Short Fiction: The Summoned Hero

 THE SUMMONED HERO

The Eisenhold throne room sat emptied of all the Platinum threaded cloth banners of the noble houses. It had been that way since the Strife began. They were buried on a thousand battlefields with the families of their houses and the forces they had mustered to defend the territories of Eisenhold from the Demons that had come to their lands. Now even the black hexagonal stone pillars quarried from the Stairs of the Sea Giants at the will of the first of the Crowned Lords were naked of all but the strange runes etched in them by magics long past. The Vaulted ceiling of ancient and colossal timbers of the once Forest of the Fae that had dominated the region rested on those black pillars.
The long hall was occupied by one person on a small timber seat that had replaced the great War-Throne his father sat on as they carried him out to the final battlefield. The war had certainly bankrupted them of everything. He stared at an old iron fire-sconce in which the only light and heat made the recently raped room livable.

"Prince Hetha!" The Princeling on the frail timber throne draped with unshorn sheep hides looked up at one of the sole remaining servants not dragged by his father to die or watch him die in battle now entering through the open iron doors at the far end that needed four warriors each to push open and close. Hetha wondered if the doors would ever be closed again as he watched the old man in red robes and rediculous pointed hat close the distance at a brisk walking speed. "There is news."

The elderly Court Sorcerer Ætendur had not been so old to be unfit to go to war. Rather Hetha's father had rejected the old man informing him that battlefields were for Warriors, not Sorcerers.

"News?" Hetha felt a moment of temptation to feel relief. "The Battle?"

"Yes." The red-robed Sorcerer smiled at the Princeling. "The battle with the Demons is apparently done."

"What?" Hetha stood up from his makeshift throne. "What news of my Father?"

"Apparently your father's forces had after slaughtering the Demons encircled their leader and your father had slain him in personal combat." Ætendur watched as the boy sat back down. "Still the losses and injuries amongst the warriors were significant."

"No one left to carry his throne home." Hetha laughed at the irony of it before calming and settling on an idea. "Perhaps your Summoning Magic Master Ætendur?"

"A Translocation?" Ætendur, hand to his chin in contemplation, considered the cost that came with such a summoning spell. "That would require an exchange of similar mass."

"Then its time to summon the servants." Hetha began to describe a plan. "They will need to take with them the supplies necessary to assist the wounded still on the Battlefield."
"A sensible strategy Prince Hetha." Ætendur nodded, his pointed hat tilting slightly. "I will make the necessary preparations." (492)

•••

"No matter what you think, you will be umprepared for the horrors of the battlefield you are about to look upon." The servants gathered where the throne should be sat atop a collection of medical and food supplies they would need to treat the few wounded survivors listening to the Words of the Prince as the red-robed Court Sorcerer was waving his fingers through the Air, glowing streams of energy slithering through them like small snakes. "Focus on treating the wounded warriors."

"Ready yourselves!" The red-robed sorcerer yelled as the snakes of magical energy slithered from his fingers into the huge magic circle that had been drawn in an ink mix powdered diamond and Sorcerer blood ignihting it in magical fire. "Stay safe." (614)

The light of the magic became blinding. It illuminated the entire hall as though they were drowning in sunlight.

The throne became an increasingly solid shadow that sat at the centre of the now fading magical light. Prince Hetha could see movement on the throne.

"Father!" The Prince left the side of the weary Sorcerer and advanced on the throne where a mis-shaped mass of bodies lay piled on one another as the blindness of the Summoning Magic left him. "Father!"

•••

Haran was unable to see anything of the battlefield. The Translocation had certainly blinded him. But he could smell all manor of smells and there seemed to be several somethings to his left screaming as they fled their arrival. Kasa, a Butcher from the kitchen staff, had been positioned to his left prior to Translocation.

"Kasa?" Haran's eyesight began to clear up as he looked for the others around him. "What's that screaming?"

"Looks like some Demon-folk." Kasa paused to vomit out his breakfast. "Looks like both had both their arms severed clean off and the stumps were spraying blood."

"They won't last long then." Someone tumbled against Haran's back unconcious and he turned to find a Servant from the Kitchens. Rin? "Rin fainted."

"Best stay alert." Kasa stared at the sea of corpses. "It isnt over yet."

"Any sign of our Warriors?" Haran stared at the naked lower half of a demon, everything from the waist up missing, lower intestines spilled out the wet end, and the remains of his giant swollen phallus was a severed meaty stump and testicles. A thought struck him. "Kasa..."
"Those armless Demon-folk." Haran began to see a nast picture in his mind. "Were they facing you when we Translocated to the battlefield?"

"Yes." Kasa lifted a decapitated head. It looked like a member of the personal guard. He tossed it aside. "Their arm stumps sprayed me with blood as the turned to flee."

"And the War Throne." Haran didnt like where his mind was leading him. "As wide as our collection of supplies-left to right?"

"About that size." Kasa walked across the backs of corpses toward Haran. "Why are you asking?"

"And the Sorcerer?" Haran sat against a barrel."He was sure the King was on the War Throne prior to Translocation?"

"Yes." Kasa spotted the demon remains with the decapitated phallus. "Fuck me,"

"No..." Haran shook his head as Rin woke and vomited before passing out. "But you are close."