Age of Fantasy - The Prophesized Hero by Pierre Mortel
Dark plumes of smoke rose above the jungle, tainting the air with an acrid smell. Flocks of birds were flying away in a panic, and below them the thick canopy shuddered from the movement of the retreating monkeys and lizards.
Howls and shrieks filled the air, branches cracked, and the relentless thumping of war drums grew louder and louder, like the heartbeat of an enormous beast. Even the clouds above seemed frozen in tension.
The smoke and the drums came from the dark trail of an invading army plunging ever deeper into the forest, inexorably approaching the stony mass of a city of sculpted rock.
Dominating the city, a vast Ziggurat jutted out from the sea of green. Inside, the Saurians were scrambling.
At the main gate, the first wounded had begun to trickle in, the most injured were carried by their comrades. Their eyes were haunted by the violence they had just faced. They were passed by fresh soldiers headed for the front.
Panicked whispers ran through the ranks: was this all that was left of the first line of defence? Fear and resolve fought in the hearts of the reptilian fighters, but they had no choice except to fight for their home.
Behind the city walls, groups of Saurian Guardians bustled anxiously hurrying between the cobble stone statues that lined the cobblestone roads to complete their countless tasks.
Hulking Gators carried blocks of stone to reinforce the walls, which hadn’t seen bloodshed in centuries. Saurian soldiers marched out into the jungle in tight formations to join the first line of defence.
Civilians were evacuating the young, stockpiling supplies and doing anything they could that might help them survive the coming chaos. The enemy’s war drums rhythmic beating could be heard even inside the temples. The smoke seemed to slowly fill the sky above them.
In the heart of the city stood a monumental ziggurat whose stairs lead to a temple. A small Chameleon scout was walking slowly down the steps, lost in a daze.
His name was Izqual.
Coming off the stairs, he was almost trampled by a passing Ankylosaurus, jumping out of the way at the last moment.
He held his blowgun against his chest, as if it could protect him. His bulging eyes darted this way and that, his tail was twitching nervously. He forced himself to close his eyes, breathe slowly.
The Frog-Mage’s prophecy rang out inside his head.
Izqual had been surprised when a Saurian Veteran personally arrived to summon him, a mere poison frog catcher. An alarm had sounded as they were escorting him towards the temple.
The Veteran had told him that Humans, worshipers of the God of War, had opened a magical gate on the river, and that an entire fleet of them were headed for the city.
The Veteran and his Guardians had pushed him into the Frog-Mage’s hall and closed the heavy doors behind him. It was the first time that Izqual had been there outside of official ceremonies. The room looked much larger to him now, without anyone else in there.
From his floating palanquin, the Frog-Mage had commanded him to approach and to listen. He knew Izqual’s name! He had spoken in his gravelly, time-worn voice. The little Chameleon could not believe what he had heard.
“You will march towards the enemy, alone. You will be brave, and you will become a hero to your people. You will know the time to act. It has been foretold.”
Then the Frog-Mage rang a bell, the doors had opened, the Guardians led him out. Izqual was flabbergasted. The Frog-Mage was a powerful wizard, who could summon spirits and command lightning. There were plenty of seasoned warriors and towering fighters in the city. Even Izqual’s own squad champion had once tore out a Blood Hound’s throat. But he was just Izqual! He was no hero; he was just a frog catcher! And he was terrified.
The Frog-Mage was the leader of their people for many seasons. Although he could peer through the veil of time and see the future, it was very rare for him to announce a prophecy. Izqual dared not question it aloud but he kept wondering how this could be true.
Did the Frog-Mage misread the future? Perhaps there was another Izqual somewhere in the city? There simply had to be some mistake. Even as these thoughts ran through his head, he was walking towards the main gate, deaf to the outside.
He felt that fate was playing a trick on him, but he had been raised to revere the Frog-Mages’ prophecies above all else. He marched on with the stilted gait of a puppet, ignoring the part of his mind that urged him to run the other way.
Izqual walked through the city gate. The smoke above him was as thick as a cloud now, blocking out most of the sky. Saurians were massing under the walls, preparing the next line of defence. He ventured into the jungle, following the wide path traced by the previous defenders.
The vegetation had been trampled by the ranks of soldiers, and Izqual couldn’t hear or see any of the animals that usually filled every corner of the forest. But as he stepped over broken branches and torn out roots, he could hear the cries of battle, the clash of weapons, and above all else the ferocious heartbeat of the war drums.
He gulped audibly, as he felt the fear course through him. Instinctively he started hunching over and scurrying from cover to cover, as he was trained to do.
After progressing for a while, Izqual heard commands being shouted by an old captain. Izqual moved his head carefully from the bush he was using as cover. He saw the ground rising up into a small hill ahead of him where a line of Saurian spearmen stood with their banners floating proudly in the wind. They were huddled together, bracing for impact.
Their captain yelled for them to hold their formation. Izqual couldn’t see what they were facing, until a cacophony of growls and barks started drowning out the Saurian battle cry.
Blood-Hounds!
There were cries and the Saurian line shook, as if hit by a wave. For an instant, the ranks seemed to hold. Then soldiers started being pulled to the ground as monstrous four-legged beasts tore through them. For each one that was struck down, two more jumped into the fray.
Izqual watched his brethren get slaughtered, frozen in fear. The only thought in his mind was I’m glad that’s not me. The Saurian warriors did not turn and flee; they died on the hill, and soon the Blood-Hounds were feasting on their corpses.
But some of the beasts were still hungry for a fight, and they spread out into the surrounding jungle, looking for an enemy.
Izqual scrambled up a tree trunk, taking refuge in the thick canopy. He wasn’t good at much but he knew how to move from branch to branch with agility and precision. He made his way over the pack of hounds, watching anxiously as the beasts ate his former comrades, trying to think of what he could do.
He was supposed to be a hero!
Something caught his eye: close to the battlefield, a wounded Saurian was hiding, propped up against a tree, clutching a bleeding leg. The hounds had not noticed him yet but some of them were sniffing around, getting closer and closer. Izqual could get to that tree and lower a vine and help him up…
He started making his way through the canopy. As he advanced, he grabbed onto the wrong branch, and a large, ripe fruit fell down on the ground below, exploding loudly on impact. The closest hounds froze and lifted their heads.
Terrified, Izqual was absolutely immobile. He had shifted his scales into the colour of the leaves around him.
The wounded warrior had heard the noise too. He was looking intently towards Izqual’s position. Had he spotted the Chameleon? Izqual could still reach him… maybe. But he just couldn't seem to move his legs.
He heard more hounds approaching and something snapped in him. He turned tail and leaped through the branches, away from the slaughter, unable to stop. He went from branch to branch very fast, but he could not outrun the cries of the wounded warrior when the hounds found him.
Izqual reached a large dead tree and stopped, perched on one of its main branches. His hands were still shaking with dread.
He caught his breath. The air tasted of ash. The war drums were louder here, and the yells and roars all around indicated that he probably had reached the first line of defence. Or what remained of it, since the hounds had already broken through.
He heard the guttural grunts of Humans just below him, and peered through the vines. They were a unit of heavily armoured warriors with snarling faces and large halberds.
Izqual couldn’t see what they were facing but they were screaming with rage and fear. Suddenly a huge spiked tail swiped two of the Havoc Warriors, sending them flying.
It was an Ankylosaur!
The shelled monster slammed into the Humans, crushing them under his massive feet. But even as they died, the Humans howled and plunged their halberds into the beast’s belly. The Ankylosaur roared and spit blood, thrashed around and rolled with all its weight into the rotten tree, knocking it down, then collapsed on its enemies’ corpses.
Landing lightly, Izqual found himself on the ground, littered with bodies, branches and broken weapons. He snuck around, hiding in a ditch to avoid some passing riders. These Humans are insane, he thought, how am I supposed to defeat them? They won’t back down from an Ankylosaur!
He wanted very much to find a hole and to burrow deep inside it and never come out again. But he kept advancing instead, moving through the foliage and crawling through the mud.
Death was everywhere now. Armoured Humans, tattooed barbarians and hounds lay dead, amid piles of Saurian bodies. The first battle had obviously been intense, and what Izqual had seen so far were only the few surviving members of the Havoc Warriors’ vanguard.
He shuddered at the thought that there were far more of these monsters marching through the jungle towards his city.
As he scurried from tangled roots to broken trunks, Izqual was able to regain his bearings. The jungle had been mangled and the smoke was everywhere. Still, he recognized the broken, vine covered ruins and statues that emerged from the ground, getting denser as he progressed.
If the Humans were coming from the river, there was only one path that their army could use. That path went through the remains of a vast, old temple, lost to the jungle long ago. If they were able to secure the ruins, they would be able to advance towards the city as one front.
From what Izqual could hear, his people were still holding on. Behind the furious thumping of the war drums, he could make out the sounds of battle ahead. The ruins were surrounding him now, shattered walls and ancient idols piercing through the smoke like ghosts.
Feeling exposed on the ground and remembering the ferocity of the Havoc Warriors, Izqual climbed on a mossy column, jumped on a nearby wall and proceeded towards the battle.
A sprawling tree jutted out from an ancient courtyard. With a leap, Izqual landed on a branch and slithered his way up and onwards through the dense branches.
That’s when he saw the battle.
There was a vast plaza of fractured stone tiles, moss and mud. The Havoc army was trying to gain control of it. But the Humans had to go through an ancient stone gate, the only entrance on their side.
A group of Gators held the plaza. They looked like the legendary heroes depicted on great murals; gigantic silhouettes wielding heavy metal clubs, their scales gleaming like jade as they bellowed challenges to the enemy. A few Gators lay dead, but the bodies of invading Havoc Warriors’ littered the ground.
They are the true heroes, Izqual thought from his branch, the Frog-Mage was wrong.
From the crumbling gate, marching to the beat of the ever-present war drums, a mass of frenzied barbarians entered the plaza, breaking into a full-on charge as the Gators yelled insults at them. There were so many of them!
A wave of fighters seemed to engulf the Gators. But the Gators swung their heavy clubs, breaking bones like twigs, they roared and bit and tore flesh with their clawed hands.
The wave receded and they stood triumphantly, surrounded by even more broken bodies. None of them had fallen. But a lot of them had fresh new wounds, and some leaned on their weapon for support.
They have to hold, Izqual thought. He was no strategist, but he could feel that this was a key moment of the battle. What could I do? Maybe a few well-placed darts could weigh the scale?
He reached for his quiver and realised it was empty. At some point while running from a fight, he had spilled his darts. Holding his blowgun with his prehensile tongue, he checked and saw that there was one dart ready to fire.
One dart… I’ve already failed my people.
A bloodthirsty roar drew his attention back towards the fight.
Another wave of Havoc worshipers was charging, but this time a lot of them wore plate armour and heavy blades. There were even stranger things, deformed monstrosities that Izqual had never seen before.
The two lines of fighters met. The heavy clubs swung and crushed the Humans, armoured or not.
One of the Gators had a guttural laugh as he threw the lifeless body of a Havoc Warrior away from him. But another warrior jumped furiously and stabbed the Gator through the chest. The Gator fell and died, choking the Human as life left his body.
Another Gator took his place and mowed Humans down with circular strokes, but he too fell, from a well placed halberd into the thigh. It felt as though they were being swallowed by the tide of Havoc warriors.
The Gator Champion stood in the middle of the fight, screaming madly as he grabbed a tentacled monstrosity and pummelled it into the ground, even as more Humans plunged spears into his back. An armoured Human swung a flaming sword at him, wounding his shoulder.
Up in his tree, Izqual was shaking. He had to do something, he had to help them. Maybe he could hit that Human with the flaming sword, save the Gator Champion? He raised the blowpipe to his mouth, his vision blurred with fear.
Just at this moment, the Champion took the Human’s head off, then fell to the ground as several more Havoc warriors swarmed him. Izqual lowered his blowgun. There were only a handful of Gators left, surrounded by all sides.
What’s the point? One dart wouldn’t make a difference. It’ll would just get me killed.
The last Gator dropped to his knees. The Humans had formed a circle around him. He still waved his broken club at them, grunting hoarsely. A warrior entered the circle, his heavy boots thumping on the stone tiles, yelling something. He gestured towards the Gator in a way that seemed oddly respectful, like he was paying homage to his fighting spirit. Then he swatted the Gator’s club away, raised his heavy axe and put him down.
The Humans broke into cheers as the horde of Havoc worshipers started pouring through the gate. Up on the tree, Izqual felt like he might weep. All hope was lost.
The war drums were deafening.
Izqual clung to his branch, motionless, as the Havoc army gathered, filling the plaza. Grim knights, plate-clad swordsmen, hideous mutants were chanting a guttural hymn. They seemed almost possessed by a trance, driven into a battle rage. Each of them was ready to die fighting.
Who could fight foes like that? Izqual wished he could fly away, far from the smoke, the drums and the slaughter.
The Havoc Warriors had lined up on each side of the gate. A unit of knights, with ornate armour and even more massive than the others, rode through. The chanting grew louder, and the war drums too.
Then the War Master appeared. He looked formidable; a brutal, metallic silhouette with a face that seemed as though it was carved from stone. He rode a four-legged beast with glowing eyes. He was banging on his shield rhythmically.
Izqual realised that there were no drums: the inexorable thumping, audible a mile away, came from his enchanted shield. He could feel its power from where he was; the trance was taking each warrior as they sang.
Daemonic faces seemed to blink in and out of the periphery of Izqual’s vision, and little drops of blood were oozing from the statues below him. The Havoc Warriors were dangerous foes on their own, but under such a powerful enchantment, they were unstoppable.
The War Master stopped his escort and started bellowing at his troops, still banging on his shield. A vein on his neck was twitching as he spoke. A cold calm washed over Izqual. The War Master was below him, close enough to smell his sweat.
“You will know the time to act.”
Inside his brain, he could hear a voice freaking out, telling at him to run, to hide. Izqual let him scream. His only dart was already in the blowgun, coated in a poison so terrible it killed the frogs themselves when they licked it. What if even that was not enough? It had to be. He recalled the Frog-Mage’s words.
“It has been foretold.”
Izqual took a moment to aim. He focused on a bulging vein in the throat of the War Master. The gaze of one of the escort Knights fell on Izqual, his eyes widening in horror. The dart flew through the air, too fast to intercept, flying right into the War Master’s neck.
The War Master did not seem to feel the dart. But a moment later, his speech slowed, stopped, and then he collapsed as his guards rushed to hold him up. There were yells and confused shouting as the Havoc Warriors’ fell into disarray.
Izqual had already leaped away, scaling a trunk further back. He turned back towards the invading army. The drums had stopped and they didn't look like hellish invaders. They were Human, uncertain, and Izqual could see in their eyes the same kind of fear that he knew all too well.
Suddenly there was a rumbling in the forest, and a massive force of Raptor Riders emerged from the treeline, their mounts charging into the plaza, tearing into the Havoc Warrior’s flank.
The War God’s followers broke, fleeing fast as they could, leaving any who could not flee with them. A second wave of riders followed soon after. The enemy’s Champions started yelling, desperate to get their units to form a defensive line.
Then Pterodactyls dove from the air and caught several of them in their claws, flying high then dropping them down on the ground. The Humans began to scatter, trying to get away, trapped between the gate and the treeline.
Three ranks of stocky Saurian warriors arrived, shields raised, to finish off the survivors. The last of Havoc Warriors’ ranks dissolved as their warriors fled into the ruins or the marshes. Few of them would make it back to the river.
Holding on to his tree, Izqual watched his brethren as they drove away the invaders. He was still shaking but he had fulfilled the prophecy set out for him.
...I hope I’ll never have to be a hero again…
