“Stand down,” said the Lieutenant, waving for the men to lower their weapons. “But stay alert. This might still be a trick. Some kind of magic.”
“What about these?” said one of the troopers, gesturing toward the seated Dwarves.
“Let them stay put,” said the Lieutenant. “As long as they don’t act threatening treat them as guests. And let them use the facilities, bring them water, all the stuff you’d do with someone in your house.”
“Never had any guests looking that shaggy,” said one of the infantrymen, grinning. “They look like a bunch of short street bums.”
“Well they aren’t,” said Mercer in a harsh tone, his Texas drawl becoming stronger. “They appear to be one of the dominant peoples in these parts. Let’s try and stay on the good side of them. We don’t want to bite off any more trouble. I think we already have enough.”
The officer made eye contact with the elfin maiden and gestured toward the company HQ.
“If you would follow me, ma’am.”
The officer received images of gratitude and delight, overlying an undertone of suspicion. He didn’t blame the woman one bit. If what he thought was true they were truly strangers in a strange land. And he knew in many cultures the word for strangers was the same as enemy.
* * *
Archduke Millosa Jakara prepared himself for battle. The Ellala male had seen over two thousand years of existence, of vital and strong youth, a thousand of it on the throne of the Archduchy of Krashnagorda. He was an accomplished Battle Mage and Death Priest, as well as a knight and horseman. But he had never seen anything like what had landed at his door this day. They had just appeared out in the countryside without warning. He had felt the magical emanations of their passage to this world. But very little of a magical nature afterwards.
The other surprise was the actions of these newcomers. They seemed confused at first, but had recovered with remarkable speed. Some had taken food and beverages from the natives they had come across. But there had been no wanton destruction or pillaging as would be expected from an invader. They had not even used force except when the Archduke’s men had unexpectedly attacked them.
And what force they had used. While he could detect no magic from their vehicles and weapons, they were wonders of speed and power. Faster than a horse, one vehicle was able to destroy a company of horsemen within minutes. And the troops using them seemed to be very good at what they did with those weapons. Which was why the Archduke was preparing for battle with not a little bit of trepidation.
I really can’t have too much protection, thought the Ellala noble, saying the words and putting yet another shielding spell over himself. His light, enchanted plate would give much protection against any weapons he was familiar with. But he wasn’t sure how much of the power of this new enemy’s weapons it would blunt. Another inertial shield should take some of the power from anything that was thrown at him. Lastly the Archduke cast a spell over his own flesh, hardening it to the consistency of metal while still retaining its flexibility.
“We are ready, milord,” said one of his men as the noble exited his tent. Outside were arrayed two hundred of his best men-at-arms, all dismounted. A hundred were knights in full plate armor, carrying footman’s lances. The others were bowmen in heavy chain mail. Every piece of armor radiated magical energy, as did their weapons. He knew that over two thousand more troops waited hidden in the surrounding forest. He would first attempt to destroy the military forces facing him with his best, since the other troops were likely to die for nothing. Not that their deaths were a concern, but he would need them to round up the civilians among the invaders, as per the orders of his Emperor.
Jakara nodded to the man who had spoken, a Warrior/Mage by his enchanted armor. The battlemage staff in his hand radiated energy that it was absorbing from the earth. Two dozen magicians arrayed behind him. A half dozen wore the armor of warriors, while the rest wore the robes of scholars, over the light chainmail that even the least of Ellala mages wore into battle. With the exception of the four priests of the Death Gods who wore their black robes that seemed to absorb the light of day, while their very breaths radiated interstellar cold.
“Very good, Hadrasal,” said the noble, nodding to the chief of his warrior/mages. The noble looked to the heavens for a second, feeling the magical power of the sunlight suffusing him. Though a Death Mage by inclination, the Archduke had trained as a Warrior/Mage in his youth, and could still tap the power of light to fuel most of his battle magic. When it came to dealing with the undead now, sun power would not suffice.
“Let us to battle then,” he continued.
The subordinate nodded back and waved a hand in the air. The men perked up at the signal. The dismounted knights moved to the front, marching forward as the Ellala did, silently, without the jingle of harness that marked the passage of the lesser races. They moved in an open rank, five feet between the troops, twenty per column. Thirty feet separated them from the archers, who moved in the same open formation. After the men moved past the mages moved in behind them, in a more circular formation that allowed them to ward all sides of their ranks.
They moved through the trees for five hundred meters, coming to the edge of the large area of farmland where some of the lesser troops, these of the Grogatha people, kept watch on the strangers. There were several hundred of the ugly warriors in evidence, with swarthy skins and tusked mouths, squatting in their scale mail armor, clutching axes in one hand while a wood and leather shield hung over the other arm. A few of them grunted greetings to the Ellala, which for the most part were ignored.
Filthy creatures, thought the Archduke, glaring at the officers of the Grogatha who knelt and bowed their heads. Still useful for doing the dirty work that is beneath us. “Let us finish this,” he yelled to his own people.
Without hesitation the first rank of Ellala warriors moved from the edge of the trees and into the fields. They held their foot lances at a high angle and their tower shields level, looking over the tops of the shields with visored helms.
The Archduke felt out with his mind and found the consciousness of a servant. He transferred his sight to the eagle while keeping enough awareness of the people around him to allow him to march in formation. His mind was filled with the sight of the fine eyed bird, looking down on the fields that the strangers controlled.
He estimated that there were thousands of them out there as he watched the tiny figures moving on the ground. Most of them were gathered toward the center of the farming area, in the tiny village that normally sheltered the small farming folk. Many were outside the buildings, which would never have held their numbers. There was a whole cow roasting on a spit in the village square. Around the village were arrayed the war machines of these people’s warriors. The Archduke, through the eagle’s eyes, could make out some thirty of the machines. About ten were the larger vehicles which mounted the terrible projectile throwers. The rest were the smaller ones that carried foot soldiers, and were armed with rapid firing weapons that could chew up cavalry and ranks of footmen. He thought that his force might be facing about four of the large vehicles, and ten of the smaller, from where they were situated. Not that the rest couldn’t move into range quickly. From what he had seen every vehicle out there was a danger to his soldiers.
“Be prepared to defend our troops,” the noble called out to the rest of his mages as the foot lancers moved into the open. “I’ll handle the offensive spells. If I need help I’ll signal.”
The other mages nodded or gave hand signals of assent, then started to mumble words of power under their breaths. The strangers had started to move as they noticed the Ellala warriors coming out into the open. The unarmed people were running toward the village, those who were outside it. And the soldier’s turned their weapons on the advancing footmen, those who had been standing running and jumping into prepared positions.
They know their business, thought the Ellala noble, as the archers followed the footmen out into the open. Th
e mages began to weave spells while they walked behind the archers, calling into existence walls of force that arrayed in front of the men. And the strangers still had not opened fire. They are very disciplined, these strange warriors. Not a shot was fired as the Ellala advanced. He hoped that their discipline wouldn’t be enough, and was arrogant enough in his own power to know that he would be a match for their unknown technology.
The Archduke raised his hand and brought it down, and the archers stopped, pulled back their bows, and let loose a volley at the closest concentration of strangers. Enchanted arrows, spelled to pierce armor, arched through the air. The strangers huddled low in their holes, while those in vehicles dropped down through their hatches. There was a chattering sound as some of the weapons of the strangers opened fire, flashes of flame appearing at the ends of the long projections on the moving tops of the vehicles.
The arrows plunged down. A couple of the enemy were hit. A man stood and staggered from a hole with an arrow sticking from his back, and another screamed from his position in agony. Other arrows hit vehicles and stuck into their armored skins, but did not penetrate far enough to do any real damage.
And then the storm of stranger fire hit the advancing footmen. It was at first only the hand weapons of the infantry. The projectiles buzzed in by the hundreds. Most of them hit the inertial barrier that the mages had erected in front of the troops and either bounced off or slowed as they penetrated. All of the penetrating rounds bounced from the armor or the shields of the footmen. The Ellala knights pushed onward, though there was some flinching and hesitation as the fewer un-slowed rounds came through and hit hard on shields and armor. But discipline held, or fear of showing cowardice in front of a superior, and the lines advanced while the bowmen put another volley into the air.
The situation changed somewhat as the heavier weapons put their rounds into the target area. These were exploding rounds, and the inertial barrier detonated them at its outer edge. Hundreds of bright little fireballs birthed in the air. Shrapnel fanned out from each burst, most of it caught and slowed by the barrier, some hitting shields and armor. One man cried out as something cut into his face with a splash of blood. A whispered spell and the wound healed, and the Ellala kept up with his fellows.
The Archduke saw some of his mages flinch as the larger rounds hit the barriers, muttering new spells under their breaths. He knew that those rounds had to be carrying a lot of energy and were depleting the barriers of power. He realized it would be a bad idea for a single Ellala to face that fire, no matter his wards, as it would eat through the energy of any single mage in seconds.
As he was thinking this he picked up the larger projectile coming in on his mage sense. It was made of a highly dense material, and he could feel that it would be perfect for taking a magical charge. But he could feel no charge on it. Only the mass that was traveling faster than he had ever known a material object to travel. It hit the inertial barrier with a cracking sound and ricocheted off into the sky. Two of his robed mages almost fell from the impact on the shield, and the Archduke could tell that the projectile had robbed the barrier of much of its energy. And there were sure to be more on the way.
Let’s give them something to think about, he thought as he pulled a black pulsing jewel from his belt pouch. His mind quested over the field until it reached the still warm bodies of the three dead enemy soldiers. With a hastily mumbled spell he placed some of the Death God’s energy in those bodies, then pulled his attention away. He didn’t even have to see them to know that the three corpses were now rising from death as the simplest undead. The zombies would be capable of slow movement, and of tracking down and killing the living. Nothing more. And maybe placing fear in the hearts of their comrades who would see their dead compatriots coming at them. Maybe later he could reanimate some of them as a greater form of undead, but this was all he had time for now.
Another large projectile came in, on a line that would take out several of the footmen. It hit the barrier and was deflected up, plowing through the top edge of a raised shield and taking the head from an Ellala warrior with a spray of blood and brains. The Archduke could feel the ripple of fear from his men as they faced these unknown weapons. And he could feel the power that the mages were hurling to strengthen the inertial shield. He hoped it would be enough, but had no frame of reference to know if that was true.
That was when a quartet of projectiles came through, while the smaller exploding rounds continued to sap energy from the field. Two of the large rounds bounced from the inertial field, while the other two plowed through, losing some of their velocity. The Archduke flinched as one of the rounds smacked through two of the spearmen and on into a Mage. The spearmen blew apart across their bellies and chests, splattering the air with gore as their shoulders, with heads attached, flew upwards and their hips and legs fell to the ground. The shorter Mage was hit in the upper chest. The upper part of his body exploded into a mist that landed on everyone within twenty yards of the Ellala. The lower body jerked backwards from the force and knocked another Mage over.
The second round miraculously missed all of the advancing soldiers and mages. It came within a yard of several men, and the passage of air knocked two of them over. One lay where he fell, while the other struggled to his feet with a dazed expression on his face and blood seeping from his ears.
“We can’t face that, Milord,” called one of the battle mages, his eyes wide.
“Well,” said the Archduke, pulling the power of the sun and earth into his body as he strode forward. “Let’s see if they can face this.”
The Ellala spotted one of the larger war vehicles, the closest he could see. The long projection coming from the turning top of the vehicle was pointed at him, and he could feel the menace of the thing. He knew that within a moment it would fire another of those hellish projectiles, and that it would be coming at him. There would be no stopping this projectile. It would take him out if he didn’t do something first.
Mouthing the quick words of a battle spell, the Ellala noble reached his arm back, feeling the energy gathering within the cup of his hand. The heat built in a fraction of a second, feeling as if it would crisp his hand within a moment. Controlling the energy with his mind, using his body as a symbol, the Archduke threw his arm forward, releasing the energy toward the vehicle and ducking down in the process.
The ball of white hot flame flew toward the war machine, trailing a wavering air of heat as it traveled. The machine fired, its round just missing the fireball, distorting it slightly along the near side. The rushing projectile flew into the mass of Ellala, well over the top of the crouching Archduke, taking the head from an Ellala behind him. And the fireball continued on, striking the front of the war machine. The flame stuck where it hit and rolled up over the vehicle, engulfing it in white hot fire until the entire front of the machine was covered. Metal softened and melted. A human attempted to exit the machine through the top, and caught on fire as soon as he pushed himself up from cover. He continued out, screaming in agony, and fell from the top of the vehicle onto the ground, his clothing and flesh burning away.
Another round speared through the Ellala, killing another four spearmen and an archer. The burning vehicle began to sound with explosions as the fire continued to burn. Hatches on the side blew out with a roar and oily black smoke rose from the war machine.
“The hell with the defensive screen,” yelled the Archduke, glancing at the nearest battle and warrior mages. “Let the others try to defend us. Kill those bastards. Let our defense be an offense.”
The other Ellala roared their approval as another pair of rounds tore through the ranks. Now the Archduke was joined by a half dozen other mages who threw lesser fireballs at the stranger’s vehicles. Super-fast rounds and streaking fireballs flew back and forth between the sides. More Ellala dropped, including a couple of mages. But within moments eight more of the stranger’s war machines were burning. Two more opened fire from positions that had been hidden, striking down more o
f the Ellala soldiers. Then those two joined the funeral pyres that burned in the enemy lines.
The Archduke screamed his triumph as the surviving enemy vehicles pulled back, continuing to fire as they moved away. He launched a fireball at another, only to see the ball exploded part way to the target, and a streaking projectile continue through from where it had detonated the magical force. The round struck the ground in front of the Ellala, flew back into the air, and bounced from the magical shield in front of the soldiers, flying up into the air.
The Archduke’s scream of triumph was echoed by those surrounding him. Then the triumph turned into screams of surprise and pain as something dropped on the Ellala from above. All the Archduke could remember later was something was exploding in puffs of flame above his men. Ellala started yelling and screaming as wounds opened on arms and legs, and blood spurted from bodies as something penetrated their armor. Jakara stopped his incantation as pain hit his hand, just before he could bring it forward to throw a fireball. The energy evaporated as he lost concentration, and he brought his hand forward before staring eyes, to see a large gash that went all the way through the member. He held the hand to his chest as something else hit hard on his helmet and knocked him to his knees.
The ground exploded in the ranks of the troops, and men and pieces of men were thrown into the air. The Archduke tried to scramble to his feet but could not find the strength. Hands grasped him under the arms and pulled him back. He was aware that the mass of his men were going back to the woods, and could hear the cries of pain from those left behind in the churning cauldron of death that was the field.
“Send forward the lesser troops,” he gasped to those dragging him back. “Send them in to attack the strangers. And raise those who have fallen on both sides. Let’s see how this enemy likes seeing the dead come at them.”
Refuge: The Arrival: Book 1 Page 11