Konstantins Crusade English version - E W (ebook reader for comics .txt) 📗

of his prayers.  The massive Fireball passing over his head bathed the whole camp side in daylight, then, it hit one of the stone constructs in the chest. Normal fire would not have done much to stop it, but magic flames burned like a liquid, sticking to the figure and melting away at its surface until the stress was too much to bear and the rock cracked in a thousand pieces.  The resulting rain of shrapnel forced Cyrus to dive into cover behind one of the still standing tents.

The next moment he was already thankful for it as a horse tore past the place he had stood at only a few moments earlier.  But something didn’t seem right with that… He looked after it for a moment. The rider wasn’t running away from the row of stone soldiers, he was going right for them. The light of the fires that had engulfed some of the fallen tents reflected golden off his armor. Well, at least a creative way to commit suicide, he thought. Twelve more cuirassiers followed the first one, each armored and wielding a spear with some form of banner.  What confused soul of an Officer had sent them o their death? Its almost as if no one would acknowledge their enemy was literally made from rock and a lance or blade would do little to even slow them down. They were warmaschines… but then at least only that. Machines without the Intelligence of a Human or Gejarn. Spells, fashioned for a simple task that they would furfill until destroyed.

The first rider, the one that had almost run over Cyrus, now reached the rows of stone soldiers. Cyrus steeled himself for the sound of breaking bones and dying horses that would have to follow. 

Instead, the forwardmost rider simply drew his sword. Runes glowed on the Blade and the hilt, bright enough to be clearly visible in the darkness. The weapon sheered through stone as if it was made of paper, cutting off a Hand that had reached for its wielder. Sparks of light followed the way of the blade as the rider drew the weapon back and plunged it into the heart of his opponent… or where it would have been in a living being. With a creature of stone he only shattered one of the clusters of crystal animating it, golden flames burning along the veins and killing it for good.  The rider didn’t even slow down, simply going for the next stonesoldier and Cyrus watched, simply frozen where he was now that  help had arrived finally. Magic weaponry he thought, watching the strange group of gold armored warriors. Their leader or at least the wolf assumed he probably was their leader; bore a golden mask, hiding his face. It looked archaic to Cyrus and the armor and golden cloak the man wore appeared ancient as well. They didn’t seem to belong here on a Battlefield filled with gunpowder and cannons.

In the meantime the other riders also had reached the rows of stone soldiers; driving back the remaining enemy’s that had survived contact with the first enchanted blade. Cyrus had only heard rumors of weapons like this up to this point. Now he witnessed for the first time what they could unleash. The services of a magician alone were already expensive but binding a spell permanently to an item demanded resources and rituals that could bankrupt a king. The few artifacts that existed outside of the mage orders possession were usually ancient heirlooms that were safely guarded by their owners, mostly noble family’s, and probably hadn’t seen use on a battlefield since the days of the first emperor.

Cyrus had to actually force himself to look away from the arcing display of light, the weapons produced. It had something strangely beautiful to it. Who where those men that had saved them anyway? He hadn’t seen them before that much he was sure off. Maybe they also had arrived with the latest batch of new recruits. But overzealous son of a noble or not, these men had ended the fight. What remained of the stone army slowly turned away, beginning to retreat back to the pyramid city. The Cuirassiers followed them for half the way there, and then made their way back to the camp. The slowly rising sun revealed finally the banner they were carrying and Cyrus confusion about their presence only grew, together with fear. He had expected some variant of the twinbanner of the empire with its golden Lion and silver eagle. It wasn’t. It was the sigil of a dead empire.

A Dragon, a black winged creature that Cyrus recognized. It was the banner of a house that had vanished centuries ago. But there were still those that pledged allegiance to it.  Cyrus searched the group of cuirassiers for their leader, the man with the golden death mask. The Lord of the golden Guard as he now knew. Lord Macon. But the man was nowhere to be seen and one after the other the riders disappeared in the vast siege camp around him.

The part of the camp ahead of him, where the battle had been fought the hardest was completely in ruins. Craters had torn open the ground, debris of tents… and people alike where strewn all over the place. Fires still burned where they had gotten out of control, consuming what little was still standing. Everything had happened so quickly that the now settling silence seemed almost surreal to him.

Still it was not a silence that would last. The cries of the wounded und dying started to swell and the ringing in his ears that the guns had left. Cyrus made sure not too look too closely at the wounded brought up from the destroyed part of their camp. He knew too well the horrible wounds fire, chaos and their enemy would have left. Many would still die over the next few days. Volunteers most of them. People, Humans and Gejarn that had believed they could serve their emperor and make a fortune as well and then return with some stories of adventure.

Reality of course was a lot uglier. He had lost those Illusions pretty quickly, maybe never had them. He wasn’t here because he had the choice.  He would probably die here. Sometime in the war for the far city that glittered in the sunlight.  And with that, he would be one of the lucky ones.  Cyrus knew there were always bodies missing after an attack. Men that made the mistake not to fight until death and were instead captured and brought back into the city. And behind the Walls of Xihuitzin there were fates worse than death.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 2

 

 

 

 

Damotes  tried to ignore the screams, while he was observing the forest of tents stretching for miles beyond the citys walls. Smoke was rising above the camp, emitting from the fires of the imperial army. Last nigths attack didnt even manage to create a visible indention in the jungle of cloth, linen and small wooden shacks that had grown around the city over the last few weeks and months. The Farms and smaller settlements that had once surrounded it had long sicne disappeared, either destroyed under the boots of thousands of men or repurposed as barracks for the soldiers of the Empire. But it wasn’t the camp that interested him this morning, neither the endless Trees stretching in every direction beyond that.  It was something else. Something on the horizon he couldn’t quite explain to himself. He was pretty sure it wasn’t just some strange optic illusion or cloud formation. No. There was a shadow on the sky, directly above the horizon.  And the shadow moved. Not like a bird of prey or a large flock of doves like he could see them in Helike from time to time. Slower, almost gliding along and definitely coming ever closer.

Damotes set down the telescope he had been using. A present from the Archons before he set out to this strange place.  Fine runes were etched into the golden cylinder, bringing with them the stain of magic.  Without a doubt it was a artifact from the vast archives under the Archons inner city. It might have been a gift of gratitude but he did not like it. Relying on magic never ended well for anyone. Still, its usefulness was stronger than his personal revulsion and so he was keeping it. Like this whole city. He didn’t like it either.

Damotes looked on as the Torches in the streets below him were extinguished one by one as the Sun came over the horizon, illuminating first the very top of the giant step pyramid he was standing on and almost blinding him. The wind up here was cold almost icy and left one only to imagine the heath and already rising humidity in the streets further down.

Up here it was almost as if he could stretch out one hand and touch the clouds. The city was monumental, dwarfing even Helikes sprawling inner city and the black stone tower of the Archons would have seemed small besides the manmade mountain that were the single pyramids steps that formed  Xihuitzin. Each step formed its own city district, connected through ramps and secured gates to the next, starting on the ground levels with the homes of the less fortunate, the farmers who had tended to the farms before the city gates before the war started, servants, slaves and those who did not find work while the city was under siege, and spiraling ever upwards to where he himself stood at the palace of the high priests themselves. And he was to somehow defend all of this. With what? He only had brought a few hundred Paladins of Helike with him.  He did not fight for anything at this place. Neither did any of his men. What had preserved Helikes Independence even in the face of enemy’s like the Empire or even a dragon uprising wasn’t just steel and numbers. It was the men behind it, discipline and willpower.  Xihuitzin did not reflect any of the same qualities to him. And was what a Paladin fighting without conviction? Just a man with a blade, nothing more. He could as well be one of the Stone constructs that protected the walls of this city instead of actual human defenders. Had he been given the choice between an army of these… things… or a horde of untrustworthy mercenary he would still have picked the mercenary’s. At least those you could inspire with something and if it was gold. They weren’t empty hulls, no matter how powerfull they migth appear at first glance. A Dragon also was powerfull. Blades did simply reflect off its scales and even Mythril-Armor  of the kind Damotes wore offered at best limited protection from fire and claws. And still he had seen more then one of the giant lizards fall from the sky and die under the blades and Speers of his knight’s. Why? Because in the end conviction, morale, could overcome the odds. That was what he believed. Now the last battle against Helike sold archfoes lay back many decades. His hair had become grey and the heroes he fought and trained under at that