The Caverns of Kronos

The Battle of the Wilton Bowl - Part 4

     The red hooded wizard was floating some distance above the battlefield, looking down at Fangrap and taking aim with a wand, gripped in an impossibly thin, bony hand. In the heat of the moment Drake forgot that the huge priest was a worshipper of Skorvos. He was his battlefield commander and had to be warned. He shouted a warning, but he was too far away and his voice was drowned out by the din of the battle, so he used the War Whisper, the first time, as far as he knew, that any priest of Samnos had ever used it to communicate with anyone other than another member of his own order. “Look out above!”

     Fangrap looked up just as the wizard activated the wand, and a ball of orange fire exploded around the huge priest. Unholy wards and charms protected him from the worst effects of the fireball, but a trio of laughing ghosts were also descending towards him, while other spiritual undead were singling out the other priests, having deliberately hung back until their victims were so possessed by the killing fever that they were virtually blind to everything else going on around them. The red hooded wizard knew priests of Skorvos well, Drake realised. He must have fought them before and knew exactly when they were most vulnerable. And he’d drawn his battle plans within moments of realising that he was under attack! Fangrap had a worthy opponent!

     But he’d been thinking too much when he should have been paying attention to the battle. There was a lancing pain in his side as a sholog’s sword chopped into his chain mail vest, driving the small links of iron deep into his flesh. He was momentarily paralysed with pain and dropped to the muddy, trampled ground as the huge humanoid towered over him, howling in triumph as it prepared to deliver the killing blow. He was saved by the Skorvosian soldier standing next to him, one of Fangrap’s humans who parried the sholog’s blow with his own sword and drove it back while Drake healed himself and got back to his feet.

     “Thanks,” he said as he rejoined the fighting.

     “Think nothing of it, Samnian,” replied the soldier, grinning in amusement. “Never thought I’d save the life of a priest of Samnos.”

     “Never thought I’d have my life saved by a worshipper of Skorvos.”

     At that moment, a terrible scream came from somewhere behind them, and he risked a glance to see one of the priests of Skorvos withering in the grasp of one of the ghosts. It was the half sholog, half hobgoblin, and he was ageing years in seconds as the ghost literally sucked the life out of him, turning a powerful warrior into a frail, doddering, toothless wreck crippled with arthritis, screaming with hopeless terror in the full knowledge of what was being done to him. The awful sight reminded Drake of his own danger and he looked up to see another ghost angling towards him, arms outstretched and its ectoplasmic clothes billowing out behind it like a monstrous, demonic kite.

      For a moment the young priest was frozen with fear as he saw his future. He saw himself sucking his gums in a bathchair in front of a fire in a home for war victims, all the youth and strength melted from his body to leave sagging skin draped loosely across crumbling bones. He almost ran screaming, and he cowered hopelessly as the laughing ghost approached. A small whimper of terror escaped him as he threw his arms over his head in a vain attempt to shut out all knowledge of the approaching apparition.

     His pride saved him. The knowledge that he was surrounded by worshippers of Skorvos who would be looking down at him in disgusted contempt, seeing the confirmation what they’d known already; that priests of Samnos were cowards and weaklings. That the God of the Fight against Evil was fit only to be the shield bearer of his much mightier brother.

     “No,” whispered Drake, a new light burning in his eyes as he lifted his head. “Forgive me, my Lord. I am weak. Give me the strength to face this evil and send it to Thy judgement. Give me faith and take away my fear.”