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eBook Category: Fantasy
eBook Description: Lamrea, a powerful sorceress from the enchanted realm of Isgor, watches in horror as a massive Orc army invades the fortress of Raganor, where her husband, Prince Sandran is heir to the throne; and wonders if she and her family will live or die. Will the warriors of Raganor be victorious, or will they suffer defeat at the hands of the murderous Orcs?

eBook Publisher: Echelon Press, Published: 2004, 2004
Fictionwise Release Date: August 2005

This eBook is part of the following series:

• Angeline Hawkes-Craig's Isgor Chronicle Series

4 Reader Ratings: Great Good OK Poor

Available eBook Formats [MultiFormat - What's this?]: Adobe Acrobat (PDF) [254 KB], eReader (PDB) [47 KB], Palm Doc (PDB) [17 KB], Rocket/REB1100 (RB) [16 KB], Microsoft Reader (LIT) [78 KB] - PocketPC 1.0+ Compatible, Franklin eBookMan (FUB) [88 KB], hiebook (KML) [80 KB], Sony Reader (LRF) [93 KB], iSilo (PDB) [14 KB], Mobipocket (PRC) [18 KB], Kindle Compatible (MOBI) [66 KB], OEBFF Format (IMP) [26 KB]
Words: 5352
Reading time: 15-21 min.
Microsoft Reader (LIT) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
Adobe Acrobat (PDF) Format:  Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud DISABLED
All Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED
ISBN: 1590803787

Lamrea stood in her lavish chambers, aloft in the highest tower, and beheld the growing black swarm of Orcs bombarding the fortress walls. Raganor, until now, had never been defeated-its walls never scaled-its gates never penetrated, but the gray stone fortress was old. Costly repairs and defensive additions had been carried out in the previous years with just such an attack like today's in mind. Had it been a usual year, the military would have been at its best-in peak condition-and the Orcs would have given up by now. It hadn't been a usual year, unfortunately.

Two disease outbreaks had swept the city and fortress, one on the back of the other. The first carried off the very young and the very old. The second illness struck at the heart of Raganor and decimated the fighting generations. It took the strongest down first. It had no precedent or reason.

Lamrea had depleted her herbs and potions. She had done all that she could to heal and bring relief to the suffering masses. Never before had she seen such a sickness. Never before had she seen such devastation wrought from an enemy unseen and unstoppable. In the end, all she could do was to send the suffering person into a deep sleep so that death would come quietly and more comfortably. She was a healer who could not heal. Her heart broke at the thought of it. All of her training, all of her magic had neither prepared her for such suffering, nor did it do very much to stop the spread of the disease, or the dying of the victims. She could only watch in horror as the illness swept through the territory leaving death in its wake. Her own family had been spared, but her larger family of Raganor had been hit with such a force that it would take at least two generations to regain the population lost.

Her husband, Prince Sandran, the ruler of Raganor, thought that perhaps the sickness would carry off his enfeebled, paralyzed ancient father and then he would finally be King; but, ironically, his father continued to breathe, sleeping through both waves of the devastating sickness. Prince Sandran was dismayed to learn that this illness, which brought down his most able-bodied warrior, had skipped over his burdensome father altogether.

So now, Lamrea stood before her window, shutters open, surveying the mass of Orcs that were ravaging the outer walls of the fortress. The numbers seemed to increase by the minute. There were lines of Orcs as far as the eyes could see. Where were they coming from? Lamrea sighed and breathed a prayer of mercy for Raganor, but sensed that it was already too late.

The territories had been plagued with Orc uprisings and Goblin invasions. The Goblin hoards were not as much of a problem as they could be appeased with gold and goods to keep them from attacking. The Orcs, on the other hand, attacked for the sheer pleasure of massacring all they came across. The Goblins could not tolerate the Orcs anymore than the Allied nations of Humans, Elves, and Dwarves could. The two races clashed constantly. Which to the Allied Nations were welcome events as they kept both maniacal races occupied and out of their boundaries and off of their walls for a while.

No Goblins were here to interfere with this swarm. Lamrea couldn't remember having ever seen so many Orcs. Many tribes must have forged groundbreaking Orc alliances to create such a massive army. Lamrea sighed. Their sudden organizational skill would mean doom for Raganor. The archers were few, many of them barely even grown. They had been hurriedly promoted through the ranks as their older predecessors dropped like flies from the illness. She remembered seeing one young archer, barely bigger than the bow he carried. She couldn't see how Raganor's army would do very much damage to the seasoned Orc warriors eager to pull down the outer walls and kill all of Raganor's inhabitants. Silently, Lamrea wondered how many generals they had left in fighting condition. She hadn't been privy to the military updates, as she had been too occupied tending to the sick and dying.

Raganor was a military state. From the age of ten years old, both boys and girls began military training that would last for the ten years. At the end of that decade, each person emerged a hardened warrior, or they did not emerge at all. Raganor bred warriors.

From birth, boys and girls were selected for their strength and character. Weak and imperfect babies were left outside of the city walls for nature to claim. There was no place in Raganor society for lame or afflicted citizens. This was something Lamrea had fought since the first day she had arrived in Raganor. She knew that often children born with physical deformities were often compensated by the Great Mother with other special gifts.

She herself had known many sorcerers and sorceresses who had been lame, blind, or deaf and they had powerful gifts that made up for the lack of the other afflictions. The Realms of the Spirits cared not if you could see with your physical eyes if you could see with your inner eyes.

Raganor was so different from her homeland. Lamrea felt very much out of place in this cold, hard-hearted place. She was of the enchanted realm of Isgor, a magical realm that bred sorcerers, sorceresses, and conjurers of all types-and for the service of good. Raganor and Isgor had cemented a political alliance so many years ago, and Lamrea had agreed to marry Raganor's Prince. It had been a loveless union, but she had done her duty and produced two children. One to inherit the throne of Raganor and one for Isgor should they have need of her, but that had gone terribly wrong and her daughter had turned out to be a dark sorceress that Isgor would never want. After she had produced their son, Sandran had left her alone and bothered her no more.

Over the years, Sandran and Lamrea developed a certain bond of friendship and counted on one another for many things, but love was not one of them. Lamrea could say at times she felt a fondness for Sandran. He was a fine man and a finer warrior, but she never grew to love him.

Moreover, living here within the fortress, here in Raganor, Lamrea never felt like she truly belonged. There were times when her heart yearned for the lush greenness of Isgor and she longed to return; but, she had made a promise to Raganor and to Isgor, and so in Raganor she remained. The alliance was critical to both peoples-Raganor needed Isgor's magic and Isgor needed Raganor's armies. Lamrea was the glue that bound the two together. Although, now, as things stood, Lamrea didn't see how Raganor's armies could be of use to anyone, not even itself with this impending invasion and certain defeat.