She had a triangular-shaped head with twin horns spiraling upward from her skull. Just down from her horns along her sloped forehead were her blazing eyes, faceted like cut blue diamonds. Her long muzzle narrowed as it extended toward her flaring nostrils, from which tendrils of smoke arose. Long fangs extended both upward from her bottom jaw and downward from the upper past her lips, and a slow drip of corrosive acid splattered the rock beneath her as she lay looking for him.
Her wings were folded around her, masking her sleek body from his view. What he could see was covered in shiny cobalt blue scales that sparkled even in the dim light of the cavern. Her long tail, barbed with spines taller than a man, was wrapped around her legs. She was both beautiful and terrifying to behold.
'I smell you, elf lord.' Her voice, if you could call it that, echoed in his mind.
"I bring you greetings, mighty one. Long has it been since you graced the skies above,” Rory said, stepping out into the open.
'I sense you are unarmored and unarmed, elf lord. Do you think that wise?'
"Even if arms and armor could withstand your powers, mighty one, I would not need them. I do not seek to cause you harm but to converse with you."
'Your friends inside the rock fear me, yet you do not. Why is that?'
Rory replied, “They fear death, and I do not. If I fail in my mission, I will die. But even if I fail and you were to spare me, I would still die when the demon of the Netherworld consumes my life force. I die either way. It is only through my success that I and those I love may live. You, then, are life and I will never fear life."
'So the demon has returned. I fought such a one once before with one of your kind. It was not easy but we did destroy it.'
"Tell me, great one, what becomes of the demon when it is destroyed? Does it cease to exist or is it returned through the rift to its normal plane of existence?"
'What do you know of the rift?'
"They say it is a tear in the fabric of creation, allowing the different planes of existence to touch. It is also said that the rift may be closed for all time once both the demons and the dragons are returned to their normal planes."
'Do you believe this is possible? That we may return home?'
"I do not know. Our greatest minds believe it to be true. They believe the rift remains open even when the demons have been destroyed only because the dragons remain. Only through repairing the balance between the planes by returning all to their rightful place can the rift be sealed. Do you know how many demons are loose on this world?"
There was a long pause, as if the dragon was searching the world during that brief moment to ascertain the answer. 'One.''
"And how many dragons remain?"
There was an ever longer pause before the soft reply came back. 'One.'
"Then if you were to help us slay this one demon, you could then be sent back yourself, sealing the rift, and putting an end to this needless cycle of death and destruction."
The dragon seemed to shrink in on itself a little as it said, 'I'm afraid. What if death does not send us back home through the rift but is just an ending of our spirit?'
"Then all of us will die and the Dark will win. Is it not better to take the chance? To risk it all on the possibility of returning home while saving others? Or would you prefer to cower here in this deep hole for all eternity while innocents die above?” Rory took a real chance as he added, “If that is your answer, to cower while the Dark wins, then slay me now so I don't see any of those I love perish."
Blue Death slowly reared up. 'Do you accuse me of cowardice, elf lord?'
"I say those that choose to hide are cowards while those who face the challenges of living are not. Which you choose will answer the question you ask."
'You will need the shiny suit to protect you from my touch, elf lord, as well as a lance to impale the demon.'
"The suit and the lance are being made as we speak, great one. We have not found the diamond to tip the lance, however."
'This demon is much stronger than the last one, so a diamond will not be enough.' Blue Death reached out one forelimb, extending her claws. She smashed her claws against the rock again and again until the tip of one claw broke away. She carefully collected the fragment, placing it a few feet from the entrance of the fissure. 'Take this claw tip. My body is not from this plane and my claws and teeth are harder than your diamonds. But you best hurry! The Forces of the Dark are on the march as we speak and the killing has begun.'
* * * *
Arianna threw herself into Rory's arms as he crawled back into the fissure dragging the three foot tip of Blue Death's claw. “You are the bravest person I have ever seen. I thought I would die when you told the dragon to kill you rather than face the Dark triumphant."
"It wasn't that big of a risk. The feeling I got from the dragon was a desperate longing for her home. She needed her pride stung a little to get her moving but she really couldn't afford to kill me in case I was right. We need to get this tip back to those making the lance, and we must hurry things up. The dark forces have launched their attack."
"Do you know where? Is it Westfell or Aluria?” Arianna asked.
"If I had to guess, I would imagine the attack to be aimed at Aluria. Remember, they believe the king despondent and grief-stricken. They do not know we have integrated our command structures and that they face General Gustav and the combined forces of the realm. There is something I must try.” Rory calmed himself and said, “Assistance, please."
A very bewildered sprite answered his call. “Prince Rorrick, why are you deep underground and with a dwarf?"
"That is not important. I need you to convey a message to the Great Caliph of the Desert Peoples. Relay the message through the desert sprites if it will be faster because time is of the essence.” Rory paused to see if the sprite had any objections. “Tell the caliph the war in the north has begun and he must send his warriors as soon as he can."
"It will be done, Prince Rorrick.” The sprite vanished.
Arianna was looking at him with a very strange expression on her face.
"What?” Rory asked.
"How did you do that?"
"Do what?"
"Summon a sprite to this place deep underground. No one else can summon a sprite anywhere except at the marker stones in the veil. It's part of our agreement."
"I've been doing it for a long time and from all over the place, even in the Great Desert of Solange. Of course, there I summoned a desert sprite.” Rory looked at her incredulous expression. “Look, no one told me it wasn't possible, so I just did it."
She just shook her head, muttering, “He just did it. No one said it couldn't be done so he just did it. Unbelievable."
Part Seven
EASTFELL
Chapter 38
The war between the Dark and the Forces of Life began at dawn on a bitterly cold morning along the border between Eastfell and Aluria. The icy wind knifed through the sentries standing watch along the fortifications built up during the fall, so many of them chose to stay behind the windbreaks. This meant they could not see the approaching troops until they were right outside the walls.
Not that it would have mattered. Seventy-five thousand conscripted warriors crossed into Aluria all along the border, hitting every fortification at once. Behind that line of troops were several thousand orcs, pushing them forward. Behind the orcs came the goblins, eating the dead and the wounded on either side with complete impartiality.
Aluria's front line was wiped out in a matter of minutes and none escaped to warn the second line of what was coming. At least, that was the plan when Eastfell attacked and had they been dealing with just Aluria's soldiers, it would have worked. However, Aluria was allied with the fey and various winter sprites had been posted along the borders of Eastfell in case they chose to attack in the winter. Those sprites reported the mass attack to the mages assigned to the command center.
General Gustav looked up as the master mage assigned to his staff walk
ed into the command center.
"It has begun. Eastfell has crossed the border into Aluria in force."
"How big a force and exactly where have they crossed?” asked General Gustav.
"They attacked everywhere along the border at the same time with thousands of troops. I know sprites aren't very bright, but they stuck around long enough to see each garrison overrun. Behind the front line troops were orcs and goblins,” the mage reported. “I don't have to tell you the fate of the wounded."
"We can't stop that many. And there is no way to move the troops from Westfell without leaving it wide open to any other forces Eastfell may deploy."
"There is some good news. I don't know how, but apparently Prince Rorrick got word of the attack. He sent word to the Great Caliph to muster his legions now rather than in the spring. Word has just returned that the first wave of desert nomads should arrive in about two days."
"How many are in the first wave?"
"Around one hundred thousand, give or take. There will be some losses along the way as they hit the heavy snows, but the majority will make it to the city of Aluria itself about the same time as the Eastfell advance."
"Send word to the second line troops to fall back and fight skirmishing battles to slow the Eastfell advance. We must keep them back as long as possible.” General Gustav studied the map. They might have a chance after all.
* * * *
Dawn of the second day saw the opening of the second front. Using almost identical tactics, Eastfell hit the long border with Westfell. Reinforced by Kendrahl's mountain warriors and the elven rangers, the front line at Westfell held, although losses on both sides were high. Losses did not concern Eastfell, however, and they pressed the attack throughout the day and into the night. Some garrisons were finally overwhelmed, mainly the small temporary forts established to bolster the border. Counterattacks by the elven rangers retook the captured fortifications by slaughtering every orc, goblin, and Eastfell conscript they found. For a distance of three hundred miles, the snow on the Westfell border was stained red with blood.
Battle mages from the Heart of the Veil launched magical attacks against the creatures of the Dark. Orcs and goblins were blinded by sudden flares of light that would appear in a flash in front of their eyes. Since they were adapted for dwelling deep underground in the Netherworld, the brilliant light seared their optic nerves, causing flash-blindness. Once blinded, they fell easy prey to the bows and swords of the elven rangers.
Eastfell sent in a wave of fresh conscripts. The Wolves of Westfell surged out of their protective fortifications and decimated the conscripts even as they attempted to cross the border. Drawn by the scent of so much blood, the orcs and goblins rushed forward and were engaged by three warriors to each fell creature. The warriors were methodical and merciless and nothing survived their onslaught. The Wolves returned to their fortification only after they had run out of things to kill.
The dark sorcerers sent spells against the leaders of Aluria and Westfell. Both King William and Duke Richard were targeted but the spells failed for both still wore the mithrail talismans given to them when they visited the Great Forest and the Veil. As the spells struck, mages within the Heart tapped the Forces of Life to counter them, sending surges of energy back to the sorcerers, and blasting them with massive bolts of psychic energy. General Gustav, protected by the battle mages assigned to his staff, never knew about the attacks made against him. Earl Sudcliffe, the king's chancellor, and Armand, Duke of Kendrahl, were not as fortunate. Both men were struck with the full force of the spells. The earl's heart was stopped instantly while he was walking along a hallway in the castle, and he was dead before he hit the floor. The Duke of Kendrahl was struck while fighting alongside his warriors along the border with Eastfell. Distracted for a moment by the crushing pain that gripped his heart, he never felt the blade that thrust through his chest.
King William took the news of the death of his chancellor calmly. The death of one man in the midst of such slaughter was a small thing, even though it was the result of magical attack. He knew he would grieve for all of the dead if he survived the battles still to come, and the butcher's bill would be that much higher when it was finally ended.
The mages’ confirmation of the magical nature of the earl's death reminded him of the sudden warming he had felt from the talisman around his neck. It was reminiscent of the time he had passed through the Veil, and he knew the Forest Lords had warded him against such attacks. He hoped the same was true for the Duke of Westfell.
King William turned his attention back to the briefing by General Gustav, who was saying, “We've done all we can to delay the forces of Eastfell but they are overrunning any troops that attempt to stand against them. We've lost over sixty percent of the King's Own in the past two days of fighting and barely slowed the advance. With the orcs and goblins behind them, Eastfell's conscript soldiers cannot stop advancing because they fear what follows behind them more than they do our troops in front of them. I think most of them would prefer a clean death by a sword, axe, or spear compared to what the orcs and goblins do to those who refuse to advance. Our estimate of conscript deaths is almost forty thousand, over half of their original force. Even with those losses, they still outnumber us almost two to one. We have been forced to withdraw as many combat capable warriors as we can into the rings of the city. The outer ring is indefensible, but the gates into the third have been sealed and the curtain wall is manned. Additional troops are in the second ring but the gates there are still open at this time. Still more of the King's Own control the high walls of the inner ring around the castle itself."
King William studied the deployments indicated on the map and said, “It's all you could have done, General. Westfell has promised a blocking force to keep the invaders from sweeping around their lines to strike behind them."
"The mages have promised to do something about the miserable weather. It will mean heavier than normal snows in the mountains, but for the next few days, they will effectively stop winter in Aluria. They promise temperatures high enough to melt the snow, which will swell the rivers and make them harder to cross. The ground will become a muddy morass and be hell to march across, let alone fight in. However, winter will remain in Westfell to slow the advance there. You know they have held against every attack along their border. Their losses have been lighter than ours, and those of the Eastfell conscripts have been proportionately heavier. They have even slaughtered several scores of orcs and goblins. The only jarring note was the loss of Duke Armand of Kendrahl. Those who witnessed his death say he suddenly faltered just as he was struck by an orc. His body was recovered and examined by one of the Forest Lords, who confirmed the taint of dark magic. Like the earl, he was struck down from afar; the sword stroke was incidental."
King William looked up from the map and asked the one question haunting his mind. “Where is the demon?"
* * * *
The poor had fled the outer ring of the city long before the invaders had appeared over the hills. By the thousands, Eastfell's conscripts slogged their way across the muddy terrain and encircled the beleaguered city. They began tearing down the structures in the area, using the wood for fires and to construct battering rams with which to attack the wall around the third ring. Archers on both sides traded arrows, taking shots at available targets whenever there was a likely chance of hitting someone. While the conscript army archers were not very good, those with the King's Own were excellent marksman and always hit what they aimed at. Before long, none of the conscripts would go near the wall unless forced by the orcs, and the King's Own would then target the orcs. Whenever they could, they would strike at the goblins and scored several lucky shots which destroyed the subdemons.
As late afternoon came, the ring of the Eastfell Army was drawn tight around the besieged city. Then the ground began to shake and there was a sound like thunder. The rumbling grew louder, and the undulating cry of the desert nomad warrior called from one hundred thousand throats
as the nomads raced over the hill and encircled the invaders. Even the goblins were no match for the nomads when they attacked as they circled, the speed of their horses adding force to their swords, cleaving anything they struck. A thunderous cheer echoed from the city, and the King's Own burst forth on their own chargers, hitting the Eastfell conscripts from the center while the nomads ground away at the outside. As the sun set, the fight raged on, now lit by the hundreds of fires the conscripts had set. The conscripts were doomed. The goblins and orcs tried to break away, attempted to flee back to Eastfell, but none were successful. They either died in the attempt or, if they did break out of the encircling ring, they were hunted down and destroyed by the King's Own or the caliph's warriors.
Under the bright full moon, two men met at the center of the tremendous battlefield, both spattered in blood and gore but none of it their own. Both mounted on horses bred for combat and both carried swords red to the hilt with blood.
"Greetings, I am Michael of Aluria, commander of the King's Own. Your timing was impeccable,” said the tired commander.
"I am called Omar, naib of the caliph's warriors. It was very hard to wait until they were packed tightly around the city but the results have been very gratifying,” replied the grinning nomad warrior.
"How were your losses?"
"Almost not worth mentioning, perhaps five percent. Those goblins were harder to kill than we expected. Yours?"
"We lost about fifty men with another seventy or so wounded.” The commander of the King's Own was stunned by the desert warrior's casual dismissal of a five percent loss. That meant almost five thousand dead or too badly wounded to continue fighting.
"Would you like our physicians to tend to your wounded?” asked the naib. “They are quite good with sword wounds."
"I was going to offer the use of ours to treat your men, Omar.” The commander smiled. “It was a good fight."
"It was a better trap! They never saw us coming.” The naib was grinning.
The Heir Of Westfall [The Alurian Chronicles Book 1] Page 33