48.
INVASION OF DUSKFALL
Shalia had previously witnessed the event of the stone guardians attacking the Wildpack brawlers and goblin reavers at the granite wall. She saw them destroyed and the combined Wildpack-goblin army trudge back west along the Glistening River to find a wide, shallow crossing. The granite wall had delayed their progress, buying the elves and Duskfall wolves much needed time. In a simple throne chamber far below the surface of the Northern Marsh Shalia relayed all she had witnessed to her uncle and leader of the Grelen elves, King Cornelius. He wore the simple brown tunic that all elves wore, but it was also adorned with handsome designs of tree patterns and rock formations. The king sighed; he had hoped that the stone guardians would have delayed the hounds and goblins for a longer time. ‘Very well’ he said, his kind eyes seeing that Shalia was tired. ‘You have done well niece. It is not my right to ask you to commit to another venture, but I am afraid I need your talents once again. I cannot risk any of my clerics as they prepare to aid the Duskfall wolves and the maze.’ Shalia looked up. ‘My king, I would do as you ask. Are you certain they will discover the maze?’ Cornelius forced a smile. ‘We are committed to giving aid to our brothers the wolves, without us, they are likely doomed. However, to do this will risk our exposure, which Ravyne is no doubt counting on. Therefore, I must leave all my rangers here in the Grelen maze for its defence.’
Shalia had never seen the witch leader of the Night Grove Coven but had seen other witch skyriders on patrol from a distance and knew that they will never rest until they had located all the elfish mazes and destroyed them. Cornelius spoke ‘There is a particular mankind animal that has recently come to the northern settlement they call ‘Brineburg. He comes from another settlement many days south.’ Lord Bragus requests his audience in Aledran with the other leaders.’ Shalia asked curiously, ‘But they are beasts, our spies have told us that the witches’ are about to harvest them anyway, what do we want of this animal? And how do I communicate with the creature?’
The king shifted slightly on his simple square marble throne. He gently stroked his ornate marble staff that lay on one arm. After a brief pause, he replied, ‘All in good time, trust me. You are to take Kerythe and Durlaan, two of my most experienced rangers to help locate this man.’ Shalia was confused. ‘My king, I can take several elves with me through the shadow plane, but not a simple-minded animal. He does not possess the magic knowledge to travel. How do I bring this mankind animal back to Grelen? It’s an eight-day journey, through goblin and Wildpack lands!’ ‘You won’t bring him here.’ He replied. ‘You are to use the Arch in the isle past, the trench of raging tides and take him directly to Aledran.’ Shalia gave a small gasp. She had heard of the Arch on the isle from other elders in the clan, but never thought she would ever go there. Especially escorting a clueless mankind animal and braving the dangers that allegedly confront a would-be-user of the Arch.
The king spoke further about her new mission, and within the hour, she had taken Kerythe and Durlaan through the doorway into the shadow plane. They arrived at the eastern edge of the mankind village some 15 hours earlier. The shadow tracker’s ability to manipulate time and space was an advantage when travelling through the shadow plane. They hid and witnessed grey soulless things carrying semi-conscious mankind animals from the village into the forest. Shalia wondered if they were too late if the limp mankind animals being carried past them included the one she was to protect. But no, her staff indicated that he had not been captured and was still somewhere in this settlement.
Against better judgement, Shum the Warlord of the Wildpack and King Brod oF the Windgrotto goblins had backtracked their combined army to a point in the Glistening River where it was wide and shallow, with a possible crossing. It was dark now as the last of the army crossed to the northern side of the river, and they made camp for the night. Scouting parties of Shepherds were deployed upstream. Shum, Brod and their leaders conversed on the bank of the river. They had lost half a day but were confident that they could reach the Duskfall stronghold on the eve of the following day. Here they expected the wolves would make their stand. The next morning saw the army moving again. By midmorning, they were passing the south bank where the granite wall had blocked their path. Now they were on new ground. Raven prowlers frequently reported to Shum and Brod of the terrain that lay ahead. Some flew across the river and landed to take a quick meal of the hounds that lay dead after the battle with the stone guardians the previous day. The foothills of the Scarbia ranges loomed ahead.
Shum had only ever been this close once before in his younger years when he and the Wildpack had suffered a crushing defeat against the wolves and elves. But not this time he vowed. Some loud clicks snapped him from his thoughts. Brod’s Arachna-Pede was becoming increasingly difficult to control. It was displaying more signs of nervousness as were the Arachna-Pede mounts being ridden by his advisers. Brod thought that being above ground for this length of time was a possibility of their unease, but he was unsure As Shum stopped, Brod reigned hard on the pinching rings to pull his mount to a stop. ‘Lord Shum’, said Brod, ‘The mounts can sense something unnatural ahead.’ Shum laughed. ‘Have no fear King Brod; look at the might we command. We shall be walking in wolf blood before the sun sets.’
Several yelps followed by howls came from the direction of the river. The houses of the Master Staffs were marching in-formation on the right flank alongside the river. Their Lieutenant Brawnfur could be heard barking orders loudly over the din of barking hounds. Shum tried to push through to see what was happening, but the surge of hounds running up the shallow grass bank slope forced him back. A dark flash in the sky over the river caught his eye, followed by a long hiss and countless thuds. He realised he was looking at a fall of arrows. 10 years ago he had seen the same thing, near this very spot. Elves were the only ones who used that cowardly weapon. The majority of hounds were now out of harm’s way, further away from the river and out of range from the arrows. Some 50 – 60 Master Staffs lay dead or severely wounded along the bank after being taken by surprise. There was not one dead elf to show for it. Shum was becoming frustrated; he preferred a frontal assault. So far, the elves had successfully mounted several small attacks against them that had cost him a number of his brawlers.
Long green reeds on the opposite bank concealed the elves. Shum only just caught an occasional glimpse of a brown or grey flash of one moving through the blind. Some Raven prowlers cautiously flew over the river for a closer look, and two plummeted from the sky to fall into the water with arrows through their bodies. The Raven commander Skrooth landed on the ground in front of Shum, panting with his beak open wide. ‘Lord Shum, there are about 100 elves concealed in the reeds along the opposite bank. If we stay at least this distance off the river, they can’t reach us.’ Shum looked at the Raven who failed to see an evil spark in the Warlord’s eyes. He replied calmly ‘Why had my Raven prowlers not sighted them until now then.’ The Raven looked alarmed as his red eyes darted back and forth. He hopped backwards, spread his wings wide and went to kick off the ground. Shum leapt forward, and in a quick snap, some feathers floating about the field were all that was left of the Raven named Skrooth. Several Ravens circling above screeched in dismay and flew rapidly to the south.
Shum bellowed loudly to keep moving. House Lieutenants barked orders, and soon the Wildpack with their goblin allies were moving again. The goblins hung back a bit, and Brod and his mages wondered why the elves had not attacked them with some enchantment. Several miles ahead, the open moors finally gave way to some woods and close rock formations. The river was louder as it crashed over giant boulders and rocks. A scouting party of six Wolfhound scouts and fifteen Boarhound brawlers had scouted ahead and now prepared to return and report to Shum. They had found a clear path through the woods that gave a clear view of the open caves in the distant foothill marking the Duskfall stronghold. The hounds had marked the trail with wolf heads from recently slaughtered Duskfall wolf scouts wh
o had recently challenged them. The hounds began to make their way back through the wood to join the main army several miles to the west.
Lieutenant Jurgess from the house of the Boarhound looked up. He had just realised the Raven prowlers that usually accompanied them were no longer visible in the sky. Unbeknown to him they lay on the ground some distance away, with their throats torn out. Then he saw a Kite Hawk circling high in the sky above and knew they were allies to the Falcons. ‘Spy!’ he barked in warning. He froze and raised his head in the air, his nose widened as he inhaled deeply with his eyes darting back and forth. He suddenly caught a strong odour of swine as did two other hounds, who had stopped with him and now looked around growling softly. ‘Formation!’ yelled Jurgess. As the hounds closed, a thunderous galloping from behind them reached their ears. Six heavyset black boars, snorting with their heads down and led by an enormous black and white saddleback boar, spurred directly at them. The Boarhound brawlers stepped up; they were the most fearless of all the hounds. The boars crashed through them, knocking hounds flying and killing a Wolfhound. The boars fought bravely, their thick shoulder-padded plating saving them from many a sharp bite. The hounds recovered quickly and surrounded the attacking boar, ripping at their ears and exposed hindquarters. Long sharp tusks gauged deep through hair, skin and into muscle. Many hounds were bleeding; however, it would not be long before they overpowered the swine.
Howls and shrill whistles were now heard over the din. Six silver Falcons dived through the air with their talons reaching out. They all had wicked-looking silver combat spikes fixed to their legs. They were the least of the hound’s worries though. A tall grey and black wolf followed by ten more stepped out from behind an outcrop of rock. They howled in unison a blistering Wolfsong then bounded towards the hounds. The Boarhound brawlers knew they were doomed, but stood their ground. It was not in their nature to surrender. The Wolfhounds however panicked and looked for a way out. Soon only Lieutenant Jurgess stood on shaky legs and bled from a dozen wounds, the remainder of his scouting party lay around him dead with some of them twitching in their death throes.
The swine and wolves sat around, watching and catching their breath. Several Falcons sat on the backs of some swine pruning feathers, while others circled above with their cousin Kite Hawks in the sky watching. Prince Lothian, leader of the Duskfall pack stood in front of the defeated Boarhound lieutenant. ‘He looked him up and down. ‘So, you kill my scouts and bring an army into our land. Go back to your flea-infested Warlord and tell him I am waiting.’ Several wolves snickered, and the mammoth boar Holk Sabretusk who had just singlehandedly killed two hounds snorted in amusement. ‘I cannot’ said Jurgess. ‘Shum will rip me apart for this failure.’ Prince Lothian replied. ‘Is that your final word? '
Jurgess lowered his head and stared at the ground. He sighed and then nodded, closing his eyes. ‘Very well’, said the Prince who cast a passing glance at Holk. A thick warren of hair rose up from Holk’s neck as he chomped his tusks several times. He grunted and casually walked up to a doomed Jurgess. The lieutenant soon lay with the rest of the dead hounds on the path for the Wildpack to find. Prince Lothian with his wolf and swine warriors, trotted back to the heart of Duskfall to finalize the defence of the stronghold. Falcon seekers now reported an enormous cloud of dust approaching from the west as several thousand bloodthirsty hounds made their way along the north bank of the Glistening River.
Lothian asked a passing scout, ‘Any news of the muntjacs?’ ‘No, my lord’ replied the scout. ‘The last known was that they were still several hours away. ’Very well’, said Lothian. ‘It’s time’. The Prince threw his head into the air and let out a long, loud howl. Soon after, several hundred fierce wolves lined the foothills concealed in the undergrowth. Eighty silver Falcons recently arrived from Aledran sent by Ayah Cloudchaser perched in trees and high in the rocky crags above awaiting their command. Four cleric elves sent by King Cornelius from the Grelen Maze stood a little way up the hill on a rock outcrop where they could see the approaching dust cloud and cast their enchantments when the time came.
49.
THE RUST-SERPENTS
Some miles to the west of the Duskfall stronghold, the rear-guard of the Wildpack army disappeared over a small ridge leaving a dust cloud in their wake. On the opposite side of the bank, two Grelen clerics completed the necessary enchantment to summon the Lightbridge. A company of several hundred rangers carrying swords, shields and with bows on their backs waited in anticipation for the enchantment to be completed. The shields bore the proud sigil of the Grelen clan, a simple depiction of the sun with the elfish symbol for Grelen underneath. The elder Deldrich walked through them, giving words of encouragement. The clerics stepped aside exhausted for the moment, the runes in their marble staffs aglow with magic energy. A shimmer across the water appeared. It reached from the southern side to the northern bank where the Wildpack had recently travelled.
As the elves watched, the shimmer pulsed brighter until it resembled the vibrant colours of a rainbow. A raven scout passed quickly above them and suddenly plummeted to the earth with an elfish arrow through it’s body. The elder directed the company across the bridge over the deep rapid flowing Glistening River. Once on the other bank, they stayed low and travelled in double time to catch up to the rear company of the Wildpack. The overwhelming stink of hound and goblin filled their nostrils as they came within bowshot of a line of hounds in the rear-guard. The elder gave the silent signal, and a hundred rangers dropped to one knee and loosed their arrows. Several hounds went down while their comrades leapt clear. Another hundred elves stepped in front and dropped to one knee with arrows ready. The elder did not give the signal but waited for the next line of hounds to attack. Surprisingly the brawler hounds of the rear-guard did not come back in force to fight them. They continued moving forward and were quickly out of arrow range. The elves were perplexed as this seemed out of character for the hounds. The elves mission was to harry the rear-guard and draw as many back as they could to the Lightbridge. They double-timed again to catch up to the rear-guard for an opportunity to fire again. This opportunity did not come.
A volley of longhorn blasts echoed towards the rangers. Deldrich feared that horn, as he suspected, it was a burst from a summoning horn, born of black craft. He gave the order for the company to withdraw to the Lightbridge. The elves only backtracked a short distance when several loud screams from the direction of Lightbridge came to them. Deldrich yelled out new orders, and the rangers formed up to face the sudden threat that had appeared in front of them. Hissing and wails filled the air as a dozen Rust-Serpents came into view. They hovered just off the ground and flew towards them steadily on substantial leathery wings. The sunlight glistened off thick armoured red and green scales. One or two of them snapped at each other as they flew towards the elves. Horns protruded from their heads and rows upon rows of jagged yellow teeth were visible as they approached. Several hundred black arrows arched into the sky to rain upon the Serpents. Only several found an eye, the remaining arrows clattered off their thick scaled armour.
The two Grelen clerics knew the enchantment to send the Rust-Serpents back to the Dread-Realm and began creating runes in the air while reciting the necessary cipher. The runes in their marble staffs again pulsed and radiated black energy. A full black trench opened in the earth between them and the serpents. A curious roar of rushing wind came from this trench, as if the earth itself had opened its great maw and was inhaling deeply. Daylight began to stream downwards into the hungry black void. The Rust-Serpents slowed down, but they could not break the invisible chains dragging them towards the gateway of their realm. They flapped their mighty wings with great effort to back away from the trench. The Grelen clerics held their marble staffs in front of them facing the trench. Their staffs roared at the widening ditch, filling it with arcane energy to keep it open.
A sudden loud clap and a whirlpool opened in the surface of the river some distance away from the clerics and out o
f reach from the influence of the gateway. At first, they did not notice anything as they were in a concentrated trance, focused entirely on the effort of maintaining the gateway. A colossal head rose from inside the whirlpool followed by the body of a monstrous Rust-Serpent, covered in golden scales, huge and feared among its own kind. Its wings shook out and then carried its long muscular body a considerable distance above the ground as it’s wicked eyes darted back and forth before focusing on the two cleric elves. It ignored the yelling elves as rangers loosed arrow after arrow at this new threat, but they may as well have been firing their arrows into a rock wall. A great shadow enveloped the clerics, as one of them glanced upwards. The Serpent reached down and grabbed the slack jawed cleric in its enormous jaws, killing him instantly. The other cleric now jolted from his enchantment trance, yelled and waved his staff in the face of the golden Serpent. The roaring sound of sucking air into the trench changed to a high-pitched wail as the trench quickly closed with the break of the cleric’s enchantment.
A loud snap followed by a violent shake in the ground and the trench was gone. Only one Rust-Serpent was banished, having been drawn in. The other eleven hissed in glee and advanced once more towards the panicked elves. Many drew swords as their arrows were not effective. None of them had any Druid weapons, as they had all been sent to aid the defence of Aledran. The surviving cleric held the new Rust-Serpent at length as he had conjured an invisible shield in front of him. He went down on one knee with his staff held above his head. The black energy of the staff creating a half-dome shape above the cleric. The Rust-Serpent struck and bit at the elf cleric time and time again. Cracks appeared in the shield, and the cleric faulted. The power in the cleric’s staff waned as another Rust-Serpent came from behind and bit the cleric in the middle shaking him savagely.
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