1 The Nightmare

Shorik examined the ruby resting in his palm. This was no ordinary ruby. It was a priceless ancient artifact that gave the wielder unimaginable power, but his power was not enough. He needed more. He stared deeply into the center of the ruby. The eternal fire burned innocently inside. He continued to stare, transfixed, then, after several long seconds, he finally tore his eyes away from the gem.

He placed the gem in a small drawstring bag, which he then placed in a hidden pocket in his tunic. He then picked up his staff that was leaning against the side of a chest. A glinting ruby was embedded in the top of the staff. While beautiful in its own right, this ruby was a fake. A decoy to protect it from attacks . . . and his own men. He examined the staff carefully before giving a satisfactory nod and marching out of the tent.

He used his staff to aggressively toss back the entrance flap of the tent. He was in a long canyon. The river had long since dried up, but the canyon was deep enough and vast enough that it contained entire forests. It was the perfect place to hide an army. Currently, it was the location of his army's camp as they prepared for battle. Soon after stepping out of his tent, his second in command, and least trusted ally, quickly appeared next to him.

"We have discovered the Semper Vitae camp. It is around the bend past the forest, near lake Heshut," recited Quorkac.

"Good," Shorik growled quietly, "Gather the troops and lead them up the canyon. We move now."

Yes sir!" Quorkac responded with a salute. Shorik began walking northward as Quorkac started barking orders to the men. He finally had the advantage. The Semper Vitae would not escape him this time.

7,000 feet above the canyon, Oran was lying flat on his stomach watching the events unfold below. With his enhanced sight, he watched as Shorik left his tent, gave orders, then left. They were preparing for battle. "This is bad," he muttered to himself, "they must have discovered our camp".

Oran closed his eyes and summoned his power. When he felt it gather in his legs, he began leaping nimbly down the cliffs of the canyon at inhuman speed. It only took him a few minutes to reach camp. He immediately made his way to the center command tent. Several people were gathered around a long table with various maps scattered about. Everyone looked up in surprise as he entered the tent. He met their gazes calmly.

"We have been discovered. The Aeternam Vitium are on their way."

"Impossible!" barked one of the captains at the table, "it's impossible to find this location!"

"We need to evacuate immediately!" stuttered a lieutenant nervously.

"No," replied Oran quickly calculating the best course of action, "we fight."

Their faces paled. They knew as well as Oran did that they stood no chance against the full might of the Aeternam Vitium. They also knew Oran well enough to know that if he suggested they fight; it was their best chance.

The captain sighed and nodded to the lieutenant, their faces now filled with resolve. "Let's get everyone prepared."

They quickly left the tent and began organizing for the battle ahead. Oran also left the tent and went directly to his personal quarters. Once inside, he went to a chest in the corner and removed a sheathed sword from inside. He placed the sword on the bed and drew his own sword. It was a beautiful sword with a white blade and golden hilt. The design was simple, but elegant. A sapphire with a gentle blue flame burning inside was embedded in the center of the hilt. He closed his eyes and the sword began to change its shape. It began to sprout roots and morphed into knotted staff, unremarkable in every way. He picked up the other sword from the bed and removed it from its sheathe. It was a plain average looking sword.

Oran's breathing suddenly shortened and sweat began running down his forehead. "Why now?!" he thought, "it wasn't supposed to happen this way."

"Arrrrghhhh!!" he let out a short roar and shook his head. He didn't have time to think like this. He was prepared. He had always known this was a possibility. He bit down on his lip until he felt blood running into his mouth. Trust the magic. The magic would guide him. His breathing slowed down. He took one last deep breath and put the sword he was still holding into the now empty sheathe at his hip. He took one last look around the tent, took the gnarled staff in his hands, and quickly left.

Shorik stood high on the cliffs commanding his army with powerful commands that reached even the farthest men from his perch. His men were advancing quickly, like an unstoppable force. He smiled. There was nothing the Semper Vitae could do. It was too late for them. He reached into his bag and removed a looking glass. He could easily survey the battle field if he enhanced his vision, but he needed to save his energy.

He scanned the horizon back and forth searching for the enemy. When he finally spotted the Sempter Vitae, he realized with surprise that they were standing in formation, fully prepared for their onslaught. "What fools!" he thought to himself.

"Quorkac!" he shouted. Quorkac ran to the bottom of the cliff and saluted.

"Yes sir!"

"The enemy is not fleeing. They are prepared for the attack. Tell the troops to prepare for full combat."

"Yes sir!" he repeated. Quorkac turned and began barking orders at the troops. Shorik was mildly amused. He had assumed the Semper Vitae would flee as soon as they realized the full might of the Aeternam Vitium was bearing down on them. Still, it was best to not under estimate them. Shorik smiled and began to move up the canyon. "Your move Oran".

Oran jumped from rock to rock on the side of the canyon. He was panting and covered in sweat. It wasn't as easy as last time. He stopped at the point he predicted the two armies would collide. His troops were nestled in the cover of the trees, and the enemy troops were quickly approaching. They were closer than he thought. Suddenly, the advancing army stopped. The troops in front dug in their shields and the archers behind them drew their bows and prepared to launch a volley of arrows into the forest. One of the captains gave a signal and a wave of arrows flew into the air. A wave of arrows answered from the forest, but many fell short and the timing was off. It paled in comparison to the massive volley fired in perfect coordination. He could only hope the tree cover was protecting most of them.

The enemy launched volley after volley for what seemed like hours. Finally, the archers drew back and the enemy began advancing toward the forest. The advancing army began moving faster and faster as they approached the trees. Finally, they surged forward into the forest with loud war cries, and Oran began to hear the clash of metal. Oran was aware of Shorik standing on the cliff face opposite him on the canyon, but he ignored him for now.

Blood, sweat, and death, the smells mixed together and lingered over the canyon as the battle went on. Cries of dying and injured rang out from both sides. He could tell they were putting up a fight, but it was a losing battle. They never stood a chance. All they could do now was buy time. It pained Oran to see them die, but it was a necessary sacrifice.

Oran was focused on trying to decipher what was happening below, and his eyes were glued to the trees. Suddenly, he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up, and his body grew cold. He looked across the canyon. Shorik was gone. He whipped around to find Shorik seated on a rock less than ten feet away.

"You've lost your edge Oran," Shorik chuckled. Oran drew his sword in response. Shorik slowly stood up and lowered his hood. A heroic face with and a gristly beard were revealed. His appearance was contradictory and deceiving. He had pure white hair without a hint of gray, yet looked no more than 30 years old. His heroic face was paired with menacing read eyes. Shorik began moving towards Oran, leaving his staff leaning against a rock. Oran steadied himself as Shorik reached inside his tunic and grasped something in his hand. A jet black sword with a red blade materialized in his hand.

Suddenly, Shorik stopped, a spark of annoyance flashing in eyes red eyes.

"Why do you seem weak? Where is your power?" Oran tightened his grip on his sword. His breathing growing heavy. He was afraid. Shorik's annoyance turned to fury as he began to realize what must have happened.

"How dare you!" Here growled, his voice shaking with rage. Oran swung his sword as Shorik lunged closer. He timed his swing perfectly, but he was no match for Shorik's magically enhanced strength. Shorik easily batted Oran's sword out of the air and grabbed Oran by the throat, lifting him several inches off the ground.

"Where . . . is it, " Shorik growled menacingly. Oran couldn't breathe, but he managed a small smile.

"You'll . . . never . . . find it," he managed gasping the words. Shorik raised his jet black sword to Oran's heart. Despite the rage in his eyes, Shorik's sword was perfectly steady. Oran stared into Shorik's blood red eyes and knew what was next. He closed his eyes. Believe in the magic. He thought this one last time as Shorik thrust his sword forward and pierced his heart.

Shorik threw Oran's dead body from the cliff. He stood for several seconds watching the blood drip from his blade. Killing Oran had been satisfying, but it could not quell his rage. He looked down at the ongoing battle in the forest below. The battle was dying down, and most of his army had not even entered the forest. He focused and drew energy to his outstretched hand. Normally, he would have to save his magic to deal with Oran, but with Oran gone, he had no such worries. He unleashed a fury of red hot flames from his hand that set the entire forest ablaze. Everything inside would be burned alive with no hope of escape. Some of his men were still in the forest, but Shorik didn't care. Nothing ever survived the full force of his wrath.