The Fae Wars: The Fall

by Lucas Marcum

  “She says about 15 orcs got off, led by two elves, and they headed north in a hurry.” Jim shut off the iPhone and put it on the table. “She also says the dragon is walking around the streets on the north side of town. It’s being led by an elf in a robe, and another in armor. It looks like its sniffing the ground.”

  “Shit.” O’Malley stood up and stepped rapidly into the kitchen. Durok’s massive bulk was sprawled out on the floor, sound asleep. Kicking the orc’s armored boot, he snapped, “Wake up. We got trouble.”

  The orc’s eyes popped open, and he rolled over and rose without a word, looking as if he’d never been asleep. He followed O’Malley into the living room.

  Jones quickly explained the situation, then demanded, “What are they doing?”

  “Looking for their lord lieutenant, most likely,” Durok replied calmly. “They can trace her aura now that they are this close. It is only a matter of time before they find us.” He looked up as Acevedo entered, her face still lined with sleep, and eyed her for a moment, then frowned.

  The remaining soldiers filed into the room as Jim said, “Well, they’re on the north of town. That don’t give us a lot of time. We can pile you into my panel truck and get you out…”

  “Running will attract attention and the dragon,” O’Malley replied flatly. “We run, we die. We learned that the hard way.”

  “Diversionary attack?” Jones suggested. “Some of us can get their attention while the rest of you run for the hills.”

  “That might work,” O’Malley replied. “The problem is…” He and Jones fell into a discussion as the other soldiers muttered amongst themselves.

  Suddenly, Durok spoke, his deep rumble breaking through the nervous chatter. His eyes were locked on Acevedo. “I have an alternative. It is an aggressive plan. I think you will like it.” He continued to stare at the petite sergeant.

  O’Malley and Jones stopped speaking and traded a glance, then Jones said, “Well, we’re down to shit tier ideas anyway, we might as well hear it.”

  With a nod of his scarred head, Durok replied, “We shall strike at the heart of their power in this area. We will attack the dragonship.” With a smile that bared his sharp teeth, he added, “We will board it, and we will destroy it from the inside. It will be a victory sung about for the ages.”

  There was a moment of stunned silence, then O’Malley laughed and said, “Well, shit. Why not? Let’s hear it!”

  “The small ship is for carrying soldiers. On board, there is a magi who controls the ship. The soldiers are searching for us. We will seize the craft, fly it to the dragonship, and destroy it.”

  Staring at the orc for a moment, Jones opened his mouth, then shut it. He then frowned and looked thoughtful. He looked at O’Malley, who shrugged. Jones looked back at the orc and asked, “Can you fly one of those things? Can you even get on it?”

  “No. But we do not need to.” Durok gestured at Acevedo. “We have two elves that need immediate medical attention, and several high-value human prisoners.”

  “Two elves? What the shit are you talking about?” O’Malley replied. “We have one beat up elf in the basement, and she won’t help us for anything.”

  Thrusting his jaw at Acevedo, Durok declared, “We put the Little Warrior in the lord lieutenant’s armor and render our prisoner unconscious. It will appear that they were wounded in battle, and I fled with them to seek assistance and took captives to help me. The dragonship will welcome the lost daughter of an elf lord, even if they are from a rival house.” He held up a massive hand, holding up fingers as he spoke. “One in the elven armor, posing as a wounded lord. Two and three, captured enemy soldiers carrying the stretcher bearing the unconscious elf lord. Four, me.” He frowned and scratched his head, then grinned. “Five, an enemy officer who knows of the power sources at the City of Power. What do you know of it?”

  “Not a fucking thing,” O’Malley replied. He suddenly grinned. “But I did bullshit my way through a physics course in college that I took to sit next to a girl I liked. I can fake this.”

  With a laugh, Jones replied, “Well, that’s about as close as we have. That gives us five guns on the small ship. Will it be enough when we get aboard the big ship, assuming we survive?”

  With a shrug, Durok replied, “The sailors and dragon magi are not warriors. Perhaps 11 security guards on board, but they are confident in their dragons and ship defenses to protect them.”

  “Ok,” O’Malley replied. “This is fucking nuts, but what the hell. How are we going to get out once we get in?”

  “Many lifeboats,” Durok replied, “enough for hundreds.”

  “Oooo-kay…I don’t want to be a buzzkill here, but we can’t even get to this flying boat,” Acevedo interjected. “The dragon out there patrolling will smell us and tear us to shreds, or flame us, or something.”

  With a frown, Durok scratched his head again. The room was silent for a moment, then Specialist Ewart, who’d been watching the video on the iPhone again, asked abruptly, “Hey, pigface. Who’s this guy in the bathrobe?”

  Peering at the screen, Durok replied, “That is a dragon mage. He is using the dragon to search on the ground. They don’t do it often. Dragons hunt from the sky, so they must be forced.”

  “He isn’t wearing armor,” Ewart commented thoughtfully.

  “No. They wear enchanted robes.” Durok explained. “Flameproof.”

  “Are they bulletproof?”

  “Yes, as long as the magi is paying attention to his surroundings.” With a frown, Durok asked, “Why do you ask these questions? He has a dragon and a dragonrider with him. You cannot get to him.”

  Ignoring the orc, Ewart asked the taciturn Pennsylvanian, “Hey, man. What you got in the way of hunting rifles?”

  “Got a Remington 700 in the truck. That enough for you?” Jim replied.

  “It’ll work,” Ewart replied confidently.

  “Son, you’re won’t be able to kill elves with it. Lotta people have tried. It just don’t got the punch.”

  “Don’t need to kill him. I just need to distract him,” Ewart replied with a dark grin. He turned to O’Malley. “Sir, give me 20 minutes to get eyes on that scaly piece of shit out there, I’ll give you your distraction.”

  “Specialist…” O’Malley started to say.

  Ewart interrupted him. “Sir, I’ve hunted my entire life. I do long-range precision shooting competitions for fun. I’m the best shot here. Let me distract them for you while you get on that boat.” Ewart looked into O’Malley’s eyes and said in a low tone, “You know I’m the best choice for this.”

  O’Malley looked down for a moment, then back up. “You have an escape plan?”

  “Me? Fuck, yes, I do.” The soldier raised an eyebrow sardonically. “And might I add, it’s a lot more solid than your current plan, sir.”

  Shaking his head, O’Malley sighed. “Fine.” He looked at Jim. “Get him a rifle and whatever else he needs.” He hesitated, then said, “Jim, I think we brought the war to your town. I’m sorry about that.”

  With a crooked grin, Jim replied, “Well, it was only a matter of time. If you think you can take out that flyin’ zoo of theirs, it’s worth it.” He looked at Ewart. “Follow me, son.” He hesitated. “And you might want to lose the uniform. That way, they won’t be able to identify you at first glance.” He gestured at the closet. “Spare coats in there.”

  Ewart nodded and removed his helmet and plate carrier. He then removed his uniform top and put the plate carrier back on. Jim handed him a dark green plaid jacket, which he put over the top of the plate carrier, then he donned a ballcap. He turned to O’Malley, stuck out a hand, and said, “Sir, if I don’t see you again, it’s been a privilege. You got us way further than I ever thought we’d get.” The two men shook hands.

  “You take care of yourself, Ewart,” O’Malley replied. “I’ll see you around.”

  “Yeah. You too, sir. Kill some elves for me.” Ewart grinned, then followed Jim out the door. Th
at was the last any of them saw of Specialist Sean Ewart.

  Meanwhile, Durok had turned to Acevedo. “Remove your clothing, Little Warrior.” He upended the rucksack with the elven armor in it on the floor and fished out pieces.

  “Wait, what?” Acevedo asked. “All of it?”

  “Your outer clothing and armor. It will not fit under the elven armor.”

  “Ugh.” Acevedo looked at the armor, then sighed. “I’ll undress in the kitchen.” She stepped out. Durok followed with a heap of armor in his arms.

  ***

  Fifteen minutes later, O’Malley stood next to Durok and looked at Acevedo. She was clad from head to toe in the enchanted armor. Her face had been carefully washed, and her makeup redone. The helmet seated over her head concealed her ears, leaving only her eyes and her face visible. She wore all the elf lord’s armor and equipment.

  O’Malley nodded, impressed. “Acevedo, you actually make a pretty convincing elf!”

  “These pants are uncomfortable as shit, and it’s squishing my boobs,” Acevedo replied crossly.

  “Your posterior is larger than the elf’s,” Durok replied, “as are your breasts and thighs. The armor is custom made for her.” Acevedo’s eyes narrowed at the orc, who simply handed her the enchanted sword and said, “I will render the elf unconscious again.” The orc stepped to the cellar door and down the stairs. There was a meaty thump, then the sound of his boots ascending the stairs. He carried the unconscious figure of the elf over to the improvised litter waiting by the door. He wrapped the blanket tightly around her, concealing her bonds.

  O’Malley turned to Williams, Henderson, and Colonel Suarez, who sat next to the two paratroopers. “Listen, guys. We gotta leave you here. Watch the internet for a reply, and rejoin our forces if you can. If you don’t hear from us again…” He hesitated. “Well. Do your best. Fade into the population and stay alive. That’s all anyone can do.”

  The house phone rang once, and O’Malley grabbed it. “O’Malley.”

  “I’m in position, sir. Get ready to hustle,” Ewart’s low voice came from the receiver of the phone. “Wait for the signal.”

  “What will it be?” O’Malley asked.

  “I’m not sure, but I promise you’ll know it when you hear it.”

  “Got it.” O’Malley looked down at his left wrist, which was tied loosely to Sergeant Jones. Jones and one of the remaining paratroopers, a young man named Martinez, were both at the ends of the stretcher containing the unconscious elf lord. Concealed underneath her blanket were five rifles, three pistols, and their four remaining grenades. Acevedo stood in front of the small group by the door, the slender elven sword in her hand. Durok stood at the rear with his massive, barbed sword at the ready.

  “Acevedo, do you remember the way?” Jones asked.

  “Yes, Sergeant,” Acevedo replied promptly. “End of the street, turn left. Two blocks, then turn right. Straight for 50 yards or so, and it’ll be parked in the street on the right.”

  From behind them, Durok rumbled, “Remember, Little Warrior. You are an elf lord. Command through your presence. Arrogance, confidence, self-assurance. You are too good for any of the lesser races. I will speak for you, as your throat was injured in battle by human warriors.”

  “I remember.” Acevedo nodded, touching the bandage with the large fake bloodstain on her neck. She took a breath, then cracked the front door and listened intently.

  ***

  Ewart climbed from the bed of the pickup onto the roof of the house, then turned and accepted the rifle from Jim. The man silently offered two more boxes of ammunition. Taking it, Ewart said, “I appreciate this, sir. I don’t know when I’ll be able to return the rifle.”

  Jim’s leathery face cracked into a smile. “Call it my contribution to the war effort.” He shook his head and added, “Plus, somehow I don’t think my annual hunting trip is happening this year, anyway.”

  Ewart reached down and shook the man’s hand. “Take care of yourself, Jim.”

  “You too, son.” Jim clambered out of the back of the pickup and drove off.

  Carefully crawling up the slope of the roof, Ewart stuck his head over the ridge cautiously. Seeing the dragon and its minders about 100 yards down the street, he lowered himself back down and checked the old Remington rifle. He slowly moved up to the ridge again and brought the scope of the rifle onto the small group of elven soldiers and the dragon. The dragon had been joined by about half a dozen orcs carrying the massive black crossbows, walking in a well-spaced patrol line on either side of the street. The dragon was led by the elf in the robes. Next to the mage walked an armored figure with a small staff in its hand.

  Carefully taking aim at the dragon, Ewart took in a breath, willing himself to wait for the perfect shot. The dragon snuffled the ground in front of it, then turned its head, exposing a giant golden eye with a slit pupil. Ewart blew out half a breath and gently squeezed the trigger.

  The bullet hit the dragon just below the eye, immediately triggering a thunderous roar of pain and fury. The beast thrashed on the ground, furiously spitting bursts of flame, and its claws tearing furrows in the asphalt. The orcs in the area immediately dove for cover, as did the armored elf, who sprinted down the street.

  The elf in robes raised her arms and began a singsong chant. The dragon’s head whipped around at this, and it screamed furiously, but couldn’t seem to look away. The singing continued, and the dragon stopped thrashing and rolled to its feet, still transfixed by the chanting mage. The armored elf stopped running, turned, cautiously walked back, and stood at the chanting elf’s side.

  Calmly, Ewart worked the bolt, sighted the rifle on the back of the mage’s robe, and pulled the trigger. The bullet hit the elf’s shield and knocked her to her hands and knees. Suddenly free of the spell, the dragon roared in fury. The elf looked up, dazed, as the dragon shook its head, then narrowed its eyes at the mage on the ground. She didn’t even have time to scream before the dragon struck with lightning speed. The elf magi was snatched up in the massive jaws, and the dragon whipped its head back and forth rapidly. Ewart could see chunks of flesh and limbs flying as the elf’s body was torn to pieces.

  Dropping the body, the dragon drew in a deep breath and shot a white-hot stream of fire down the street, catching the elf lord as he once again tried to flee. He screamed for a moment, no longer an elf but a figure made of fire. He staggered a few steps, then collapsed into a burning heap on the sidewalk. With a snakelike motion, the dragon plunged towards a nearby bush, and drew its head back with the bulky body of an orc clenched in its jaws. It flipped the orc skyward, and as the orc fell to earth, spat a stream of fire, catching the hapless soldier as it flipped in the air, leaving another burning corpse on the sidewalk. It then crouched over the body and screamed a defiant, furious roar at the sky, then turned to pursue another fleeing orc soldier.

  Ewart grinned darkly and slid backwards down the roof. He carefully lowered the rifle to the ground, then himself off the edge and into the backyard. He clambered over the fence, slung the rifle behind his back, and ran for the tree line a few blocks away like the furies of hell themselves were after him.

  ***

  Her face pale, Acevedo turned back from the door as the furious roars rattled the small town. “I guess that’s our signal.”

  “It is. Lead us, Little Warrior,” Durok said. “To victory, clan brothers! E pluribus unum, and fuck elfkin!”

  “What did you say?” O’Malley turned in surprise. “I heard you say ‘fuck’ in English!”

  “Yes. I learn. Your specialist taught me. He says ‘fuck’ is a warrior’s word used to describe anything unpleasant,” the orc replied proudly. “He taught me many things.”

  At the head of the stretcher, Private Martinez laughed. “Fucking right!”

  Jones shook his head and ordered, “Martinez, shut up. Acevedo, go.”

  To O’Malley, Jones muttered, “Specialists.”

  “They never change, do they?” O’Malley re
plied.

  “No, they don’t,” Jones replied. “Ok. Here we go.” They hefted the stretcher and followed Acevedo out into the street.

  The group moved rapidly and in silence for several blocks, then Acevedo came to a halt. She motioned them to stop and crept forward to peer around the corner of a building. She quickly pulled her head back and moved to where the other soldiers waited. “It’s there,” she reported in a whisper. “Still the two bubbas at the ramp, and one elf on the top deck.”

  “Ok. Durok?” O’Malley turned to the orc, who was putting his helmet on. The orc spoke rapidly in his native tongue.

  Acevedo replied, “I took the ring back so we don’t blow our cover. He says to approach at the quick march, and he’ll do the talking. My throat is wounded, and you’re cowed prisoners.” The orc added something and closed his faceplate. Acevedo continued, “He says he’ll communicate with you without words, and not to take it as disrespect.”

  With a nod, O’Malley replied, “Ok, let’s do this. On your lead, Acevedo.”

  “This is fucking nuts,” Jones muttered.

  “But it’s gonna make a hell of a story,” O’Malley replied. “Now, quiet.” Jones nodded, then looked up, apprehensive, as another roar split the air. It sounded close, and extremely angry.

  “Here we go,” Acevedo declared and stepped out at a fast walk. Martinez, Jones, and O’Malley followed with the stretcher. Durok’s massive presence was right behind. As they stepped around the corner, they could see the ship. It was about 40 feet long and 15 feet high. A sleek prow topped with an exquisitely carved dragon head was on one end, and the stern had a rudder. It sat on three graceful legs that extended underneath the vessel, and silvery, gossamer wings were folded flat against the hull.

  The two orcs at the foot of the ramp had their massive crossbows out, alertly scanning the neighborhood around them. Durok yelled something in orcish from the rear, and both orcs turned. There was another massive roar, and the whoosh of dragon flame in the distance. A faint scream could be heard from the next street over, and a large plume of smoke was now rising.