The Gateway (Harbinger of Doom Volume 1) by Glenn Thater

Author:Glenn Thater
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: action, adventure, dark fantasy, epic, epic fantasy, fantasy, heroic fantasy, horror, science fiction, scifi, sword and sorcery, thriller
Publisher: Glenn Thater

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THE FOG

Not long before midnight, the moonlight revealed a small area of fog forming at the center of the zone of desolation. There was no fog anywhere else about, only there at the circle’s center, and it was forming fast, too fast for something natural.

“Make ready!” shouted Ob. The men scrambled to their feet.

An unnatural wind sprang up and the fog rapidly expanded radially outward, rolling toward them like a giant wave.

“Form up, men!” shouted Sir Gabriel. “Tight formation! Shield wall! Shield wall!”

“Draw your weapons men, and make ready,” boomed Ob.

The men rushed together, and aligned shoulder to shoulder, four rows deep, in expert fashion. In moments, they were ready. The front row held tower shields tightly together. The second row held pikes.

“This is it,” said Dolan, a smile on his face. “Mr. Claradon, get ready to spew.”

Claradon felt near ready to comply.

In moments, the eerie cloud filled the entire circle, but expanded nary an inch beyond its rim. Standing just there, the expedition was untouched by the foul vapors. No one dared move; they barely breathed. Moments passed that seemed like hours whilst they looked and listened for some sign of their enemies. But there was nothing.

A second gust of wind and the fogbank expanded again, swallowing the whole of the expedition within its maw. The men suddenly felt lightheaded and nauseous as the diabolical fog settled around them, clinging to their flesh, threatening to rend it from their very bones. The foul mist even stung their eyes, blinding them. The temperature plunged instantly to well below freezing, chilling them to the bone and sapping their strength. A strange bestial odor filled the air.

“What is this, what’s going on?” shouted one knight.

“Tis some evil magic” said a second knight.

“I feel ill,” said another. “My head swims.”

“And mine,” said several others.

“Black Sorcery it is,” called out one man.

“Devil’s work,” said another.

“Steady men,” shouted Ob, “remember your training.”

“Hold your formation!” boomed Sir Gabriel.

Soon their vision cleared, but the thickness of the vaporous stuff was such that one could scarcely see ten feet ahead.

Theta moved from his position in the line and boldly advanced into the preternatural fog, lance in hand, with nary a word or glance to any. Dolan scrambled to follow his liege.

“Draw the daggers I gave you and follow Theta,” commanded Sir Gabriel.

“Steady boys and forward,” shouted Ob. “And for Tyr’s sake stay together. I’ll not be searching the fog for you.”

The warriors caught up to Theta about a hundred yards into the fogbank. He was standing amidst a killing field. The mutilated corpses of more than a dozen men littered the ground where minutes before there was nothing. It was the missing patrol. How the bodies appeared there, they could not fathom. Each corpse was horribly desecrated in unspeakable ways; ways which should not be described save to say that the remains could only be identified by fragments of their armor, shields, and clothing.

Claradon made to approach. “Get back boy,” said Ob, as he interposed himself between the young knight and the grisly remains.

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