Epilogue

Epilogue

Winter 964 MC

T

he Elven Necromancer Kythelia, recently known as Lady Penelope Cromwell, gazed across the windswept land before her. The wind blew in from the west, driving snow through the ruins to settle against the small stone walls that still remained.

"Do you know where we are?" she said.

Her companion, Princess Margaret, cast her eyes around, taking in the bleak landscape.

"No?" she said. "Why, should I?

"Centuries ago," said the Elf, "there was a great battle here between the Elves and the Orcs of this land. The Elves carted off their dead, but the Orcs, vanquished, were left to rot, their bones bleaching in the sun." She gazed up at the winter sky. "Of course, it was summer when they fought, but that matters little for our purposes."

"I see no sign of bones," said Margaret.

"Nor would you," the Elf continued, "for that was long ago. They have returned to the ground and no longer exist within this mortal realm."

"Then why are we here?"

"When a person dies, their spirit is linked to the place of their departure. We shall use that this day to conjure forth the dead."

"We are to animate them?" said Margaret. "They would, I think, make poor warriors."

"No, we will not animate their corpses. They would be, as you said, rather ineffective, and their mortal remains exist no more, in any event. No, instead we shall call forth their spirits and bind them to us."

"But won't they disappear when the spell ends?"

"We shall be using Blood Magic," said the Elf. "They will remain active until we dismiss them."

"I'm not sure I understand," said Margaret.

"The calling of spirits is not unknown to you," said Penelope.

"Yes, but all spells expire."

"In this case, the spells can be maintained."

"For how long?"

"Indefinitely," said Penelope, "though each such spirit raised will consume some of your power."

"How many can I raise?"

"That will depend on the power level you have reached, but likely in the range of six companies."

"Six companies? That's only three hundred souls. How do you expect to create an army with such few numbers?"

In answer, Penelope waved her hand, indicating the robed individuals that roamed the field. "These are my followers," she said, "dedicated individuals who can each raise a hundred or more warriors."

Margaret counted heads, giving up as she reached fifty. "That's quite an army."

"Yes," said Penelope, "an army the likes of which has never before been assembled. Now, are you ready to begin?"

"I am," said Margaret.

"Remember your training. Concentrate on the task at hand and put all else from your mind."

"Yes, Mistress."

Margaret closed her eyes, thinking back to her training. She sought the darkness within her and started calling forth the words that would unleash the power. As her pulse quickened, she felt the rush as her heart started beating rapidly. Energy coursed through her and then she opened her eyes to see the world in shades of grey.

Feeling the presence of spirits all around her, she began the incantation, releasing the magic to flood across the ground in a wave of energy. Snow circled high into the air, driven by unseen forces, and then figures began to materialize. They looked vaguely Human at first, wispy outlines that quickly took the more solid form of Orcs. Then more appeared, dozens of them, and she focused her attention on them, gathering the threads that linked them to the spirit realm.

"Good," said Penelope, "you've done it. Now anchor them in the physical realm."

Margaret did as she was bid. She imagined the threads of their souls and tied them off, keeping them from returning to their natural state of spirit energy. The spell ceased, and she looked at those before her. More than three hundred Orcs stood ready to fight, their faces devoid of emotion, their bodies appearing ghostlike and pale.

"Now," said Penelope, "with the three kingdoms in ruins, the time to strike is nigh!"

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