The Dark Mage of Rhudaur by AliceNWonder000137  

The Fall of House Rhudainor

Ethacali forces Skrykalian to do his bidding but will she obey him?  The mage launches the final assault on the Tirthon.

The Tirthon, Cerveth 20^th, 1407

Watching the Vulseggi flee was a validation of Ethacali’s planning and preparation.  He continued to invoke the rune of control, forcing Naranantur and Skrykalian to do his bidding and to attack.  They were reluctant at first, so a little display of power was needed to adjust their attitude.  Taking to the air, they dove down, cleaving through the enemy line. Once they tasted blood, urging them to continue to attack was unnecessary and their need for blood would drive them. When he saw Skrykalian sweep Lord Rhudainor from his horse, he motioned with his hand to summon her.  He was expending a lot of energy, but she would replenish him soon.

Skrykalian landed and lay Lord Rhudainor down on the snowy ground.  Her body was covered in blood as she knelt before the mage.  “By your command,” she said through gritted teeth. “I have done what you forced me to do.” The lord struggled on the ground, wrestling with the bolt in his chest.  The Blood-Wight gently removed his helmet and stroked his forehead with her hand.  “I’m sorry, my lord.  I had no choice.  I was forced to do this,” she whispered into his ear.

He was gasping for breath, blood coming from his nose and mouth.  “Eitheriel…Eitheriel, you saved me.”  He reached up and touched her cheek.  “You’re covered in blood?  What happened?  Are you hurt?”

Skrykalian’s hand trembled and her breath caught in her throat.  “No love. I am unhurt.  All will be well soon.”

Ethacali was growing impatient at the display.  She was to be a tool, no more, he told himself.  Growing attached to her victim was not supposed to happen.  And he found himself jealous again, a cold pit in his stomach.  Watching her caress the man angered him.  “Enough Skrykalian.  Finish him. I need the energy.  Controlling you and your brother is tiring.”

She seemed to ignore him as she grasped the bolt firmly.  “Relax love, I’m going to remove this.  I need you to be strong.”  She bit her wrist and then let a few drops of her blood fall into his mouth.  “This will ease the pain.”  She put her other hand on his chest and yanked hard to pull the bolt out.  He grunted and winced but nothing more.  She let drops of her blood fall onto the wound and his bleeding stopped.

The mage grit his teeth every time she called Lord Rhudainor ‘love’ but he controlled his breathing and heartbeat, inhaling slowly.  He was not supposed to become attached to her.  She is just a tool, he told himself again.  He snorted as he was done with her antics.  “Skrykalian, I said enough,” he said sharply as he closed his fist, invoking the rune.  She winced and her body contorted.  “Finish him and give me his energy.”  Shame at his betrayal of Ethanya ate at him and he took it out on the Blood-Wight.

She stood, wiped blood from her chest and flicked it at him with her hand, a sure sign of disrespect. “Finish him yourself!”  She put her hands on her hips, daring him to act.

Rage flared in his mind at her defiance…and over his enemy that she now seemed to love.  He closed his fist tighter, and she groaned in pain and doubled over, coughing.  “You will do as I command!” he shouted, his neck taut with veins bulging.  He pushed his hand forward and she fell, kneeling over Marendil.  “Finish him!”

She raised her hand and lowered her head in a submissive posture.  “He’s hurt, Ethacali.  Please, don’t make me do this.  I beg of you.”  She put her body over Marendil as a shield.  “I’ve already caused so much pain and suffering.  No more!  Please free us.”

Her care for the man just enraged Ethacali more.  With a shout, he closed his fist again, as tight as he could and Skrykalian screamed in agony.  He funneled all of his power through the rune and her eyes glazed over.  His aura glowed with dark energy.  “I’m not going to say it again, finish him!”

Her whole body shook as she tried to resist him, but she turned her face towards Lord Rhudainor. “I’m sorry…I’m sorry love.  Please forgive me.  Just close your eyes,” she said quietly.  “Just close your eyes love.  We will be together again soon.”  She cradled his head with both hands.

Marendil stroked her hair. “I trust you Eitheriel,” he said and closed his eyes.  Instead of viciously ripping his throat, she leaned in and kissed him and then gently bit into his neck, sucking the blood as it flowed.  His breathing became slower and weaker.  He opened his eyes and moved her back to look at her one last time.  “You always were so beautiful Eitheriel.  I am such a lucky man,” he whispered as his eyes closed and his breathing stopped.

Skrykalian buried her face into the crook of his neck and let out a shriek that chilled Ethacali to the bone as birds took flight around the forest.  When the cry died away, only the sound of quiet sobbing could be heard.  The mage now felt his legs weaken.  He had poured so much of his power into making the Blood-Wight do what he commanded.  He needed her energy now.  “Skrykalian, come here,” he ordered, leaning heavily on his staff, his body feeling old and tired.  He held out his hand and pulled his fingers in.  “I need the energy.  We are so close to victory.  I must see our forces finish this,” he said, practically pleading.  “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

Skrykalian stood and raised her arms up, summoning her own power and the blood on her body evaporated, leaving nothing but skin.  Droplets floated, suspended in the air and she inhaled, drawing them into her mouth. She raised the edge of her lips up in a sneer.  “Of course, love.  As you command,” she said with a mock bow and flourish.  She put one hand behind his neck and hiked one leg up to his armpit and pulled him in close.  He could feel her breasts against him as she pushed into his body slowly at the hips, stimulating him.  There was that feeling again, like he was 18 and invincible.  Sparks erupted around them and his white hair stood on end.  He was sure that he could tear a tree in two with his bare hands, he felt so strong.  She leaned back and looked him in the eye, her silver, catlike eyes glistening.  “Drink of me and be renewed.”

Ethacali inhaled her power, feeling a hot surge down to his stomach which flowed into his arms and legs. His mind was clear and his lungs full of fresh air.  Skrykalian fell to her knees, weakened, her skin more pale and translucent, just as he found her months ago in the dark chamber.  He pointed down at her, his earlier sense of mercy fading.  “Do not defy me again.  Now, you and your brother go feed on the wounded.  Replenish your energy.  I will need you again soon.”  With the strength he now felt, she would be in no position to refuse him.

She grunted in anger but stood slowly, then raised her head and made a cry like a swan.  Naranantur flew overhead, his raven wings unfurled and Skrykalian took flight upon her swan wings.  Ethacali watched as they landed on a group of wounded orcs and began feeding. Shrieks and screams echoed over the battlefield.  The mage pondered for a moment that he should save his wounded but they no longer mattered and he needed the Blood-Wights strong.

He summoned his orc shamans. The time to act was now, before the defenders could truly regroup.  This would be his crowning achievement.  “Grashur, have the goblins focus fire there along the palisade,” he said, pointing to a part of the wooden wall.  “Have the ballista keep archers off of the walls.  Oologg will wait until the palisade is down and then place the siege tower against the Tirthon.  Tell Lumban, Cagh and Hirgrim, full assault now.  Hold nothing back.”

He looked back at the two remaining orcs.  “It looks like we won’t need Blogath after all.”

Shortly, the onager began hurling stones at the wooden wall and it soon collapsed under the barrage. He could see the Vulseggi falling back to the tower.  They would trap themselves and there would be no quarter given or received.  He could not let any enemy, who had seen the Blood-Wights, survive.  They were to be the Witch-King’s weapons in the upcoming war, one that he would be happy to sit out in Logath.  He would return home, triumphant, all knowledge of his indiscretion forgotten. After all, the Lord of Angmar had promised this to him.

Now it was time to unleash his secret weapons.  He raised his staff and the skull at its top began to glow in a golden hue.  “I call upon the power of the ring,” he said in a clear voice and the glow became a blinding light.  In another minute or two, black smoke began to pour out of the tower and the Vulseggi ran to deal with another attack.

Ethacali signaled for his horse and a servant brought it to him.  He climbed into the saddle and pointed to the Tirthon.  “Urfase, Athrug, follow me.  This ends now.  We will dine in the tower tonight and the spoils of war will be ours.”  

Chapter End Notes

Skrykalian becomes increasingly rebellious, begging for their freedom.  The House of Rhudainor is ended, but is it?  Ethacali orders the final assault.