The Book of Warlock

The Book of Warlock 18. In love and war.

Leaving the trees and rivers behind him, General Warlock led his group away from the calm and safety of the wilderness, and they rode at a gallop down the grassy bank towards the goblin Citadel and the great gash above it in the sky. He gripped his Nightmare steed tight with his knees as he spread his arms wide, flexed his hands and stretched his fingers. The bubbling in his blood was immense as the Power sprang forth in perfect orbs floating above his flat palms. With a deep steady breath, he whispered with a hiss, "Nisgarant! I am coming for you!"

The words travelled in a rippling blanket of vibrant blue light, spreading out upon the broken mountain city, a force like an earthquake shaking it to its very foundations.

The battlefield spread before them, trolls stumbling as they rode past, surprised at what their poor vision could see. Their deep questioning bellows and the thunder of Destroyer's hooves caught the attention of the lines of archers, and they turned to see their dead General leading a charge down the middle of the field, his glorious black stallion's mane flowing and tail streaming straight behind as clods of earth sprayed out at their breakneck pace .

He was surrounded by a blue shimmer, the same blue they had seen light up the goblin Citadel only moments before. He had discarded his old uniform of the rat's colours, and was instead wearing a fine silken cloak clasped about his grey neck, his fatal wound upon his upper chest clear for all to see.

Well, they knew who they were loyal to! They cheered and hollered as he and General Hemlock passed, heading to the ramp and the crushed splinters of the gate's remains.

"General Warlock's alive!"

"He's gonna get revenge on the rat!"

"Nisgarant's dead as a doornail!"

"I gotta see this!"

"You kidding? I'm out of here! Don't stick around you idiots..."

Nisgarant's Majors fled before them into the citadel, seeking out their Lord who had already entered the inner city on his way to execute the Royal family.

"Nightmares! Now!" Anar barked.

"Yes, master!" Destroyer dutifully replied, bellowing a terrible sound no normal horse could have uttered. Upon hearing it, the specks in the sky dived, their wings folding as they plummeted, scattering the soldiers of both sides as they tossed long jagged horns, and bit with strong ivory jaws, slashing various points and spikes and hooves to clear a path for the Warlock and his warriors.

Nisgarant and his most faithful were isolated in the middle of a lush courtyard, his wide circle of magical fire keeping the flood of Nightmares at bay. For now.

The city goblins and the rat's soldiers raced for the sanctuary of the lower battlefield, no longer fighting each other but simply wanting to be away from whatever trouble had arrived on horseback, and the winged menace that had come upon them from the clouds.

They scattered again as a massive black stallion burst through the broken wood of the gate, its eyes wild and red, flecks trailing from its razor-sharp fangs, heat radiating from its flanks. Its rider sweeping his grey hands before them, tossing aside every piece of debris in his path in pale blue sparks, the ground trembling beneath them as they rode.

Nisgarant the rat Warlord, scourge of the realms, wielder of the Tri-Corn Horn Sceptre, gibbered and clawed at his eyes, trying not to see what was coming for him. He was just a humble skaven! He'd been quite happy with his lot, back at the magical artefact holding facility run by the Council of Sorcerer's. It was quiet work. Honest work...

Until the Sceptre had called out to him. It had promised Power and glory, wealth beyond his imagining. All he had to do was take the Tri-Horn as far across this far-flung world as he could, and kill some important people. He would be worshipped. Adored. Live a life that millions would envy. Rule empires. Command the strongest army history had ever known.