CHAPTER 77 – FORWARD AT ALL COSTS


    In the absence of the Dark Lord and the Emissary, Admiral Zorrowfold proceeded with the invasion. His acolytes stormed the frontier in an attempt to ruin any evacuation plans by House Arkenoir. He waited for one of their final council members to join him before attacking Zepathorum. Instead tossed catapult fodder at them to keep them occupied.


    The cavalry was away, but the infantry had amassed over twenty thousand soldiers, including behemoths, mongrels, cravens, siege weapons, and the Sky Marshal’s stardragons, if they ever show. The War Lord Cassius commanded two thousand of his own golden troops, along with state of the art siege weapons, all imported from Crucifire Plains, the largest city in the world. The Warlord’s horse was plated in very expensive golden armor, along with the two thousand soldiers, all armed with two golden short-swords, and even some of the siege equipment, like the onagers and one of the battering rams.


    The Mad Spangalore had no issue taking control of the monster regiments in the Emissary’s stead. Who knew how long they would take on their quest to kill the dragon god. The Admiral knew of his master’s high expectations. When the dark lord returned he would expect the invasion to be well on its way.


    The acolyte riders will have laid waste to the Serengeti towns. The siege host was amassed outside Zepathorum slowly finishing their approach. Without the Dark Lord’s intervention, they had to proceed without the dark clouds to provide cover. Very soon Admiral Zorrowfold would have everything in position, and his master would be pleased with his efforts. Nothing could stop them now. The South will finally conquer the North.


    Admiral Zorrowfold found no better calling then to be the steady hand the dark lord could count on during their march north. He knew the dark lord functioned on a higher level than normal humans. His operations needed to occur in complexities interwoven and expertly executed. Right now, he assumed his master was either tying up loose ends or establishing another advantage or safeguard.


    The Admiral would be correct in assuming his master’s affairs. Malinor had taken the Emissary back to the South. They stood together at the dragon temple. The Emissary rested in the corner, while the Dark Lord looked for something. Gripping and frisking the ancient architecture and arbitrary artifacts in each room. Eventually, he found the ivory black-veined skullcaller.


    This device, coupled with the correct incantation could summon the dormant dragons of the south. Long have they slept. Long ago they were put into hibernation by Patronalus, who understood the balance, and made the decision not to destroy them. Advanced applications of the skullcaller could differentiate between dragon calls, effectively activating the entire might of the brood. A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    Malinor brought the device out to the main altar of the temple, the one half outside, overlooking the cove. He cleared his throat and blew into it. There was no noise they could hear, but a vibration did get sent out all around them like an invisible ever-spanning ring. Malinor took a deep breath and turned the device, covering different holes with his middle fingers. When he blew this time, the sound he created was nearly deafening. Malinor steeled himself as the Emissary cried out for him to stop.


    The coves over the Barren Sea flushed out with dark winged beasts. The Morticomb Mountains in the distant east vomited conglomerations of dark wings slowly making their way towards them.


    “That will do for now.”


    Malinor tossed the skullcaller over to the Emissary.


    “You saw how I called them. Get them to Zepathorum. I have one more thing to attend to and I must do so on my own.”


    “As you wish, exalted one.”


    The Emissary bowed as Malinor left him through another portal. The Dark Lord Malinor stepped out of his portal and up to the fortress at the edge of the world. This was the same place he was imprisoned many years ago. Kept down in the dungeons, with an open door to the cosmic cascade. Malinor walked up the drastically sloping thin archways. The architecture would be considered dark if it didn’t consist of white stone. The twisting columns and archways coalesced with the static borders. There was a large sculpture of a headless man prostrating himself before the shifting divide, presenting a metal spear.


    Malinor pulled the spear out of the statue’s grasp, releasing the spearhead from the churning multi-matter. He brought the head of the spear up to his other hand and grabbed it tight, cutting his palm open and drawing blood.


    “By this I give to you and seal our fate. I will bring the fury of the South to the rest of MagnaThora, and if they somehow find it in themselves to best my formidable forces, I will only ask for your mysterious grace if all my efforts falter in vein. I am but a humble servant of the south and the void. The god of the dragons is dead, but the god of the SouthLands lives!”


    Malinor stabbed the blood-dipped spear back into the cosmic cascade transfusing Malinor’s very essence with the great primal terror of the divide. After letting it sit like that for a moment longer he pulled it back out and left. The blood on the spearhead was gone but the glow of the divide remained. He carried the spear with him, and like an emblematic torch he would use it to bring the fire of the south upon all of MagnaThora, making all things right, revealing the truth to all. The truth behind the edge of the world.