Looking over the battlefield, he noticed a knot of Golden gathering at his army’s right flank.
“Look there. Someone is organizing them for a counter.” He pointed with his sword. “Tarol, find some archers and see if you can slow them down. Keep your dwarves pressing forward along with the shapeshifters, Razel. I’ll gather some warriors and cut this group off.”
“And what of me?” Verdant asked. The priest’s hair was wild and his hands and robes were caked with blood, but his gaze was steady. Bravery comes in all sorts of packages, Dain thought with an inward smile.
“See to those you can. I know you don’t have much strength left, but every little bit helps.”
With a nod, Verdant hurried off.
As predicted, the reformed Golden began to flank the combined army. Tarol’s archers sent arrow after arrow into them, but the disciplined Golden interlocked their shields, preventing any serious losses. Along with a few wood elves and miners he managed to rally, Dain rushed the formation, sword glowing anew.
Don’t just knock the vase off the table, shatter it completely.
With a hoarse roar, he slapped a long spear aside then brought his blade down on the nearest shield. The elf holding it slammed back, knocking aside many of his fellows. Dain pressed into the gap. Clutching their shields in one hand and spears in the other, the elves were unable to reach him. He pivoted to his left, hacking and chopping at the tightly packed soldiers. His troops behind followed suit, wedging themselves into the gap he had left until at last the Golden broke formation, abandoned their spears, and drew swords for close combat. Battlelines collapsed as the combatants intermixed and fought in a reckless melee.
At some point Dain stopped thinking. There wasn’t time. He had to move quickly from enemy to enemy. The world appeared through a haze of red, and his weapons seemed to flow as extensions of his arms rather than discrete objects. Thrust, block, slash—training had taken over completely.
Dain felt the heat as a small fireblast caught his shoulder. His spellshields guarded him from most of the damage, but not all and the searing pain made him cry out and drop his tomahawk. A dark-robed mage stood facing him less than twenty feet away.
“You, human, could only be Dain, the princekiller,” the mage said.
“I don’t discriminate between commoner or nobleman. Although recently, I do seem to specialize in royals and mages. You have the advantage of me, though. I don’t know your name,” Dain responded. He squared himself to the spellcaster. Out of the mage’s view, he eased his dagger from its sheath with his wounded arm.
“I am Slerian. I tracked you back to these lands, human. And if you’ve killed Blythe, my master, you have done me a service. King Elam will praise me dearly if I bring him your head. Perhaps I will be appointed as the new High Mage.”
“Are you sure either of you will be alive when this day ends?”
“Neither peasant magics or this ragtag army will stop m—”
A shock of Light hammered against Slerian’s side. The mage turned and raised his hands to ward off the blast, but Dain’s thrown dagger took him in the shoulder.
Screaming in pain, Slerian lost focus as the Light overwhelmed him. His lifeless body fell and rolled down into a nearby ditch. Brown mud covered him.
Verdant approached, palms still raised from his casting, eyes wide. Dain felt his face break out into a wide grin.
“I…I never took a life.” Verdant looked crestfallen.
Dain’s smile fell; he started to make his way toward the priest. “It was him or me,” he called out, “I thank you, Verdant.”
“What did I do? I only meant to stun hi—”
Two red bladepoints burst from Verdant’s chest. Dain screamed. The priest fell to his knees, a look of blank horror on his face. A slight, blond-haired elf with icy blue eyes stood behind him. She wore bloodstained leather from neck to toe. She was smiling.
Still too far away, Dain could do nothing but watch his friend die.
“Ahh, my first human. Thank you,” he heard the elf say. She withdrew the daggers and laughed.
Verdant twisted around to face his killer. He coughed, frothy blood bubbling out of his mouth. The blonde, still holding her bloodied daggers, wrapped her arms around Verdant, leaned over, and kissed his cheek with cherry red lips, then rose up and kicked him down into the muddy field.
“Now Dain, at last it is our turn.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Elam followed the golden elf foot soldiers down through the blasted gates into the city below.
He stood just outside the cavern for a time and watched his men advance through the city. Teran appeared empty—its streets and homes all seemed abandoned, but hidden archers lurked on rooftops or near shadowed windows, picking off an occasional soldier and causing the rest to scurry for cover. Most often, they would attack a group when they tried crossing one of the city’s web-like bridges or descending a long ladder, and for each of Elam’s soldiers they killed with an arrow, another would plunge to their death. Still his men made progress.
Somehow, he had expected more. Either the wood elves were much fewer in number than he’d believed, or they had somehow evaded him. No matter, they won’t make it far. I’ll hunt them down like the vermin they are.
Elam led his men onward through the city in hopes of finding and cutting off all routes of escape. Encountering only the token resistance from the wood elf archers, the Golden army worked its way down, lower and lower, into the canyon city. At the water’s edge, they continued downriver with the current until arriving at a massive stone castle. Here, resistance stiffened. Elam found his soldiers pinned down by archers and heavy ballistas. He took shelter with them behind a tall, stone granary nearby.
“Teldrain…Teldrain if you’re in there it’s over. I have won,” he yelled. “Surrender now and I will allow your people to gather and leave. You can take everything you can carry, provided you depart the valley forever.”
Elam had no intention of honoring that promise. Once the wood elves were out from behind their defenses, he could run them down and enslave them in one easy group. Their labor would build his kingdom that much faster.
By way of response, a heavy ballista bolt shot out at the corner of the granary. The powerful bolt tore a shield-sized fragment out of the building. Showers of fragmented rock sprayed outward and then a million grains of wheat drained out of the granary like a burst dam. After several minutes, the flow stopped and left a cloud of fine powdery dust hanging in the air. Several troops nearby sneezed after breathing the dust, and it coated their armor in a thin, brown film.
Elam was about to laugh at the pitiful efforts of the trapped wood elves when a single wood elf archer rose up from the nearest tower and sent a flaming arrow into the cloud.
The flame touched the dry dust, and the air exploded with the force of a mage’s fireblast.
Elam’s armor, enchanted by his kingdom’s finest mages and smiths, would protect him from most spells, but this explosion wasn’t magical in nature. The armor only partially deflected the blast, and the shockwave hurled him into the river.
Sudden immersion in the cold water blew the air from his lungs, and his sight grew dim as he dropped into the river’s icy depths. He tried to work his limbs, to swim to the surface, but couldn’t manage to move.
Guards rushed in after him, trying to help him against the weight of his heavy, steel armor. Despite the water’s numbing chill, he felt their hands tugging on his shoulders. After great effort, a group of them finally dragged him to shore.
The blast had singed the proud ruler’s hair. Even his eyebrows were burnt. He hunched over on hands and knees, retching the water from his lungs and gasping for breath. His armor and the soaked padding beneath weighed a ton, and water dripped and dribbled out of its overlapped joints.
Cursing, Elam stood, drew his sword, and swung it overhead to signal his mages. He split them into three groups to hit the castle from several angles at once. He wanted that damn door
down. Teldrain had just tried to kill him. Slaves be damned, he would allow no survivors.
“Bring it down!” he yelled.
The spellcasters obeyed his command, throwing a stream of spells at the castle door. The enchanted gate absorbed the first few blasts, rune wards glowing on the door. Their color changed over time from a deep blue to a whiter shade and, when they turned pure, brilliant white a narrow wave of energy flashed out toward the nearest group of mages.
Elam watched in horror as it sliced through them and the heavy wooden cart they had sheltered themselves behind. A lucky few managed to duck out of the spell’s deadly path, but with their shelter reduced, these were soon cut down by the cursed archers.
The door’s runes darkened back to their original blue. They started growing lighter again as the surviving mages continued to cast against it anew. One of the mages recognized what was happening and barked orders at his fellows to change tactics. Their spells slackened, then stopped, and the runes darkened again.
Instead of attacking the protected entrance directly, a mage lifted a spent ballista bolt and held it with an unseen planar force. Two more used their own spells behind it, launching the projectile toward the gate. Like a battering ram, the bolt smashed into it. The runes stayed dark. Three more mages took up a second bolt and flung it after the first.
The rune-warded gate held against the first four. They stuck in the thick wood like an enormous archery target. The fifth splintered the wood and shattered the rune markings. One of the golden mages concentrated a stream of green arcane fire directly on the door’s hinges, superheating them until they glowed white-hot.
Even from a distance, Elam felt the spell’s heat. He and his troops covered their faces to protect themselves. The stream continued until at last Elam saw molten slag drip from the hinges then heard a loud crash as the gate, weighed down with the stuck ballista bolts, fell open.
“Now!” he shouted. On his order, the first wave of soldiers stormed ahead.
That first wave died under a hailstorm of arrows and ballista bolts before clearing even half the distance. The next group breached the gate, turned, and began fighting their way up onto the ramparts, searching out the concealed archers and ballista teams. Elam took his guards through only after an armored footman climbed atop the wall and signaled that it was theirs. Their hard-soled shoes clacked on the stone pavement—Teldrain’s pavement, thought Elam with a grin—that would soon be his own.
Inside the castle stretched a broad courtyard. There he found chaos.
Everywhere he looked golden elf soldiers fought, unorganized and frantic and warring against the landscaping itself.
A strange, gold and auburn leafed tree bent its branches low and batted at one of his soldiers. The man flew toward the outer wall, crashed with a meaty slap, and collapsed in a heap of shattered armor. Other mangled corpses of metal and flesh lay scattered nearby. The power required to throw an armored soldier so far was beyond Elam’s imagining. Dozens of the animated trees fought against his troops, sweeping their limbs like brooms and throwing his men aside as if they were discarded breadcrumbs.
A few soldiers avoided the limbs. They moved to hack at the tree’s trunks, but rose bushes, planted in circles near the tree’s roots, lashed out with their thorns. They reached for open faceplates, eye slits, and necklines. Any exposed flesh seemed fair game. Men went down screaming, rolling on the grass, clutching their bleeding faces.
Finally, a pair of golden mages climbed atop the outer wall and threw lightning down on the deadly trees. As their spells landed, trunks shattered and sent bark flying outward. The unfortunate soldiers caught standing too near were killed or maimed, pin-cushioned with thousands of splinters, some as large as a man’s hand.
In the center of the chaos and carnage was Teldrain. The wood elf king sat near a waterless fountain, surrounded by a half-dozen spellcasters of his own.
Elam had less talent for casting than most, but even he could feel the group’s power. They all concentrated on a single spell. A casting focused not on the courtyard or even the city. Whatever they attempted had to be stopped. He and his guards would deal with them. He wanted to face Teldrain himself with a fervor that bordered on desperation. He imagined the retelling of this battle. Generations would hear of his fight. How he met the wood elf king, felled him, and took the victory.
But before he could meet his rival, he needed to clear a path through the castle’s defenders. Elam waved his sword, catching the attention of a mage atop the wall.
“You there! Clear me a path to that group of wood elves,” he called.
The mage complied and brought down two of the large trees that had blocked the Elam’s way. With another wave of his sword, he led his guards charging toward the wood elf casters.
Less than a dozen strides remained between himself and Teldrain when a huge fur-covered claw reached out and slapped him violently.
For a brief moment, Elam felt himself flying, and then he landed with a solid thud. All around him he heard his guards screaming. Some great beast roared, loud enough to rattle his breastplate. He tasted dirt and spat out a mouthful of black soil. Tilting his head, he saw two of his guardsmen sprawled beside him. Their helms were dented and neither appeared to be breathing. He knew he had been lucky not to have his own skull broken as well. Trying to rise and face his attacker, his head spun. A calloused hand seized on his arm and one of his guards helped him to his feet. Two more fought against a monstrous black bear.
The huge animal stood taller than a horse. Long ivory teeth flashed when it opened its mouth and black claws sharper than swords extended from its paws. It stationed itself between Elam and Teldrain, protecting the wood elf king and his mages.
Elam’s own protectors moved nearer to the beast. One unfortunate guard miss-stepped on a stone, and when it rolled under his foot, fell too close. Reacting with a speed that seemed impossible for its size, the bear seized the guard’s helmet in its huge jaws and crushed it with no more effort than Elam would have expended eating a grape. His luckier comrade lunged in with a spear, stabbing at the bear’s thick hide. The spear had no discernable effect. The beast countered with a swipe and caught the elf with its long claws, shredding the plate armor and the tender flesh beneath.
Bellowing a challenge, the bear slammed into the sole remaining guard, the one who had earlier helped Elam to his feet. He tumbled and the bear stepped on him with a front paw the size of a shield. His armor first cracked like a broken eggshell then buckled under the weight of the animal.
With no other threats remaining, the dread beast turned its attention to Elam. He loped toward him.
Elam turned the bear aside with a slash of his sword. His enchanted blade fared far better than the simpler weapons of his guards, and a satisfying line of blood trickled from its furry snout.
Wary now, the great beast circled, staying well out of range. Elam held his family blade before him, ready to meet the attack sure to come. He would teach this beast the meaning of strength.
“It is finished,” he heard Teldrain announce.
“Yes, it is,” Elam responded without looking. He dared not take his eyes off the bear. “My troops hold the city and yours have been defeated, wood elf. It is finished, and I have won. Your pet here only delays the inevitable.”
“No you have lost, Elam,” Teldrain said, his voice sounding almost sad. “Look behind you, over the wall, and know your doom.”
Sensing a trick but unable to resist, Elam looked back at his troops. His men, he was pleased to see, continued battling all around the courtyard. Only a few of the murderous trees remained, and more of his soldiers poured through the destroyed gates, streaming in to help their comrades.
He heard the roar then. Not from the bear this time—it sounded like a waterfall, but a thousand times larger somehow. He turned his head further to get a better look, and felt the color drain from his face.
Above the gate, a turbulent wall of blue and white-capped water rose hundreds o
f feet to the canyon rim itself. It rushed toward the castle, swallowing Teran’s buildings one after another in its churning waters.
“You…you have killed us all!” Elam shouted.
“Yes,” Teldrain replied, smiling, as the thundering wall of water swept into the courtyard.
Sera led the last group of refugees out the long, dark tunnel and toward the light.
From below the tunnel’s mouth had been just a small point of blue sky. The wood elves climbed steadily higher for the last hour, step-by-step, with their eyes fixed on it. Some of the older elves leaned on younger family members for support. Many of the children had been exited when they began, but by the end, their parents had ended up carrying all but the hardiest few.
At the top, a narrow path snaked its way through the trees and wound off to the south. Carhein, a small village, lay that way.
At the path’s beginning, Selasa and Jin waited. Previous refugees had pressed down a carpet of grass and weeds and fallen leaves into a spongy mat.
Sera took the final step out of the dark and joined them. Fresh, cool air blew over her face. The breeze was a welcome relief. A strange sound followed her and it took her a moment to identify it. From back in the tunnel below, water gurgled and echoed. She looked down, but could see nothing in the inky blackness.
Her ancestors, after building the tunnel to bring in supplies for the castle’s construction, had hidden the lower entrance in a dizzying maze of burial chambers and secret rooms behind the castle’s courtyard. Fearing flooding, it was a quarter of the distance up the cliff wall from the river. If water was in the tunnel, as it sounded, then all of Teran was submerged.
What of those who were still in the city? Her father, and many others, remained there.
“Mother, what of father? Will he soon rejoin us?” she asked.
“The king knew his fate, as did I,” Selasa said softly. “He accepted it for the good of his people.”
Kingdom's Forge: Book 01 - Paladin's Redemption Page 33