When they arrived at the front, they sat their horses and studied the interwoven wall of branches, trunks, and leaves that the desperate wood elves had raised. Clever of them, growing a grove like this to cover their retreat. Cleverer still to have their mages shield it from his own casters. It had been years since Elam had seen Teldrain, but back then the man certainly hadn’t impressed him. These defenses seemed quite beyond the wood elf he remembered. Still they mattered little. The Golden could simply hold their defensive position and allow Gallad to complete the siege. They could do that, but this close to victory, Elam wanted to face his enemies. To do so he had to get through this forest barrier and into their hiding place.
“Hiding like rats,” he said to Slerian. The mage stood at his horse’s shoulder. His dark robes billowed around him, masking his features in shadow. Blythe had left the younger mage in charge of his fellows.
“Yes, my king. As you ordered, I maintained a pair of mages casting fireblasts and lightning at it all night. The wood elves shielding the wall are exhausted. We can use our rested spellcasters to open a hole at your command,” Slerian responded.
Elam heard in the young mage’s voice his eagerness to test his strength against the wood elves. Mages were ever wanting to compare their power against others. They thought themselves better than common soldiers, but men will be men, always wanting to know or argue over who is the stronger.
“You may begin,” he ordered.
Slerian waved to a gathering of mages nearby, signaling the attack.
With his command, dozens of yellow and orange fireblasts sailed toward the barrier. They rose from each caster’s hands in slow arcs, sooty smoke trailing in their wakes, and crashed down on the enemy’s invisible shield. The majority of the blasts were scattered, deliberately so, but Slerian had five of his strongest casters target a specific section of the trees directly ahead.
Elam saw his strategy. He smiled to himself. The wood elves might be clever but his people were cleverer still. Slerian would stretch the enemy’s strength over the entire forest wall, weakening it by drawing their shields thinner, while his strongest casters focused pressure on the center and broke through.
Under the concentrated bombardment, the wood elves’ shields held out for just ten minutes before the first blast broke through. It flew straight—red and blue flames spiraling outward—crashing into a section of wall and engulfing it. The flames caught and, half an hour after the spells began, lead elements of Elam’s army poured through a wide breach. Elam and Canby tried to peer though themselves, eager to see what lay beyond, but the smoke from the fires limited their vision. Instead, they watched row after row of troops form up and march unimpeded into the gap.
Satisfied with the army’s progress, the king returned to his command tent. He paced outside. Fifteen precise steps in each direction followed by a sharp turn, the same as his royal audience hall. By sunset, the battle would be over. He was eager for it. He felt the cruel bite of age in his hands and in his tired muscles after each long ride. His armor was stifling. Men his age shouldn’t be out leading armies.
News from the front seemed agonizingly slow. His patience, so strong weeks ago, had waned with their arrival at Teran. A long hour passed as his men continued pushing on through the breach and out of his sight.
Finally, he spotted a single scout returning from the front lines. The campaign’s previous battles and raids had proven costly to the scouts; less than a dozen now remained. He had relegated the survivors to courier status. He needed to keep vital information flowing between his divided army.
“Reports from the front, my king,” the scout said.
“Go on, then.”
“The lead footmen are now two miles beyond this boundary and, as of yet, no resistance has been encountered. Remnants of an abandoned camp are evident, including some crude fortifications, but no wood elves.”
“How many of our troops are through?” Elam asked Canby, standing at his side.
“Fully a thousand infantry by my count, sire.”
“Pull them back. Teran is the prize, and once Gallad breaches it this war is over. We will join up with him to hasten the city’s downfall. If Teldrain wants to flee like the coward he is, we will let him.”
“I will carry the orders myself,” Canby said, mounting his horse. “These tired bones of mine could use a brisk ride.”
The general had been gone but a few minutes when a second scout reported in. This one didn’t arrive through the barrier, coming instead from the opposite direction.
“I have reports from both Prince Gallad and High Mage Blythe, my lord. Prince Gallad has met heavy resistance at the city gates. His mages are destroying structures down inside the canyon from the ledge above, but the gate itself is in an underground cave. He is unable to flank it and can only take it by direct assault. So far the wood elves have repelled him,” the scout said.
“Is he able to drop troops over the canyon rim, then attack it from behind?” Elam asked. Between Gallad’s bastard child with the wood elf slave and now his failure to enter the city, his oldest son seemed incapable of success. That isn’t entirely true, he reminded himself. Gallad had driven the damned orcs back.
“No sire, he has tried sending men over, but concealed archers in the city pick them off before they can reach the edge.”
“And Blythe?”
“The raiders continue to flee. The High Mage has closed the gap and should catch them before nightfall.”
“Good, I will send instructions to Blythe. He is to rejoin us once he has fini—”
Thunderous explosions from beyond the green barrier interrupted Elam. Great chunks of sod erupted and smoke rose in thick, black plumes from behind the line of stocky oaks. As he looked on, searching for the attackers or some sign of what had happened, the gap in the barrier filled once again with growing trees. Those troops caught mid-breach were torn apart by flying limbs and trunks.
One in particular stood out.
Held high aloft by a thick branch, General Canby rose through the air. He screamed at first, and then fell silent. His head fell limp against his chest. A branch punctured through his midsection then expanded, cutting him in half. His legs fell to the ground while his head and chest remained caught by the oak like some proud, grim trophy.
Tears welled up in Elam’s eyes. What a disgrace, a great leader like Canby, one who had survived so much, dead at the hands of some petty wood elf trickery. Teldrain had neither honor nor decency.
“Form up!” Elam roared to his remaining soldiers. The soldiers moved into ranks and faced the living wall. His personal guards formed into a tight circle around him, watching every direction at once. Would the follow-up that was sure to come be directed at him or those now trapped on the wall’s far side.
Soon he had his answer. Steel began to ring out followed by battle cries on the wall’s opposite side.
“Slerian, take that wall down again,” he ordered.
“But sire, the mages are tired from this morning’s work,” the mage responded.
Elam glared at him balefully. He would ride the mage down himself if he chose his next words poorly.
“But…Of course, we will do what we can,” the mage said, bowing.
“I do not care how tired they are. I will have you flogged and then quartered if that gap remains closed,” Elam said. He wasn’t about to let Teldrain take his army. He burned to meet Teran’s ruler personally, to carve out his heart, but only after showing him Teran’s destruction.
Slerian spurred his horse toward the front, adding his own spells to those of his fellows. Again, the wood elves shielded the living wall. Fireblast met spellshield for hours until, at last, the shields failed once more. After blazing another gap in the wall, Elam rushed his troops through. Less than a two-dozen wounded and bloodied soldiers remained on the other side, a pitiful remnant. Only his arrival saved them and forced the quick retreat of the wood elves.
Teldrain had taken another thousand of his soldier
s. Elam had taken a risk to try and face his adversary directly, and the wood elves had made him pay for it. Unwilling to risk further troops, he maneuvered his army closer to Gallad’s own while his son besieged the city gates.
So be it, he decided. Teldrain will watch, helpless, as his city burns. The army settled onto a low hill in a defensive position.
He entered his tent to brood alone. Guarded by four of his finest guardsmen, Koren met him there. He had forgotten his venomous daughter was being kept inside.
“Not going as planned, father?” she asked.
Elam slapped her with a vicious backhand. His armored gauntlet hit with the unyielding force of a hammer. She fell and cursed him. Locks of blond hair covered her face, but he could feel her eyes on him. One hand wiped a crimson smear from the corner of her mouth and now she remained silent.
His rage needed a better outlet. One that would scream out and give him a measure of satisfaction.
Leaving Slerian in charge of the defenses, with strict orders to watch after his bitter daughter and not to venture out, Elam looked for Gallad. His personal guards and a group of mages joined him.
He found his son in the cave, sheltered behind a large pile of rubble. Gallad looked weary. The prince spoke before Elam could express his disappointment.
“Father, the gates are much stronger than we anticipated. We can only descend in single file, but there is a small, sheltered rally point near the bottom chamber. There is a chasm with only narrow bridge crossing and the defenders are holding a stone wall behind it. From its shelter, their archers pick off most of my men whenever we try to rush them. I need more mages to punch through,” Gallad said, smacking his open palm with a closed fist.
His words drew the fire out of Elam. The old king’s shoulders sagged, and he drew nearer to study the situation with a tactician’s eye. The layout of the cave was as Gallad described. Hundreds of dead and dying elves lay littered on the floor along with thousands of arrows. He heard several whistle overhead. Most clattered against the cave’s wall, hitting nothing, but there were grunts behind him where a lucky few found their marks.
“I left Slerian in a strong defensive position with the remainder of my forces, but I have almost two dozen mages with me,” Elam said. He did not miss the widening of his son’s eyes at the word remainder. “You there, guard, go and gather the mages and lead them down here. I want that gate blown apart.”
After a short time, the spellcasters arrived and then grouped together at the cave’s bottom in the shelter of a cone-shaped stalagmite. Gallad and Elam watched from the rubble. While they gathered, Elam prayed to his dear wife Verna’s spirit for a blessing. He wasn’t normally given to prayer, but on the edge of his greatest victory, it seemed appropriate.
When the mages were prepared, they moved in a single, bunched group toward the narrow bridge and the defenders beyond. Four of their number shielded their comrades from enemy spells, while another group used buffeting wind spells to deflect the constant flights of wood elf arrows. The remainder pounded the stone wall’s center with fire and lightning. Arrows, ballista bolts, and an occasional spell flew from the wall, all focused on the golden elf casters, but only the rarest few got through.
Slowly, methodically, the mages advanced closer, first crossing the bridge and then continuing until less than a hundred yards remained to the wall. From that range their fireblasts hammered the gate, heating it to a bright cherry red. The shielding mages began to tire and the storm of arrows continued. Half of the mages fell, but at last, the steel groaned and then split in half and caved inward as they shattered the last of the wood elf defenses.
Elam and his son shared a private, victorious smile when they heard the gate’s crash.
“Father, you should be the one to lead our troops into the city. I will remain here, securing the entrance.”
“If you wish it, Gallad. The day’s victory is yours, though,” Elam responded. He clapped his son on the back. He had been wrong to doubt him. “Tonight I will hold a feast in your honor, with Teldrain’s own food and at his own table. Together we will watch this city burn.”
Through Baylest’s sightglass, Dain studied the golden elf army stationed at Teran’s entrance.
Earlier, he’d watched the majority of their troops descend through the cave and into the city. The cave could not have held so many, he knew. The gates had fallen. Teran’s defenders would be fighting in the city’s streets and homes now.
Teldrain’s remaining soldiers, Galena’s armed miners, and Dain’s own few surviving raiders were all under his command now. Combined, the wood elves and recovered miners numbered just over two thousand. An equal number of golden elves protected the entrance.
Thus far, the plan had worked. Elam’s massive war machine had been drawn out, cut apart, and then destroyed piecemeal. Teldrain hadn’t explained his plan’s full details, saying only that he would deal with the Golden who entered the city before he and a few hundred other wood elves had departed. Dain had been charged first with the destruction of any enemy above, and then to protect the civilians fleeing the city. They were being evacuated through an escape tunnel on the canyon’s far side, well away from both his troops and the Golden. Teldrain’s great castle in the canyon below guarded the tunnel’s lower entrance. The king said that Sera and the queen would be leading the women, children, and elderly to safety, and Dain had ordered Breen to take a patrol and circle around after them. Her sister, Myria, hadn’t survived the hilltop battle’s conclusion, but Breen fought on with the grim determination of the grief-numbed.
After the battle, Dain found his faith renewed in the Creator and in his Light and even in himself. Faith gave birth to hope. Perhaps there was a way to survive this. His allies certainly thought so.
Despite being heavily outnumbered atop the hill the wood elves had fought on, holding out against overwhelming odds until aid arrived. He’d seen desperation not in his own men’s faces, but in those of their enemies. The Golden couldn’t imagine a people who refused to yield to them, couldn’t understand their fierce determination to fight to the end. They feared it.
Dain would use that fear against every last one of them.
“Most even battle of the war,” he told Drogan.
“I’d rather have the numbers on our side,” the miner responded dryly. He shrugged.
“Time to end this,” Dain said. He signaled the attack.
The few mages at this command started to cast. An unnatural bank of thick, wet fog began drifting over the battlefield. The Golden would know an attack was coming, but with the fog on all sides, there was nothing they could do. Casting blind or striking with arrows would accomplish nothing.
Dain’s army stalked along with the fog. When they crept within range, he ordered his own archers to begin their volleys and heard the crisp twang of bowstrings as they sent the first deadly missiles into the massed Golden. The wood elves, unlike the invaders, knew exactly where their enemy was.
He held his troops for a moment, waiting for the third volley. When it was in flight, he drew his sword.
“For Teran!” he yelled, plunging ahead. Hundreds of voices took up the war cry and as one the stalking army broke into a run toward enemy lines. This time, they would get close enough that their mages and archers would be unable to cast or shoot for fear of hitting their own.
Dain’s lungs burned as he raced forward. The heavy hilts of his sword and tomahawk felt good, felt ready for the battle ahead. Arrows whistled around him. He saw little of them but white fletchings. As he ran the first armored soldier rose up in his path, spear held before him. He parried the spear’s steel tip aside, waded in closer, and lashed out with the tomahawk. The defending spearman collapsed, his throat slit open.
Beside him, Drogan knocked another defender down with his mining pick. The mine owner leaned in, driving the heavy, spiked point through the elf’s breastplate. Off to the left, Razel led a wedge formation of dwarves into an uneven line of swordsmen. The short, bearded fighters
sang a hymn of battle and waded into the enemy, looking as if they were barely breathing hard.
A knot of Golden rushed closer then, trying to overwhelm him. Dain charged the longsword with Light before swinging it. The glowing blade connected with three of his attackers, sending them flying. He chopped down through the visor of another with his tomahawk. When the final elf gouged a deep wound in his arm he lost his grip on the short weapon.
Pivoting quickly about, he lashed out with the glowing sword and tried to force his opponent back. After seeing what the weapon had done to his comrades, the panicked elf sprang backward and tripped over a fallen soldier. Dain had no mercy left in him. He pounced, driving the sword into the unlucky elf’s chainmail.
“Hold!” Verdant’s voice called from behind. Other than his marred face, the curly haired priest looked fully recovered from yesterday’s wounds. A pair of purple and yellowed bruises stood out on his forehead and one eye remained blackened. He shuffled up to Dain, examined the cut on his arm, then placed a healing spell on it. Wood elves rushed past the pair like a river and pushed the fighting forward while paladin and priest took a moment’s respite.
“I don’t have the strength to heal it outright, not after yesterday’s efforts, but at least you won’t bleed to death,” Verdant said while Dain retrieved his tomahawk and sheathed the weapon in his belt. Prince Tarol and Razel approached, their weapons shouldered but crimson-stained. Both were smiling.
“We have them running now,” Tarol said. “Their right side is in complete disarray and the main body is pulling back.”
“Not bad for a bunch of worthless miners and flowery wood elves,” Razel said.
“Not bad at all,” Dain responded. “We haven’t seen many of their mages yet, though.”
“Maybe they’re all down in the city,” Tarol ventured, his brow darkening.
“Indeed,” Dain said. He wished Teldrain luck if that were true. The wood elf king might have a greater challenge than he had planned on.
Kingdom's Forge: Book 01 - Paladin's Redemption Page 32