by V K Majzlik
Quickly they circled the remaining few protecting the Aeon elves. Crossbows with armour-piercing bolts were fired into the core of the defence, one hitting the elf beside Cradon. He clutched his throat, dropping his sword, as he struggled for breath, gurgling on his own blood that gushed from his wound.
Cradon picked up the elf’s shield and, kicking out his brother’s feet, dragged him down behind it.
The fall woke Nechan from his stupor. He hit the ground hard, landing heavily in his armour. Almost instantly he began scrabbling in the dirt, gasping for air, utterly disorientated.
“Stay down!” commanded Cradon, pushing his brother back as he strung his bow.
“No! No!” Nechan continued crawling, trying to stand. “I know what I must do!” He grabbed hold of his brother, a strange, terrifying look in his eyes.
“Nechan! You are going to get us both killed! Stay DOWN!”
Before he could stop him, Nechan had retrieved his sword and was forcing his way through the blockade towards the centre.
Although he did not understand what was happening to him, feeling almost unable to control his own body, he knew that he must get into the middle. There was a growing weight around his neck and something burning into his chest. Even his blood surging through his veins felt like it was on the verge of boiling.
Finally, he reached the centre, only to be faced by a final line of elves standing behind a row of tall shields planted deep into the ground.
“There is no use trying to run from this fight!” jeered one elf.
Another one beside him fired an arrow high into the air, aiming for the advancing enemy. “You’ve run the wrong way if that’s what you’re trying to do!” he laughed as he restrung his bow.
“Please, let me through!” implored Nechan, struggling to stay standing. He began clawing at his neck and armour, the burning sensation becoming unbearable. Falling against the shields, the clansman slid down to the ground convulsing. Staring up into the starless sky, his eyes wide, he was flung into the other world once more, no longer fighting his own battle. The elves behind the shields could not continue fighting, the clansman was proving to be too much of a distraction.
“Grab him!” ordered the sergeant, not knowing what else to do. At least inside the circle, his men could ignore him. The two closest soldiers pulled Nechan’s writhing body up and over the shields, flinging him onto the ground and then carried on fighting.
Across the battlefield, the defensive circle surrounding Ninithel was quickly being whittled down. Situated on the far side few reinforcements had been able to reach them. The elves fought as hard and for as long as their strength and skill would allow, but alas, it was not enough. Within moments of being surrounded they were engulfed by the dark horde. The enemy broke through the shields, beasts mauling the elves and dwarves, men hewing limbs and hacking bodies, making quick work of them all.
The defenceless Aeon elf, Ninithel, never knew, nor felt what attacked him. It was over in an instant, his head sliced cleanly from his torso. As the hot blood hit the ground, his light was extinguished forever. High above, in the blackened sky, there was an anguished roar as the scarlet griffin suddenly streaked out of existence. It left nothing except fading wisps of reddened vapour.
The rampaging horde was almost upon Nymril also. Eilendan and his remaining men joined Jaidan and Gaular. They had struggled to fight their way backwards through the enemy ranks, and most of their horses had been killed. Many of his elite Aeonate troops were already injured, having thrown themselves into the deepest parts of the battle.
It had hit the Aeonates hard when they heard and saw the scarlet griffin spirit extinguished. Although they did not see it happen, they all knew that Ninithel had been slain. Now they turned their attention and remaining strength to defending the last two Aeon elves, Nymril and Githean.
High above them, the remaining two earth spirits were still fighting hard against the uzgen. This had been the Rjukhan’s plan. They knew that the elvish spirits would be drawn to fight their opposing conjurations, monopolising their attention, while the armies below decimated the allied lines unheeded.
Nechan was no longer in control of his body, barely aware of what was happening to him or around him. His mind was awash with someone else’s memories. Kneeling beside the Aeon elf in the ring, his arms became outstretched and his body rigid. The Aeonthel around his neck worked its way out from under his armour, glowing white hot in the surrounding darkness. Still around his neck, hanging in mid-air, the Aeonthel began spinning on its chain, emitting piercing white rays of light.
The elves began to turn, confused by the sudden additional light. Once they had looked, they could not turn away. The vision before them was disturbingly mesmerising. The young clansman appeared to be wielding elf magic.
Cradon had now managed to fight his way back through and fell against the shields.
“Hey! That’s my brother!” he shouted to the startled elves. “What are you doing to him?” He had drawn his sword in utter confusion, feeling he needed to defend his brother.
Words that he did not understand swamped Nechan’s mind, burning into his skull. As if his voice was no longer his own, the words suddenly broke free.
“Lleorentho aeonis Gileadon tereso!”
There was a surge of heat through his body, a wave of the purest light, then Nechan was aware of nothing more. Even when told later by those present, he did not remember anything about what followed.
A shooting ray of light streamed upwards into the darkness. At its peak it began to rain down, surrounding the remaining elves and dwarves in a dome of falling light. The enemy, even those in mid-attack, dropped their weapons and shields, and began running for their lives. Others were frozen in fear, their weapons hanging loosely at their sides, as they tilted their heads back in awe, watching the waterfall of light.
Even from the command tents, both sides stood and watched, shielding their eyes from the brightness. The entire sea of advancing enemies, beasts and men alike, were illuminated, their true numbers now clearly visible to the elves upon the hill. The Minda Dwarves had yet to come up with a tactic that could help them succeed in a fight against so many. What was this strange, new magic?
Only the elder, Neornil, understood what was happening. He knew that Gileadon had returned to protect his people, using the young clansman as a conduit between realms. As soon as he met the boy, Neornil knew that he was a chosen one. The old elf silently prayed that Nechan would be unharmed by the experience. Never before had a clansman been chosen to be the wielder of an Earth Spirit. He hoped that his body and mind would be strong enough to resist being drawn back into the Spirit Realm with Gileadon.
Cradon scrambled over the shields, and falling on the ground, crawled over to his brother. He was too scared to touch him and was quickly forced to shield his eyes from the burning whiteness. The light was emanating from his brother’s rigid body, even his facial features masked in the brightness, as he was suspended several feet from the ground. Cradon feared for his brother’s life, but there was nothing he could do to help him.
The armies were now in a state of stalemate. The allies were few in numbers, yet the strange new magic had brought the onslaught to an abrupt halt, the troops too scared to break the light barrier. It looked as if it would burn flesh on contact. Besides, only a handful of men had remained, most had fled. Even the hideous beasts had turned tail and run, terrified of the light, having been born from darkness themselves.
The allied army was consumed by a similar confusion, although they sensed the Aeonorgal and Earth Spirits powered this new phenomenon. The Spirit Realm had come to their aid when most needed. Yet, the Elders sensed this time of stalemate would be brief, and that soon the attack would commence with full wrath once again.
Chapter 67 - Reinforcements
“There are too many of them!” cried the elf beside Jaidan.
“Stand fast! We have a greater power on our side!” Jaidan gripped the hilt of his sword tightl
y, his knuckles white with the strain. He could feel the rest of his body tighten under the stress, even grinding his teeth. There was nothing he could do to ease the tension.
The white light filtered down just in front of the first line of defence. They dared not touch it, although they sensed it would not harm them. On the other side they could still make out see the grimacing enemy, slowly advancing as they geared up their courage to approach the white magic.
The two small remaining congregations of allies surrounded the Aeon elves. They were preparing to make their last stand, praying they could hold the enemy off long enough for the Earth Spirits to win their battle in the skies. Only once they turned their energy on the swarming armies would the elves truly stand a chance of victory.
Canvil and Govan surveyed the allied army behind their wall of light. They had asked guidance from their Masters, but they had merely been ordered to continue the advance. It was clear they did not know what this strange Elvish weapon was. The decision fell at the two Captains’ feet.
“Enough of this!” Canvil was impatient. He wanted to end it once and for all. “I will deal with this myself.” He spurred his horse forward, his troops parting, allowing their captain through.
“Where you going, Canvil?” demanded Govan. He followed a few paces behind. He sensed the older, foolish captain was about to do something very rash.
“Someone needs to prove to the men that this is nothing but an Elvish trick! A conjuration designed to fool us!”
Govan almost broke into a laugh. “Fine! But I am staying here!”
“I am happy to take credit for this if you are determined to be a coward,” Canvil jeered as he continued riding forwards.
Govan spat in annoyance, but did not bother returning an answer. He turned his black steed and rode back to a safe distance. There was no way he was going near that wall. After all, this captain had already survived a close encounter with Elvish magic, it was obvious this was a similar, perhaps more lethal phenomenon.
Finally, Canvil reached the wall of light. He dragged with him several large, brave clansmen. Together they jeered at the elves, mocking them behind their wall of light, until the captain finally plucked up the courage to tap the light tentatively with his sword. Nothing happened. He let rip an almighty cry of defiance, raising his sword and shield high above his head, commanding the forces to charge. With a clamour of yells and banging drums, the dark enemy surged forward once more, slamming into the light, Canvil at their head.
The allies stepped back in fear, suddenly filled with doubt, flinching as they expected to be hit with a tremendous force. It never happened.
They stared, transfixed, as they saw bodies squirming, still very much alive, suspended in the wall of light. All of a sudden there came a massive, roaring gush of wind that sounded like a tornado touching down. Before their very eyes, the dark armies were flattened, as a surge of light and wind pulsed outwards. Nothing could withstand the power. Everything in its path was thrown backwards. Weapons that flew through the air, carried by the pulsation, impaled troops. Others died when they landed awkwardly, breaking their necks or backs. Those that had been suspended in the wall, including Canvil, were pulverised instantly. There was no remaining evidence of their existence.
The shock wave even radiated up into the sky, hitting the uzgen high above the battlefield. The spirit dragon and eagle were unaffected, but the hideous beasts, conjured from black magic, were killed, the organs in their foul bodies crushed by the impact. They fell from the sky like black bombs, forming huge craters where they landed, killing even more of the Imperial troops. The Earth Spirits circled high above, now free to attack whomever they wished.
A cold silence fell on the battlefield. Govan surveyed the devastation. Had he been a few feet closer, he too would have been caught up in the blast. He was not alone though. Several hundred men remained unscathed, and already he could see movement from the nearest soldiers lying on the ground. He hoped there would be enough of them alive to win this battle.
A deep fear then descended upon him. If he were commanding the Elves, this would be the time he would attack; hit the enemy while they were down.
The startled, awe-struck allies surveyed the flattened sea of armour, weapons and mangled limbs and bodies before them. Even Eilendan was dazed by the sight he had just witness. Gradually, as he came out of it, the burning sensation of renewed hope bubbling in his veins. This was their opportunity to take back the Empire.
“Fonth!” commanded Eilendan. Charge!
Some of the enemy soldiers were just starting to twitch, slowly trying to get to their feet. The two earth spirits bore down upon the remaining enemy lines.
The bright green eagle streaked across the sky, gliding low, snatching up soldiers as they struggled to stand, carrying them high into the air before dropping them to their deaths. The white dragon took several sweeps, its vast wingspan terrifying those who fell under its shadow. It spewed white-hot flames from its mouth as it roared deafeningly, searing flesh from bone instantly, as it passed over.
Many troops never knew what hit them, as the allies surged forward like a wave, swinging axes, swords and daggers. Only a small number of soldiers remained to protect the Aeon elves.
Even with their spirited, courageous charge, the allies were still vastly outnumbered. They had a large distance to cover, clambering over dead bodies before reaching the enemy, giving them plenty of time to prepare for the attack.
Govan ordered the remaining troops to reform into their lines and battalions. They greeted the charge head-on, hitting back hard. Even with the Elvish conjurations soaring above them, picking up handfuls of men, the Imperial troops began circling the remaining allies.
Now, unable to retreat, the small pockets of allied forces fought hard, but their numbers were being eaten away, dwindling. Even with earth spirits decimating vast numbers of the enemy, it looked like the time of the Elves and White Magic was truly over.
Cradon did not join the advance. Instead, he remained with his brother in the protected circle around the Aeon elf.
“Nechan? Please…. Please wake up!” Cradon held his twin in his arms.
As soon as the shock wave pulsed outwards, his brother’s suspended body had been dropped like a stone, hitting the hard, compact mud. Now, Nechan was cold and lifeless, the colour completely drained from him. Cradon was shaking head to toe, unable to hold back the tears, fearing it was too late to save his brother. He called out to the Elves surrounding them, but they had no time to spare. The boy looked dead already, their duty was to protect the Aeon elf.
Upon the hill, the Elders and Dwarves realised they were about to witness the destruction of their races. They began making preparations to leave but they had precious little time to make their escape. Many of the injured or dying were already being carried off into hiding. It was hoped that some would survive to carry on the legacy of their kin.
“Theonil, who will take the Aeonorgal?” Neornil carefully removed it from its decorative sconce, wrapping it in a silver cloth. His wizened, old hands were shaking with emotion.
“You must take it, Neornil.”
The old elf looked at his leader, surprised by the honour bestowed upon him.
“I pray that your daughter is not slain. If she survives she will need the Aeonorgal close to maintain her strength.”
“But my Lord, will we not all remain together?”
Theonil shook his head. “We both know we can only hide if our numbers are few and scattered.” His voice trailed off. Part of him wished they had never set any of this in motion. They should have remained hidden. How could the Elders have been so wrong? Had the years of isolation really made them arrogant and foolishly confident? Theonil blamed himself, knowing he would carry the burden of his race’s destruction for the rest of his long life.
“Look! Look!” A young elf, a messenger for the Elders, came running up the hill towards them, shouting as loud as his lungs would allow him. “Look!” He was pointin
g ahead as he shouted, stumbling over stones and rucks in the mud.
The Elders turned. In the darkness there was a line of fire snaking down the valley, coming towards the battlefield at a great pace. They watched, with bated breath, as the fire began spreading across, filling the valley. Was this more enemy soldiers coming from behind to finish them all off?
Then they heard the horns ringing, identifying those that approached. The Elders hearts jumped with joy. It was the Gnomes.
Upon the battlefield, the sound of the horns was inaudible, the fierce fighting, clash of weapons and screams of the dying drowning all other sounds out. Somehow, the last few allies remained strong. They were surrounded on all sides by an unabating tide of enemies. Above them, the two earth spirits were doing what they did best, yet there still seemed innumerable foes.
At Govan’s command, two small battalions turned their attention to the remaining Aeon elves. Foolishly, the allies had only left a handful of soldiers to protect them, making this mission easy to complete. With little standing in their way of victory the enemy continued fighting, blind to the approaching reinforcements.
Gorthel, the gnome king, had not wished to send his army out into the wilderness during winter, he had preferred to wait until the first thawing. However, a survivor from the karzon attack and avalanche had made his way back to the Kingdom. Fearing the safety of the elf and clansman who were carrying the Aeonorgal, Gorthel knew he could not wait. His strong allegiance to the Elves and Dwarves forced him to send his army as soon as everyone was armed.
The King, his trusted advisor Gomel alongside, led the army out in a show of courage, helping their troops brave the strange, open world. By the time they had reached Loreandril, however, it was empty, save for a few females, children and elderly elves. The army had then quick-marched to the battlefield of Andkhuin, praying they were not too late.