The Fae Wars: The Fall

by Lucas Marcum

  “We’ve got nine soldiers, one prisoner and…um…a third party,” O’Malley replied.

  The man cocked his head alertly. “What do you mean ‘a third party’?”

  “Well…” O’Malley hesitated, then asked, “I…Have you seen any of their ground troops? The big guys?”

  Mutely the man shook his head, then said, “Only grainy videos on the internet before it went out. Half the town don’t believe any of this shit is real. Think it’s the government messin’ with us. The other half…They’re scared shitless, and that convoy that came through, taking anything it wanted and stickin’ guns in our faces, didn’t help.” He shook his head. “Anyway. You have one of them? Dead?”

  “Very much alive, and on our side.” He hesitated again, then said, “Tell your guys to be cool, ok?”

  The man turned, cupped his hands, and called to the men in their hidden positions, “Keep those rifles down, fellas. You’re gonna see some weird shit.” He turned back to O’Malley. “Ok, Army. Show us what this thing is.”

  O’Malley turned back to the Humvee and said, “Durok. Mind stepping out?”

  The passenger side door creaked open, and the orc stepped out. The Humvee rose noticeably as his weight left it, and his head and chest were clearly visible over the top of the tall vehicle. The hulking orc stepped around and stood quietly next to O’Malley.

  The man took several steps back in shock, and the bushes rustled suddenly. Alertly, the man turned around, “Rifles down, goddammit! These are friendlies!” He turned back to O’Malley. “What in the hell is that? Is that one of them things from New York?”

  “Yeah. They call themselves Uruks. They’re the cannon fodder for the elves,” O’Malley replied. “They’re like those guys from Lord of the Rings, except a lot smarter.” He grinned slightly and added, “Bigger, too.”

  “Well, I’ll be dipped in…” The man stepped forward, still staring at Durok. “He is a sumbitch, ain’t he?” Durok looked placidly back at the man, keeping his huge, armored hands at his sides, standing silently. The man in front of them asked, “So this fella’s on our side?”

  “This one is. His people are enslaved by the elves, and he had his chance to get out, so he did. Now he wants to help us kill them,” O’Malley replied.

  “Uh-huh.” The man gave a last hard look at Durok before turning his attention to O’Malley. “Make sure he minds his manners, or he’s going to see some magic of our own, provided courtesy of John Moses Browning and company.”

  With a tired grin, O’Malley nodded. “You got it. He’ll be all right. We also have one of the elves we captured tied up in the back of a Humvee. That’s why it’s essential we get back to our lines. We need to hand her over.”

  “Captured elf, huh?” The man nodded thoughtfully. “Well, you might be in trouble there, young fella. I just called my son in State College. He said the Army had been moving through all day, hell bent for leather. They’ve fallen back again, so you’re a long way away from your friends.” He stuck out his hand. “James Haskins. Call me Jim.”

  “Zack O’Malley.” O’Malley reached out and shook the man’s hand. He motioned to the orc. “This is Durok. He doesn’t speak English, but we have a thing that lets us talk to him.”

  Jim eyed the massive orc again for a moment, then shook his head. “Hell of a time to be alive. I’m giving shelter to the Army in my own town, and they got orcs for allies, and elves as enemies. Strange times.” He shook his head again, then gestured at the men appearing from the bushes behind him. “Stan, Bob, get these trucks hid. Stick ‘em in Mike’s barn.” He turned to O’Malley. “You guys come with me. We’ll put you up in my cousin Phil’s place, and feed ya, then we can figure out your next move.”

  “We appreciate it, sir,” O’Malley replied,

  “Don’t you ‘sir’ me, Captain. I work for a living.” The man’s leathery face split into a grin, and he added, “Republic of Viet Nam, ‘68.”

  With a laugh, O’Malley replied, “Thank you for your service!”

  The man’s grin faded. “Thought my time carrying a rifle was over. Guess not, huh?” He squinted at the sky. “Let’s go. We usually see dragons every couple hours. They ain’t close, but I don’t know how good their eyes are, and I’d rather not risk it. Get your people and follow me.”

  Blowing out a breath, O’Malley turned and gave orders.

  ***

  Fifteen minutes later, Acevedo followed Jim as he unlocked the door of an unassuming home near the center of the small town. She took off her helmet and looked around. The living room was outdated, with floral print furniture covered in plastic, and lamp styles and furniture design that hadn’t been seen since the ‘70s. Beneath her boots was deep pile carpet, meticulously clean and maintained. The remainder of the small group of soldiers followed silently, followed by Durok, carrying the captive elf over his shoulder.

  Seeing her looking around, Jim explained, “My aunt’s place. She bought it back in ‘72 and lived here until she died a few years back.” He looked around. “Me and my cousins have a lot of fond memories of this place. We couldn’t bear to part with it, and renovation is expensive, so we keep it as is for out-of-town relatives.” He gestured to the kitchen. “Cupboards got plenty of canned stuff, and the freezer has a bunch of game meat in it.” He grinned tiredly. “Hope you like deer. That seems to be the only thing we got plenty of since the trucks stopped.” He set the hunting rifle down, sat on the nearest couch, and looked at O’Malley with piercing eyes. “You’d best tell me everything you know so I can help you.”

  O’Malley, Jones, and Acevedo sat down as the soldiers made themselves comfortable. Durok carried the bound elf past them. Acevedo watched as he opened a door, and finding that it led to the cellar, dumped the bound elf unceremoniously down the stairs, and closed the door, ignoring the muffled cries of pain. The big orc then returned to the living room, sat cross-legged on the floor, and said, “Now I will tell you of ley lines, powerful palaces, and dragonships.”

  O’Malley, Jones, Acevedo, and Jim stared at the orc for a moment, then the farmer asked slowly, “When did he learn English?”

  “He doesn’t. I gave him the ring,” Acevedo replied. “I got tired of translating for him, so he jammed it onto a pinky and made it work.” Durok held up an armored hand and removed the gauntlet. Above the first knuckle of his smallest finger was the ring. He grinned, his teeth seeming very sharp.

  “A cunning solution from our Little Warrior.” The orc turned to Jones. “Map please, Sergeant.”

  Jones shook his head. “We didn’t get any, apart from the areas we were assigned to. There wasn’t time.” He looked at Jim. “Do you have an atlas?”

  With a frown, Jim replied, “I might have one in the truck. Hang on.” He stood and went outside.

  Working his gauntlet back on, Durok continued, “The elves seek power. It is their goal above all. Power is why they conquer, be it the magics of the ancient humans, the steam power of the dwarves, or the magics of the lesser elfkin—they hunger for it.” He gestured around them. “It is why we are on your world. Humans will make a mighty slave army.”

  O’Malley laughed incredulously. “Humans make terrible slaves. We rebel and fight and overthrow entire empires to rid ourselves of it.”

  “The elves believe their magics will overcome this, as it has with the orcs. But that is no matter.” The orc warrior frowned, his grotesque face made even more imposing by the gesture as he continued, “There is a city nearby that contains great power. A city on an island that is a source of power for much of the region. The elves desire this power, to understand and learn about it.”

  Puzzled, O’Malley and Acevedo traded a look. Jones asked, “What city? There aren’t any cities on islands around here. Do you mean New York?”

  “I do not know of this ‘New York’.” Durok replied. “My clan brothers and I were to enter the mountains and engage the fleeing humans to keep them from defending the City of Power. This is all we were told.” H
e raised a massive finger in the air. “However, there are strange things happening here. Things the elves do not understand.” Pointing at Acevedo, he said, “When she wore the ring of translation, it worked around her. That is not supposed to happen. It is supposed to only work for the wearer.”

  With a frown, Acevedo replied, “So what does that mean?”

  “I do not know. I am not a magic user,” Durok replied, “but when we were moving through the woods, pursuing the human forces, we saw sigils of power in the hills. Ancient sigils, long bereft of their power, but sigils nonetheless.”

  “Elven?” O’Malley asked.

  “Not elven, or elfkin,” Durok replied, firmly.

  “Who’s, then?”

  The big orc only shrugged, the gesture surprisingly human. “Perhaps from the humans of old. It is not known to me.” He tapped the coffee table with an armored finger. “But these sigils rely on ley lines for power. The fact that they are no longer powered means the lines have shifted.”

  “What does THAT mean?” Acevedo asked plaintively. “What does any of this mean to us?”

  “It means, Little Warrior, that there was magic here once, and possibly still is,” Durok replied, “and if we can find it, we can use it to destroy the elves.”

  “Like…we can use it as a weapon? How do we do that?” Jones asked, sitting forward. “We’re pretty low on ammo. I’ll take anything we can get our hands on.”

  Shaking his massive head, Durok replied, “No, Sergeant Jones. It takes years of training and discipline to perform magics, like becoming a warrior that falls from the sky.” The orc grinned toothily at the paratrooper. “These skills do not appear by themselves.”

  “All right. Enough of that. If we can’t use it now, I don’t give a shit about it,” O’Malley interjected. “When we get back to our lines, we can feed this up to someone else, and they can deal with it. Tell us about the dragonships and the…what did you call the special warrior elves? The shitbirds?”

  “The Shen’tin, yes,” Durok replied. He looked up as Jim came back with a battered atlas. The man stepped up, set it on the coffee table, and sat back down.

  “What’d I miss?” he asked.

  “Mostly a bunch of confusing shit about magic,” Acevedo replied, “but now we’re going to hear about dragonships and sites of power or something.”

  “Naturally.” The farmer grinned at Acevedo, who smiled back.

  Durok was carefully scrutinizing the map of Pennsylvania, his massive finger carefully tracing roads as he spoke. “The dragonships are used when an area needs to be devastated and the will of its people broken.” He looked up. “It is not a hatchery, because the dragons do not hatch in them, but they hold them inside the hull. It is a massive ship, with a bag of lifting gases, and sails for propulsion. There are doors in the sides of the hull, dozens of them, for the dragons.” The orc paused, then added, “The elves will fly the dragonships into an area, open the doors, and let the dragons ravage the countryside.” The orc hesitated, then added, “The Silverwing is the dragonship of House T’Mar.” He gestured at the cellar door. “The House of the lord lieutenant, and my former house.”

  “Holy shit,” O’Malley said, stunned. “That’s…Holy shit.”

  “How many?” Jones demanded. “How many are aboard?”

  With a shrug, Durok replied, “It depends on the size of the dragonship. The Great Houses, like our captive’s house, have very big ones. They can carry up to 15 adult dragons, or dozens of young dragons.” The orc frowned, his visage becoming even more terrifying for a moment as he spoke. “The elves themselves are protected by the dragon magi and the enchantments on the vessels. The ships are quite valuable and well defended.”

  “So…It’s a huge flying boat with dragons inside?” Acevedo asked, still processing what she was hearing.

  “Yes.”

  “How many troops on board? Do they have any crew-served weapons? How many crew?” The paratrooper took notes as he asked questions.

  “It depends. More soldiers mean fewer dragons. Sometimes many dragons and a detachment of Shen’tin.” Durok scratched his head and added, “When we assaulted the mountain redoubt of the Red Run Clan in the Winter War, we fit 100 times 10 Uruk heavy troops comfortably inside the hold. No dragons. Crew? Perhaps…50?”

  “So, 1,000 heavy infantry.” Jones wrote that down, then looked up. “Those things have to be huge! What keeps them up?”

  “A source of power inside the hull. Enchanted crystal provides power for the vessel and keeps the bags inflated.”

  “Can it be destroyed?”

  “I do not know. An Uruk is not to know these things, Sergeant Jones.” With a sudden, vicious smile, he added, “But the dragonships can be knocked from the sky. The Uruks of Red Run destroyed two of them before their clan was exterminated. Seeing the dragonships falling from the sky in flames was a terrible and glorious sight.”

  The orc was silent for a moment, then tapped the map with his finger. “This is the City of Power. I cannot read your runes.”

  O’Malley leaned forward, squinting at the grubby page of the atlas, then sat back, his face strained. “Shit.”

  Jones and O’Malley traded a troubled look. Seeing this, Acevedo demanded, “What is it?”

  “They’re heading for Three Mile Island.” O’Malley looked at Jones, then Acevedo. “They’re going for the reactors.”

  Jones and Acevedo sat back, stunned. After a moment, Jim observed laconically, “Well, that ain’t good.”

  “A source of power,” Durok noted, calmly. “The El’dori are nothing if not consistent.”

  There was dead silence in the room for what seemed like an eternity, then Jim said, “Well, what are you gonna do about it?”

  O’Malley sat staring at the map for a moment, then replied slowly, “Nothing. There’s nothing we can do, apart from call it in. We’re outnumbered, on the run, and almost out of ammo.” He gestured at Jones. “And apart from him and his two guys, we’re not even combat arms.” He turned to Jim. “Phones working?”

  “Sometimes,” the man replied. “Same for the internet.” He shrugged. “They both go out when the dragons get closer. Same with the ham radios. We got a couple operators listening in and sharing information when they can.” He shook his head. “Sounds like there was a hell of a fight in New York City.”

  “Was?” O’Malley asked. “What do you mean ‘was’?”

  “The guy on the other end of the radio said he can’t hear any more fightin’, and all he can see is bad guys in the streets,” Jim stated flatly. “In my days in the Army, that didn’t usually mean anything good.”

  Acevedo pressed her lips tightly together at the news, and O’Malley shook his head slowly and replied, “We can worry about that later. We need to call in.”

  -9-

  “Improvise, Adapt, and Overcome”

  Lykens, Pennsylvania

  Jones sat back, closed the laptop, and declared, “Well, that’s that, I guess. I just emailed everything we know to my entire chain of command, all the way up to the commanding general of the 82nd Airborne.” He grinned. “I also used Facebook Messenger and sent it to everyone I know in uniform. I’ll probably get an Article 15 when we get back.”

  Speaking around a mouthful of baked beans, O’Malley replied, “Gotta be alive to get your pee-pee slapped.” He swallowed, set the partially empty can down on the table in front of him, and licked the spoon.

  “That, sir, is a true story.” Jones set the laptop down and sighed. He picked up the can of beans, looked at them, and sighed again. “I don’t even know what the fuck is going on. The national news sites are a mess. Some are offline, some are carrying pictures of fighting and all sorts of stuff that’d be unbelievable if we hadn’t seen it for ourselves, and some sites are talking about normal stuff like there’s nothing happening.” He picked up a plastic spoon and continued, “New York One’s website has an article about curfew, and they’re telling people to stay in their homes, that food
would be delivered.” He frowned. “It also said something about changes coming to the mayor’s office.”

  “That doesn’t sound good. Sounds like someone’s got a gun to their heads, telling them what to say,” O’Malley replied. He leaned back on the couch and looked at the clock on the wall. “Jim is taking his sweet ass time getting back, isn’t he?”

  “No, it doesn’t sound good,” Jones replied. He looked around at the empty living room. “Is everyone else sacked out?”

  “Yeah. Seemed like a good idea to get them rested,” O’Malley replied, stretching.

  The front door rattled and opened, and Jim entered. He shut the door behind him, turned, and said, “We got problems.”

  Trading a look with Jones, O’Malley sat up. “What sort of problems?”

  “This sort.” Jim pulled a smartphone out of his pocket and pulled up a video. Jones and O’Malley stared intently as the image of a dragon was caught in the distance, rapidly growing larger. The dragon swooped over the person recording the image, so close it buffeted the camera. A few seconds later, a second shape appeared on the screen. It was long and slender, shaped like a sailing vessel. Wings spread out on either side, and it had a carved figurehead of a dragon on the prow. It, too, was flying low, and as it swooped past the person manning the camera, the polished wood planks of the hull and several portholes were visible. It vanished as rapidly as it had appeared, and the video ended.

  “This was taken about 45 minutes ago by my cousin Andy’s kid on the south side of town,” Jim said flatly. He swiped to a photo. “This was taken about 15 minutes ago by my kids’ Sunday School teacher.” The airship had landed in the middle of the street on sturdy legs that had folded out of the hull. Two burly orcs stood at the foot of a gangplank, armed with swords and the ubiquitous black crossbows. The ship’s wings were folded neatly against the sides of the ship, which was constructed of dark, highly-polished wood.