The General's Legacy

Chapter Fourteen: Beldon Valley (part 1)

The Last Great Battle of Beldon Valley 1852
Kingdom Army of Valendo led by King-Consort General Garon Allus Artifex-Dendra. Deaths: approximately 8700
Kingdom Army of Nearhon led by the Archmage Magnar. Six Rippers destroyed. Deaths: approximately 12300 with 8034 remains buried just below ground...

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Standing still as a statue in the centre of Beldon Valley, with his cavalry and soldiers grouped nearby, Pragius reached deep underground with his battle sense. Tantalising his awareness like the distant echo of water dripping in a cave, was the bone dust of ancient Beldon tribesmen. Trapped in eternity, they fought, mingled then mated with the bones of men coming on their fast horses from the great Nearhon plains in the north.
Crawling up layers of soil with his senses, he found tribesmen from the southern valleys who invaded and did the same all over again. Rising further, the cremated remains of the Ruberan Pilgrim Fathers, sent to colonise in the name of the Church of the Sun, impregnated the soil. Strong men, armoured by metal and faith overcame and erased from history the last ancestors of the Beldon tribe. Etched in Pragius's mind was all of Valendo's recorded history, but the bones and ash told their own story of Valendo built on blood, steel and divine entitlement.

Searching higher, Pragius found the first battle King Klonag fought here twenty-five years ago. The battle where Klonag crossed swords and locked eyes with General Garon Artifex-Dendra himself. Fragmented and mixed as the remains of that battle were, Pragius could not be sure of numbers. It was as if a crowd of children had come in, picking up everything they could find, losing interest and casting it aside. Clambering higher with his senses revealed Magnar's first attempt on Beldon Valley eighteen years ago, bringing the power mage fire to this field for the first time. Deadliest of all the battles yet fought. It could be five thousand five hundred, it could be more and with so many turned to ash in the fires he had no way to know.
'Find them... just below the surface Pragius, that is where your prize lays,' a thought that forced its way into Pragius's mind.
Expanses of fertile soil blanketing the dead of the last great Battle of Beldon Valley became a map in his mind as his battle sense rose to the surface. Words, as dry as ancient bone dust and uttered by Pragius made the ground hum and vibrate. Loose stones danced a jig on the surface. Small insects that could, took to the wing and fled. Glistening worms spewed onto the surface and writhed in silent panic. Confused beetles fell about on their backs and centipedes scurried for non-existent shelter. The soil split, cracked open wider, sprayed into the air, fell like rain and gathered into drifts.
'Why am I doing this?' thought Pragius.
'Because it is... the next step. Your army.'
Came the force-fed thought as the book snared Pragius's mind once again.
'To what end? Why should I care about an army?'
'Because we ask it. We need it.'
'Who is we? Why should I care about we? What about me?'
'Conquer Valendo and Emiria with us and you will have free reign over all the souls you could possibly desire.'
'I could go where I please and have that anyway.'
'We can help you find the most beautiful that you crave.'
'And I can spend as long as I like searching. I don't need you.'
Wrenching on Pragius's mind, the thoughts that were not his own refocused his attention on the excavation task.
Staring at a grey sky, he watched black and white Gilly birds gather on the wing, spiralling in the air over his harvest site. The rich pickings, better than anything a farm plough brings to the surface, could not tempt the birds down. Even they had the sense to avoid the unholy scene. Pragius knew both the Nearhon Plainlander and Whitelander tribes buried their dead. By either of their faiths, his task was sacrilegious. The souls of the ancestors should be howling their anguish across the plains. If they were out there, the undead mage could not see or hear them.

Metal, living flesh and bone entered the reach of Pragius's battle sense. Led by six horsemen, the soldiers were organised, resolute and marching with sword and shield, the fauna of the ground unflinching at their approach. Pragius calmly cursed to himself. He wasn't ready, he wouldn't be ready unless he acted with more haste. Pacing around the old battle site, he threw his hands in the air over and over again. Fountains of soil erupted skywards, moving like violent dust demons. Pragius sensed the first of his new recruits exposed to the air for the first time in fifteen years. Reaching into the magic at the edge of his mind, his thoughts pulled out fine flows of energy. Groaning, deep sounds laced with a hiss that were almost words, directed the white energy to open cracks into a parallel smoke filled realm. He plunged into it with his mind. Tumultuous anti-nature and black power rose to overwhelm him, then cowered before his predatory intent. He drew threads of energy, like dark smoke ropes unseen in the world of men, and tied them to the corpses in the ground.
'Rise,' he thought.
Bone fingers unclenched one by one and stretched wide as if to relieve stiffness in muscles that were not there. Arms and backs straightened from curled up sleeping positions, shifting loosened earth like old woollen blankets. The dead soldiers of the Nearhon army clawed up from their pits, searched in the soil for lost weapons and shields and gathered before their new general. They stood to attention, yellowed grey bones dripping with the tattered remains of armour as if a mad and ancient washerwoman had hung out the results of her labours to dry.
'Not quick enough.'
Pragius growled in his mind as he sensed and saw Valendo soldiers break to the east and west in a run, attempting to bypass the skeletal army that already outnumbered them. Pragius spoke the angry words of the battle mage that veteran soldiers knew and feared. Mage fire burst from the ground, drawing a line all the way from the eastern to western sides of the valley like a ship designer's pencil making a grand plan.