by Greg Curtis
The other realms surrounding the necromancer’s home had been equally hard hit. Gaulda to the east and the Soollini Woods to the north west were both abandoned, and Heartsong even further to the north west was being evacuated, something that he had never before heard of. Not even during the necromancer’s last attack. Elves did not abandon their homes and the dragons and their emissaries had surely had their work cut out for them in persuading them to go. He did not like the elves particularly, but still flying over their realms as he had from time to time, he couldn’t help but feel that they were a sadder place for their absence. But they too would return. If they won.
“Master Feralis?”
Alan started as the woman’s voice came from behind him as he was just beginning to enjoy his nap in the last of the sunshine. Then he started again as he realised the woman had called him master, and that was the last thing he would ever call himself.
He might be a powerful spellcaster, heir to ancient druidic magic, but that was nowhere near the same thing as a master. Wisdom as Ant kept telling him, was far more important, and that came in turn from knowledge and experience which he didn’t yet have. His father as he recalled had told him the same thing many times, mostly about his swordsmanship. No matter how good you were with a blade, in battle wisdom and experience counted. Besides, what sort of master would find himself trapped in a shape? He turned around to tell her that, and then to tell her to go away so he could return to his nap as it had already been a long day. Then he got his first look at her.
“Sweet lord!” She was a dark elf, and that he hadn’t expected. He knew others of his people were coming, but he had thought he had another day or three until they arrived. Apparently he was wrong, and one of them was already there, standing before him in open view.
“You are of my mother’s people. You’re a dark elf!” Despite himself he couldn’t help but state the perfectly obvious. Clearly all his lessons in self-control and thinking before he spoke had been a waste of time and Ant would no doubt have words with him if he ever found out. When he found out. He always seemed to know.
“Of course. I am Verial Moonglow of Flinder’s Shard, neophyte of the Order of Sera, and I am honoured to meet you.” If he’d been shocked by everything that had happened up until then, he was left all but flattened by her next act as she curtseyed to him, and he wondered if he was going mad. It took a long time for him to even bring his thoughts together in some sort of order to even respond, and then what came out sounded like the rantings of the deranged.
“Please, I am only a neophyte myself. You do me too much honour.” By the Lady he wanted to rip his own tongue out as he said it, but he was already too late. And how was she understanding his dragonesque gruntings anyway? She was new to the lair. But then he swiftly realised the answer. She was one of the House as well. One of the queen’s favoured spellcasters. And possibly a druid of the First Kingdom like him.
“You have conversed with the Mother herself. My own master would tan my skin if I spoke to you discourteously.” Yet at least as she said it she straightened up to stare him directly in the eye, and he got his first good look at another dark elf in the flesh. Those few others he had met, other than his family, had all been hidden or concealed in some way or another. None had been able to stare at him directly, always seeming to be on the balls of their feet, ready to flee at the slightest noise. Verial Moonglow was nothing like them.
She was very pretty too he noticed. Tall and thin, and with the copper of her skin almost glowing orange in the late afternoon sun. White teeth, a rosy blush of health in her cheeks and a glorious smile, she was almost a vision of what a dark elf maiden should be. Except for her clothing. Armour made of soft tanned leather and leaves, vest and skirt underneath of undyed cotton washed in rivers and rain but not soap, a spear in her hand, well-crafted but with a sharpened greenstone for a tip instead of metal. That wasn’t very elven. But in time he realised she wasn’t a pure dark elf.
Her eyes were blue instead of green, and her ears had little wedges cut out of them, and he realised that she, like him, was of mixed blood. But unlike him, her blood line was at least in part, dryad, a people who for all their decency, didn’t tend to mix with others. They had their own distinct values, living close to the land, preserving and protecting it always as their first law, and most others couldn’t accept their ways to the same extent. They couldn’t live in such a society. At the very least they missed their houses and so many of their trade goods, not to mention metal tips for their weapons and knives.
Then again, as Dava had said so many months before, maybe the dark elves and the dryads had more in common than they realised. The same magic and the same skin hue, and as Sera had told him only a few days before, many of the same values. Take away the towns and cities that the dark elves had once known, as they had been taken away from them, and the differences became minor indeed. Sometimes it took a stranger to see the obvious.
“Then please call me Alan and allow me the privilege of calling you Verial my Lady.” He bowed to her as best he was able, and at least he didn’t fall over. With such a long neck it was always a risk for him as he kept forgetting to stretch out his tail to counterbalance the weight.
“I shall surely do as you ask though it is you who does me too much honour.” She bowed deeply to him in turn, a graceful gesture that reminded him of a dancer, and which as her soft leather breast piece and vest fell away from her skin, showed him that she was most truly a woman. A very desirable woman. Despite the rudeness of it, he couldn’t stop staring at her, stunned by the way her breasts hung free under her clothes, her nipples so dark and inviting as they poked through her vest, and he wanted nothing more than to hold them. In truth though, he wanted much more than that and he could feel his blood stirring in ways he hadn’t known before, not in a lot of months. It was a terrible disappointment to him when she finally straightened up.
“How may I serve you Verial?” It was funny how his throat seemed to have dried up in mere seconds, leaving him rasping, but at least he managed to ask the question.
“My master, Harryad Hawkswood sent me to ask you if you would join him and the others on the western ledge. He has heard much about you and is anxious to make your acquaintance.” Of course he realised, she hadn’t come alone, and there were more dark elves to meet. Suddenly Alan couldn’t wait to meet them either.
“Of course Verial. Please lead the way.” He didn’t need her to as he knew his way through the new lair perfectly by then, but it was politeness, and his own father would have spoken to him for days about it if he had dared to slight a guest or a lady. Besides, he realised as he followed her off the terrace and into the tunnels, it gave him an unexpected treat as he watched her walk in front of him, and realised once more, she was a woman. The gentle swaying of her hips was almost mesmerising, like that of a mouse in front of a cat.
He followed her through the heart of the lair, stopping only once as a couple of Huron children spotted him and came running, begging for a ride. As usual he obliged them, knowing that he was the only dragon like being who was the right size for children to play with. Besides, it was always good fun for them and him, and he still felt some guilt for all that had been done to them and their families. It hadn’t really been a choice and if it had to be done once more he would do it again, but that didn’t absolve him of his feelings.
So it was that they arrived on the western ledge, with by then half a dozen young children laughing and giggling happily as they rode on his back, and Verial looking somewhat bemused. Or was she just trying to keep from laughing?
No sooner had they reached the delegation awaiting him then the children spotted them and jumped down only to scamper back into the tunnels. But then they knew trouble when they saw it, and so too did he. This was not quite the delegation he’d expected.
There were dark elves there, as he’d expected, and as Verial introduced her master and his friends, Alan couldn’t help but be overwhelmed by the fact that he was
finally no longer alone. But they weren’t alone either, and he watched with some surprise as Verial then went on to introduce a pair of dryad spellcasters, powerful ones by the feel of the magic curling around them, a trio of pure human knights, one of them a Paladin of the Order of the Creator as his father had been, half a dozen elves of different races, a couple of dwarves, and even a pair of gnomes and a halfling. The only one he knew out of all of them was Dava, who seemed to be the sole Huron to be invited to the meeting, and Alan already knew this was no mere gathering. He knew more than that as well. He knew it was a council of war. With one of the knights already on his knees, pointing out interesting features on a map on the floor in front of him, and all the others armed and alert as they watched him, it could be nothing else. And they were all waiting for him.
“Greetings noble sirs and ladies.” He had to forgo his natural gruntings, and concentrated on sending his human voice through the air by magic instead. It made him more intelligible to other people who weren’t versed in dragon tongue, but it also required concentration and effort, which was why he only used the magic when he had to. But now he had to. This was a serious meeting. Finally his fascination with Verial’s female form had vanished and he felt distinctly nervous instead. But then she too had vanished, introducing him and then quickly making herself scarce, possibly even following the children as they fled. He wished he could have joined her.
“And greetings to you young Alan Feralis.” One of the knights went down on one knee before him, catching Alan completely by surprise. No one bowed to him.
“I am Sir Favia the Hearty, and I was privileged to serve under your father as his Man at Arms, and now I hear that you are following in his footsteps. It is an honour to serve with you.” The name was vaguely familiar but it wasn’t until he removed his helmet and the hearty mane of red hair fell down around his shoulders that Alan remembered him from his childhood. But then he hadn’t been Sir Favia the Hearty, he’d been Favia, knight errant for the Order of the Creator, a young knight unafraid to share a joke with a child when time permitted, and even to coach him a little in his swordsmanship.
“I remember you Sir Favia, and I remember my father speaking highly of you as well. He often said he believed you would become a powerful force for good within the Order. I am pleased to see he was correct. It is my honour to serve with you as well.” He did his best to bow to the knight in turn, and was only stopped when one of the dwarves let loose with his anger.
“Enough of this idle chatter, we have important matters to discuss instead of standing around gossiping like a bunch of old women.” A dwarf, Verial had introduced him as Master Shalefire, interrupted them before anything more could be said, and Alan wondered why. He seemed short tempered and impatient, but then that was normal for his people, as was the way that they denigrated their women. Dwarves condemned their women to roles of servitude and little more and then hid them away in their mines far from where others might see them, another reason that many found them difficult people to deal with. Was it more than that though? Surrounded by important people and powerful spellcasters Alan would have expected even the dwarves to show a modicum of respect, especially those of rank such as a master of the mines as Shalefire was by the metal emblems embossed into his wrist guards. Besides, Shalefire seemed nervous as well as irritable. He decided to find out why.
“As you say Mine Master. Please continue.”
“Hrrgh!” The dwarf made an indistinct guttural noise that could have been him accepting his words with some degree of satisfaction, expressing his irritation at the excessive politeness being shown, or simply clearing his throat, before hurrying on.
“Every hour that we waste here gossiping, the undead are edging closer to our homes. Silvercliffs and Deepbend will be overrun within days, Great Chasm will not be far behind them, and need I remind you that once the necromancer has them he will have fortified his base and increased his strength tenfold.” To say that Alan was surprised by Shalefire’s claim would have been an understatement. He had thought the war was finally starting to go their way. But it made some sense too.
Just as they were driving the undead back to their northern base, the dwarven cities as he recalled were north again of the S’mon Gorge, deep under the ice mountains. It seemed that the necromancer was splitting his forces, advancing towards a relatively less well defended target in the hopes of an easy conquest. And if he got it, then he’d have new armies to work with. The dwarves didn’t bury their dead, they laid them to rest in great underground catacombs.
“So you keep saying Master Shalefire, but we have no knowledge of this. The lands and skies north of S’mon Gorge are relatively free of the undead, with little more than wandering bands of marauders seen. The dragons themselves report things are calm there. So how can they be advancing on your homes?” Elder Tenin of the high elves was only asking the question they no doubt all wanted answered, but at least he seemed calm as he asked it. From the looks on the faces of the others gathered around them, they weren’t nearly so relaxed. Vexed would have been a better description.
“Aye, we know the lands are free. Between the dragons and the infernos that have dotted the lands between us and the gorge, and the defensive works of our homes, we could hold their armies off forever. But they aren’t coming over land, they’re tunnelling, and our people can hear them edging closer every day.”
Tunnelling? For a while Alan was surprised by the concept. Not that it didn’t make sense, it did, especially if it kept the undead soldiers out of sight of the dragons. But the tunnels had to be fifty leagues long just to reach the two closest cities. Fifty leagues of underground tunnels! That would surely require an army of miners and many years of work. The again, he might have them. Who was to say that the undead couldn’t tunnel as well as the dwarves? They might even have undead dwarves among them.
He looked around the group and saw that their thoughts were running along much the same path as his, and more than that, they were worried. This was a new and unexpected turn in the battle, and Shaleheart was right in that they couldn’t afford for the necromancer to take their cities. Ignoring the terrible loss of life as tens of thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands were killed and millions more left homeless, they couldn’t afford for his base to grow. It would make that final push when the time came that much harder.
“How? How deep? Can we collapse the tunnels from above?” They were all good questions being asked, it was just that the answers weren’t very good, and he tried to ignore the anger with which the dwarves rejected every idea as it was raised. Especially when he had an answer of his own. He waited for the others to finish though, before he raised it.
“How are we progressing on the other fronts?” Of course he knew the answer even as he asked. They were doing well, steadily driving the enemy back to his base, which of course was why he had to take this other option. Still Alan listened to the reports with respect. It was the sign of a good leader and he already realised that despite his wishes, his youth and his lack of followers, he was being considered as some sort of leader in this war. That was why he’d been summoned to the meeting.
His father had long ago told him that leaders might be created from many things, from birth right, military prowess, knowledge or power, or even for the gift of their words, and that often those who became leaders were not those who should. But he’d also told him that the worst thing any leader could do in the height of a battle, was to try to get out of the responsibility. A leader had to lead, or his people would be lost. Alan knew he could not back down from the responsibility given him.
“If we stop advancing for a few days, can we hold the enemy with our forces as they stand?” Although he knew the answer was yes, he was more than grateful to hear it repeated by the others, even as everyone stared at him, worried about what he was suggesting. Armies advanced or they fell. That was the accepted wisdom. But that didn’t mean they couldn’t slow for a while to regroup, especially when the enemy was being routed.
“Good. If we can slow our advance for three days, that will give myself and the others enough time to raise three small armies. Enough I think to defend each of the cities.” It seemed like a plan to him, even if the dwarves suddenly looked more worried than everyone else.
“You mean your infernos. We can’t have them underground, they would eat all the air and suffocate the people.”
“I know that Master Shalefire. The infernos would be of little use underground anyway. They draw much of their power from the sun. And in narrow tunnels the lightnings would be of little effect as well, especially if there was water around. In the dark, with limited air and in cramped spaces you need a much more physical army. Something that can fight and fight forever, without being harmed. You need diamonds, the king of the earth elementals.” Even as he told the dwarves of what he was thinking, he was summoning one for them to study for themselves. It didn’t take long before one was standing on the balcony with them, all but invisible in the sunlight and completely so underground.
“Bone and steel will shatter on them, spells will be of little effect since you cannot enchant what you cannot see and fire will also fail. Add to that their strength and speed, and only a few hundred of these will become an army few could defeat, especially in narrow quarters and poor light.” Of course that was as long as the undead were normal. Skeletons, zombies and liches they could handle, but what else was coming? What was doing the digging?