Cathal and Speaks huddled close behind the Elf as he guided the Flying Carpet over the mix of fortifications provided by both man and nature below. The shimmering surface of the flooded valley floor was broken only by the small island that jutted barely above the shallow lake. A very small but very intelligent forest had relocated itself there and the Awakened trees stood sentry, willing to do their part against a foe who destroyed indiscriminately and did not spare even the land itself.
They crossed over the barrier of thicket and Speaks was pleased to see that he could not identify the locations of any of the pits that lay in wait for Bale’s army. Moments later Hrongar’s Hill and the fortifications were left behind as they continued north. Perhaps, if this risky gambit worked, those barriers would never be tested. Perhaps.
Several quiet minutes passed before they crossed one of the many rolling ridgelines that separated the valleys draining into the Fodor to find themselves looking down upon the might of Bale’s army. Their hopes fled like smoke on the wind.
Bale was alone in the forefront, trailing a bright, wide streak of crimson blood that stretched off behind him to the north, defying nature and decency in the way that it seemed to willingly flow up and over hills and ridges. It neatly divided Bale’s army into two trailing hordes that tumbled after their leader like the frothing wake of a large, fast ship. These loose mobs were in stark contrast to the neat rows and columns exhibited by the Imperial Legions they had just left behind but it made them no less terrifying. Creatures of every description had answered the call of Bale’s Blood and they rolled south to do his bidding, covering the land with a blanket of evil.
Masses of Orcs, the tribes who had not already been absorbed into the City of Endless Summer, surged alongside the Duergar Dwarves of Do’Kun Ghul. Dotted amongst them were the larger figures of dozens of Trolls, Ogres and a few Giants. Then there were the more bizarre forms of what were guessed to be the Neoghi and their Umber Hulk thralls, lumbering near the rear with great claws that nearly drug the ground.
Also near the rear were a struggling cluster of the strange “Fish Men” the party had encountered near the mouth of the underground highway beneath the Blackpeaks. These seemed much worse for wear having been out of the water for so long. A couple of handfuls of the Scorpion Men also dotted the ranks as well and there was a large, lizard-like biped that crashed along the left flank. And scattered all amongst the hordes on both sides of the blood trail were hundreds of the Blood Ferals, dashing aimlessly amid the crowds before diving and swimming in the bloody river at Bale’s back.
Rhys kept the carpet moving northwards, high above this evil army. Behind him, Speaks and Cathal looked at each other knowing that even without Bale at the head of it, this army might well crush the men and fortifications they’d placed in its path. With Bale in the lead there was no question as to the outcome. They gripped the thin edge of the carpet as Bale howled up at them, beckoning them to his call. But they had not been residents of the Blackpeaks for long and they had been out of the cursed mountains for nearly a week. The call failed to take hold of them and on they flew.
Once they were a couple miles further along, they found an open clearing in the next valley through which flowed the river of blood. Rhys brought the carpet down what he deemed to be a safe distance from the crimson stream and Speaks and Cathal stepped off and began to cautiously approach the Blood. Speaks looked at the Brigante, “Ready?”
Cathal nodded. The time for talk was over. It was time for this battle to begin and he was going to strike the first blow. He drew out the Bloodstone Blade and thrust the tip into the Blood.
A heartbeat passed, then two. Then the blood surrounding the tip of the blade began to turn grey. And the grey began to spread.
Speaks form shrank and his wings beat the air as he went aloft as an eagle. The Wild sang in his veins as he climbed as quickly as he could. At the top of his climb he winged over and spared a downward glance to see that the stone was racing both north and south of the clearing below. The magic of the sword sought out blood and petrified it wherever it could be found. Speaks followed the trail to the south and crossed the ridgeline, once again bringing Bale and his army into view.
His eagle eyes looked below to see that the stone had crossed the ridge and was now running downhill toward the termination of the river of Blood even as it continued to recede behind the reborn godling. Bale was fast.
But the stone was faster.
