glimpse of spears twenty feet long, glistening blue armor and shields, before the
archer divisions launched a volley of arrows against the enemy phalanx, killing many and forcing the
survivors to head back into cover.
Whenever an enemy formation was uncovered by a trap, spewing up shards of ice, bolts of lightning or
explosions of fire into the air, the archers attacked the enemy phalanx and shot into the mist around
where the traps were set off, hoping to hit more of them.
Occasionally, Dante and Cyril signaled their archers to shoot into a particular area on a ‘hunch’ or
whenever they thought they saw something concealed in the mist. Most of the time the arrows hit the
ground with a dull thud, but every so often the arrows struck their intended targets, rending flesh and
piercing metal.
On both their flanks, exactly on time, the first Dalahan legions emerged out of the temporal fields ahead
of the others, funneled towards thanks to the spell traps, and walked straight into the formations
waiting for them.
Despite poor visibility both formations were ready for them. With swords and shields in hand they met
the enemy head on, taking them to flight and killing many.
The archers heard the clashing, but did not shoot. Dante, unable to see because of the mist, watched
intently in the direction of the battle and listened.
The enemy, their backs basically against a wall, rallied against the Alexandrians. The Alexandrians in turn
closed ranks and formed a fort with their shields.
On cue, the archers on the wall launched a volley of arrows, hitting both the enemy and their comrades.
Fortunately, their comrades were well protected by their joined shields. The enemy was not so fortunate
and a great many were killed or wounded. Whether out of a false sense of bravery, the confusion of
battle or inexperience of not knowing what to do, they continued on the march, increasing their losses,
until taking a defensive stance.
As soon as the barrage ended, the Alexandrians dismantled their fort and assailed the enemy. The
enemy leveled their spears and fought back.
After the set amount of time the captains of each company-division cried out: “tortoise!” and the
footsoldiers closed ranks and positioned their shields side by side, forming another shield-fort.
Again the sky rained down with arrows, killing and wounding many of the enemy, though this time the
enemy was quicker to react and resume a defensive formation.
The barrage stopped and both sides resumed their marches.
The other enemy legions finally emerged out of the temporal field.
The legions quickly reorganized their lines and assailed the Alexandrian flanks. At first, the flanks stood
their ground on the account of the spirit, bravery and prowess of the 200, but as the battle lingered on
and the back-and-forth grind wore them down, the lines began to bend against the weight of being
vastly outnumbered.
To prevent the enemy from destroying their flanks and setting up killing zones, the Alexandrian flanks
formed a wall with their shields and performed a slow retreat.
Axillaries on guard at the north gates, Dante ordered the doors open and the survivors withdrew from
battle behind the walls of the bastion without suffering further losses.
By the sound of it, and the close proximity, it appeared the enemy legions were breaking off their pursuit
and heading off, most likely to reorganize out of the range of the archers, who continued to be the
source of much of their losses.
The first day done and over with, and perhaps won, Dante took the moment in and stared out into the
mist-covered horizon with a deep and attentive gaze.
Dante let the moment pass before heading down to the courtyard to personally check on the men,
congratulate them on their hard work and to survey their losses, which he found were lowered than
expected. The same, he suspected, could not be said of the enemy; but, on account of the mist, he
knew he could not be sure.
Dante had the survivors eat and get some rest then left one auxiliary on the rampart to stand watch in
preparation of the siege.
The 200 insisted on staying and joining them, but Dante reminded them that the siege would not begin
until at least nightfall, explaining the time it would take to build siege weapons. Besides, Dante reminded
them, they needed to be well rested and fed for the task they had laid out beforehand. Convinced, the
200 returned to the citadel for food, drink and sleep.
In preparation for the inevitable siege, the mist to the near north of the bastion dissipated, leaving the
far horizon, the temporal field and the beyond still thickly blanketed.
Occasionally, a few of the enemy would appear out of arrow range before heading back into the mist.
Other than that, the rest of the day was uneventful as those on the rampart watched for further sign of
the enemy, who were most likely at the moment gathering timber from the far reaching Twilight Forest.
Dante kept a rotating guard during the night, knowing the siege could begin at any moment, but when it
did not, he knew it would begin at the first sign of morning, which would provide more time for the
completion of siege weapons and offer greater visibility, but the siege did not begin at first light or as the
day grew on.
At this precise moment the 200 arrived at the scene and stood waiting behind Dante.
Sensing them behind him, Dante turned and faced the 200. Originally, he was going to send them into
the temporal field to disrupt the enemy supply lines, but now it appeared they had a new mission.
He asked them to confirm the enemy’s whereabouts and report back as quickly as possible.
Cyril quickly accepted the mission, vowing to return swiftly.
Dante thanked him for his enthusiasm. The others showed equal enthusiasm, which Dante did not fail to
knowledge as well.
Dante wished them luck before they departed.
Soon after the 200 returned, accompanied by a pair of prisoners, reaffirming Dante’s suspicions.
Cyril stated they surrendered the moment they were discovered. The prisoners told them they had been
left behind and ordered to make it appear the army was still here before asking for their lives.
Dante gave them their lives, saying he would not hesitate to grant mercy to those who requested it, but
he asked them to reflect on the choices that had bought them here.
He had the prisoners sent away, but before doing so reminded his men to treat them as they would each
other. Any deviation from this would result in the appropriate punishment.
Dante knew the only possible explanation for this was the enemy was planning to take Alexandria first,
knowing that it would be more vulnerable to a siege than Lightingale. Once Alexandria was taken, with
their support permanently cut off, they could force Lightingale to surrender without a fight, bypassing
them almost completely.
It was a bold move on the enemy’s part, but Dante recognized the reasoning behind it. With the
temporal field in place, it would be easy for them to cut off their supply lines. By concentrating their full
efforts on taking the city, they could attain their own supplies from the surrounding countryside and
more once the city fell, but without a steady supply of corn and other supplies, the might of Dalahan was
stretched to its limits. The last thing they would want is a drawn-out campaign.
Dante appealed to his men, reminding them what was at stake. He left one company and all of the archer
divisions in as a garrison then reorganized the remaining companies, filling the depleted ranks with the
axillaries, before leading the host out the north gates with the remainder of the 200 as his guard.
Up close, within the veil of mist, Dante and his host took the temporal road leading straight to
Alexandria. In conjunction with the unseen temporal current quickening their movement, they marched
with as much haste as their legs could give them.
Partly because of their haste, they arrived before the sun had hit its highest point, out of the mist at a
crossroads before a besieged Alexandria.
Spanning the whole southern wall, totaling over ten legions, loomed a vast enemy phalanx: rows upon
rows of enemy spears overtop locked shields or raised high into the air to deflect arrows, moving
forward from thousands of marching feet. Soldiers leaned ladders against the walls and climbed up to the
ramparts and were vigorously fought off by the defenders up top or were sent falling to below. A wild,
unorganized flurry of arrows shot out from both sides: sometimes hitting, sometimes missing, their
intended targets. Catapults hurled flaming rocks up into the air, which fell down, throwing up shards and
pebbles of rock and clouds of dust into the air and those who were caught in their paths. Loaded with
soldiers, siege towers slowly teetered towards their granite destinations, pushed by soldiers behind
them. The rear guard, not yet taking part in the battle, stood ready to offer assistance wherever it was
needed.
But then Dante realized the enemy rear guard wasn’t facing the battle and on the roads to their left and
right were more enemy formations.
The rear guard and the other two enemy formations, using the temporal roads against them, sped
forward and leveled their spears upon Dante and the 200 and the rest of the host.
Their swords smacked away the enemy's spears. With their next thrust they struck mail and shield with
their swords of light. The angelic melody of celestial crystal against metal hymned in the air as Dante and
the 200 held their ground.
The 200 fought valiantly. Although they were far better fighters than their opponents, felling many
before one of their own fell, they were soon overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of the enemy
Dante knew they had to escape and bolster the city's defenses, which with their added presence they
would hopefully strengthen enough to prolong the siege and force the enemy to surrender. If they did,
they could take the temporal roads outside the city and wind their way to the north gates.
Dante cursed the fact his lineage had forgotten the temporal magic. If only he could freeze time around
him to allow the rest of his forces to escape.
Dante and the 200 tried desperately to turn the tide pressing heavily upon them, but finding themselves
powerless to do anything about it. Dante and the others could only watch as one by one their comrades
fell around them.
A burning sensation raging inside him from his lack of success, Dante struggled on, striking out with his
sword, blocking with his shield; his mind knowing it was only a matter of time before he joined his fallen
comrades.
Then a splash of lightning from an enemy's staff struck the road before him.
After veiling his eyes, Dante noticed the men around where the lightning had struck froze momentarily
from the tendrils of temporal energy escaping into the air from the crumbled charred rock.
Hope rose in Dante's heart. He turned and asked Cyril if he had seen what he had seen. Cyril nodded he
had.
He told Cyril and the other 200 to ready themselves—to tell those around them to make for the city
when they saw the signal and to tell those around them.
Dante called for the 200 to gather around him. As Cyril, Alastair, Ariel, Serene and the last of the 200
gathered closer and fought beside Dante, Dante readied himself both physically and mentally.
When he judged the enemy had closed close enough around them, he shouted “now!” to the others.
With that single spoken word, Dante, Cyril and the remaining 200 jammed the crystal blades of their
swords into the marble rock, sending a blinding flash of white light up around them, veiling everything
from sight.
~ * ~
Dante let go of his envisioned memories and found himself back in his room then recalled the events in
his mind. When time resumed, the 200 and the many other brave souls who had accompanied him did
not survive that day to be captured, the rest of the army had safely reached the city because of their
time-defying sacrifice.
With their help the defenders were successfully able to hold off the siege long enough to force the
enemy to surrender.
Although initially unwilling to do so, fearing that upon putting down their arms they would immediately be
put to death, but upon the release of their captured comrades, seeing how well they had been treated,
their fears were put to rest and they surrendered without further violence.
Dante reflected on what the experience meant to him and let out a bemused smile when he finally
decided on something.
His face momentarily reflecting this, he swung around and headed back to bed, leaving the helmet on the
ground. The wind would probably just blow open, come through the window and knock it off again.
Then continue on—like life.
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| TEMPORAL ROADS rousing speed current, symmetrical marble roads– no traffic lights. |
Robert is unapologetic in his pursuit for excellent high fantasy. Robert has been
writing fantasy for himself in his spare time for the last seven years, but only
now has begun writing for others.
Besides reading and writing, some of his hobbies include computers and
history. He has a dry sense of humor, which he blames his stepfather for. Also,
he has a habit of making history jokes no one but he understands.
Robert has a upcoming poetry collection coming soon from Diminuendo Press
and is currently sifting through the first of three novels he wrote in his younger
years in an attempt to make it somewhat palatable.
writing fantasy for himself in his spare time for the last seven years, but only
now has begun writing for others.
Besides reading and writing, some of his hobbies include computers and
history. He has a dry sense of humor, which he blames his stepfather for. Also,
he has a habit of making history jokes no one but he understands.
Robert has a upcoming poetry collection coming soon from Diminuendo Press
and is currently sifting through the first of three novels he wrote in his younger
years in an attempt to make it somewhat palatable.