‘What of the mancub and Jericho?’ inquired Bragus. Ayah continued. ‘The Ravens and nightbirds saturate the skies. My seekers that have escaped said they are only several days away.’ ‘What of King Blackpaws and my daughter?’ Inquired the prince hopefully. Ayah added. ‘King Blackpaws and Nova are just hours away. He has reached the safety of the Aledran forest and is on his way here.’ This bit of news appeared to improve Lothian’s mood. ‘Good’, said Bragus, ‘some positive news at least.’ Ayah replied, ‘Apart from a few skirmishes with Wildpack scouts, most of Blackpaw’s pack and the packs of the outer wolf provinces have made it here safely.’ Ayah looked at Prince Lothian and bowed, respectively. ‘That is apart from Duskfall Province, my prince.’
The group went silent for a few moments, and then Shalia spoke first. ‘We can expect no help from King Cornelius. We lost several hundred rangers harrying the Wildpack through the edge of our lands when the witches’ set Rust-Serpents upon us. Witch Ravyne and the Night Grove skyriders move against the Grelen maze. Our king is busy fortifying what he can and preparing his defences. He cannot spare any rangers or clerics at this minute.’ ‘Nor can us to him.’ Replied Bragus. He continued, ‘We can only hope he fares well and repels the witches’. Princess Eylon looked at Shalia and said, ‘Now the mancub, are you ready?’ ‘Yes, Princess.’ Replied Shalia. She closed her eyes and held her glowing marble staff in front. The staff disappeared into distortion in the air.
Shalia walked forward and in an instant was gone. Barney was getting used to seeing these strange events, but they still left him gawking and opened mouthed. Dafina smiled, ‘My sister has gone to do what she can to help get this mancub here safely.’ The group chattered, and soon other Falcons and a wolf messenger arrived and gave news of the events at the border. A few hundred swine and some solitary warthogs have made it. Some surviving wolves from the Dreyfell province in the wetlands west of the steppes had just come in. Their leader Greytail and most of his warriors were slaughtered by the yellow witches’ from the Mirror Lake Coven only a day’s march from Aledran’s borders. The lady of this coven, Gretchen the Haggard had ordered that the wolves be skinned and left on display at the border of the Dreyfell province as a warning to her enemies. The few wisps of hair clung desperately to her nearly bald yellow head as her beady eyes watched with pleasure as this order was carried out. A grinning mouth full of broken black teeth screeched at her skyriders to fan out and look for further fleeing victims.
The painted wolves of Dreyfell, known for their bravery and resilience were close to being wiped out, but the survivors had savagely fought through a large detachment of goblins to escape. A small handful of muntjac warriors have also made it. They were all wounded survivors after fleeing the battle at Duskfall. They had yet to receive any answer from the bovine lords in the Southern Highlands. The messengers then departed. Bragus looked stern as he addressed the group. ‘My sleuth of fighters number half a thousand, we have that same number in wolf warriors from the combined packs and again in elf rangers and swine. There are no more that we can call on.’ Princess Eylon added ‘A number of our more experienced elf rangers are equipped with Druid weapons, and we have a good number of clerics readying themselves to repel the witch and goblin curses.’ Bragus looked at the Princess and the mighty muntjac Karvu and said, ‘Then let us begin.’
Hiding their nerves well, they stood proudly in ranks across the one-mile-wide entrance to the Great Rift. The tall warm forests of Aledran at their back and the steppes and open moorland in front. Birdsong and the scent of the great Oak, Ash and Mountain Pine trees flooded their senses. The Glistening River ran through here out of the Great Rift through the steppes and into the moors and was shallow enough to cross in some places. The water was clear and refreshing to drink. Small fish swam back and forth, oblivious to the looming battle above. The defenders had split their forces evenly on either side of the river. Several miles downstream near Duskfall Bridge the first of the witches’ throng had begun to accumulate. A slight breeze created the comforting sound of the leaves in the forest behind them to remind them of what they fought for. All the defenders who stood silently here knew this serenity would not last long.
Captain Gron, the eight-foot-tall dwarf bear, stood in front of a sleuth of several hundred warrior bears. Some carried massive clubs while others had thick grey blades attached to their front paws like swords. Failing the use of weapons, they had their long claws and thick sharp teeth. All of the bears wore amour of some sort including breastplates with the Aledran sigil. They all wore open-faced helms with the single spike resembling a pine tree protruding from the top that made them look more imposing. The Silent Ridge scout Regus now healed padded up and down the lines of grey and black wolves with Darnet the Duskfall scout giving words encouragement. These two wolves having already fought the enemy volunteered to lead the front ranks into battle. Princess Eylon and Karvu had not long arrived despite the pleas of Bragus to stay in the safety of Aledran Mountain.
Several hundred elf rangers armed with bows, swords and shields shook with anticipation of the battle to come. Scattered amongst them were the bravest and strongest elf warriors, chosen by the elders to wield the Druid weapons. Double bladed black flame axes, daylight longbows with light-infused black arrows and a few rune swords. All had glowing blue druid runes which hummed slightly and created unease in the nearby wolves. A few hundred boars and a small number of muntjac and warthog warriors took their place in the ranks and were prepared to fight and die for Aledran. Out front and centre of the swine and warthog warriors stood a hulking warthog named Mudblade. He was aptly named for his abnormally 2 foot long canine tusks that protruded from his great shovel-shaped head and his thick warty armoured hide constantly mud-encrusted. He was a champion among the hog sounders of the East Marsh. He stood proudly with his kin, honoured to have been chosen as a leader into battle. His stout front legs raised upon a rock as he surveyed several dust plumes to the west. The source of the dust was at different angles, undoubtedly from the ranks of marching enemies that sped to join the witch’s chaos legion.
Even now exhausted survivors still crossed the borders. A pony here and there, a sow and her half-grown slips following the river bank through the reeds, terrified after narrowly escaping a patrol of hungry Rottweils further downstream. She stopped when she saw the line of wolves ahead, but quickly realised they were friendly when they allowed her to pass. Some Owls and white Moorbirds screeched incoherently above as they fled into the Safety of the forest of the Great Rift. The defenders knew that thousands more were out there, fleeing from the Wildpack to the west towards the coast or north into Trunarth and the unexplored jungles beyond. For them, it would be too late to reach Aledran as the entrance would soon be isolated by the invading armies.
Other leaders from the Falcon caste circled above with hundreds of Falcon warriors and their smaller cousins the Kite Hawks. Their leader, Ayah Cloudchaser, was on another mission for Bragus and would join them later when the battle began. They had been instructed not to fly over the moorland but preserve their strength for the defence of the outer boundary of Aledran. On Princess Eylon’s orders, elf clerics recited and prepared enchantments for curses and counter curses in anticipation of what the invaders might invoke against them. A hushed silence fell over the defender's lines suddenly as some distant wailing came to them from downstream. Some victims fallen to the Wildpack, no doubt. Wolves’ ears flicked back and forth, trying to identify the source of the distress. Several wanted to go and rescue whatever the wretched creature was. The wolf scout Darnet advised against it. He had witnessed the cunning and cruelty of the witches’ minions and believed this could be a rouse.
The noise stopped and then was replaced by a distant dull roaring sound. The Falcons and Kite Hawks were the first to see it. Two huge plumes of smoke and dust from the north and south, both converging to the west of the defender’s position. Both Wildpack armies had united under the witches’ control. Goblin mages had been burning th
e woodlands along the steppes for the last few miles as they progressed. They had been instructed to scorch the land in their wake and leave nothing. Messengers were dispatched regularly to Aledran Mountain, an hour’s flight away to keep the Shah Bragus informed. The defenders looked up at the clear blue afternoon sky and watched in disappointment as rolling dense black clouds came from the west and engulfed it. The cloud front stretched as far as one could see over the moorland, brewing lifelike and roaring defiance across the moorlands as it engulfed the blue sky. Flickering purple lights could be seen through the black mass as it growled and travelled above the witches’ army like some guardian creature. The air became dark, and the entire atmosphere became foreboding and loathsome. Long thick black lines appeared to be moving about under the clouds, and it was soon established that these were throngs of Ravens and nightbirds. The witches’ had come with their storm.
58.
BAYING OF THE HOUNDS
The witch Lady Strala and her skyriders flew above the southern army and were pleased. Their numbers had increased to over 1,000 brawlers and close to 1,000 reavers from the combined southern goblin hides. Several hundred Deadbite Canines had also arrived from the west along with four more swamp trolls. The swamp trolls carried small tree trunks as clubs and Strala was confident that they would cut a path of destruction through the defenders’ front lines. Her goblins mages below and her skyriders would also have their magic abilities to summon aid and invoke curses. Her patron Daemon Dalgaith had also promised further assistance when the time came to conquer Aledran Mountain itself. And this was only the southern army. Soon she would meet Ravyne’s northern army on the doorstep to Aledran. Yes, Strala was in rather a good mood these last few days.
There was still the matter of the mancub with the Talisman but looking down at the might she commanded, she doubted that any Talisman could stop that. A loud yell from below snapped her from her thoughts, and she looked down. She grinned in amusement as she saw the overweight goblin, King Boorag lose his balance and fall out of his hastily made wooden chariot. The wheel had fallen off again, and goblins scrambled around him trying to fix it as he scalded them with empty threats. Two exhausted captured ponies took the opportunity to lie down in their crude rawhide woven leather harnesses. Strala tolerated Boorag. He had, after all, followed her instructions that led to the demise of Grell which ultimately assisted her to defeat the NaZuth.
The half-rotten head of Lieutenant Crovar sat atop a spiked corner post of the chariot box as a reminder to the other hounds of their fate if they sought betrayal. His eyes were gone, treasured by the Raven that got them first, and a long pale tongue lolled about his bottom jaw rolling from side to side with the rocking of the king’s chariot. Attached to the rear of the chariot by a long chain stumbled the half-naked goblin Reek who had earlier escaped the Golem with Crovar. He had fallen into Grell’s company and was captured as a spy after the slaying of Crovar and likely death of the mage Grell. With some minor persuasion, Reek had confessed to king Boorag of everything. Boorag had decided to keep him alive for a bit longer.
After the victory at Duskfall, Shum thought it wise to remove the remaining body parts of the blind witch. He was feeling somewhat euphoric, now that Duskfall was his. The wolves were dead and gone, and the little matter of revenge against the witch Lilura had been a welcome opportunity. However, he later realised that Ravens and other skyriders would be here soon enough looking for Lilura and to ensure the Wildpack continued towards Aledran to undertake their main objective. He discussed the matter with several of his lieutenants and regardless of what they said; Shum had already decided to bury the pieces of her body in a deep recess within the Duskfall caves. At daylight, the witch Jeveran arrived and with her came a grey sky of drizzling rain. The previous night she had left her Lady Ravyne at the Grelen maze in the North Marsh and came to Duskfall. She was pleased to see the results, however, was a bit perplexed as to Lilura’s whereabouts. The hounds gave her no clue. Jeveran knew that Lilura was ever headstrong, but she would turn up in a day or two no doubt.
Jeveran gave orders for Shum to lead his army south out of the moors and through the steppes to the border of Aledran. It was only one day’s journey as 2,000 brawlers marched in loose formation along the edge of the foothills. A detachment of Dane and Shepherd scouts had gone ahead on forward patrol and caught up with some wounded wolves. No doubt they were deserters fleeing from the previous night’s battle. They toyed with them for a while before killing them and leaving them for Shum to find. By midday, the sky had darkened, and two skyriders from the Mirror Lake Coven in the west had arrived with several hundred Ravens and 100 Grey Reapers, the heavily muscled hairless baboon like creatures with dull non-responsive eyes. They had travelled for weeks in the cover of their grey mist across the moors to join the offensive soon to be carried out at Aledran’s west border. The witches’ eerily coloured skin shone a dark tone of yellow under the drizzly sky. Shum noted that the reapers sported wide jaws with protruding fangs and long arms with wicked-looking talons at the end of thick grey fingers. The warlord voiced his concern to Jeveran about these things being near his hounds, and to humour him the witches’ kept the Grey Reapers behind the rear guard.
Late that afternoon Shum’s brawlers came back and reported that they had met the Van Guard of the Wildpack army he had sent a month ago to the south. He was pleased and pushed forward with haste. The two armies now met at the Duskfall Bridge over the Glistening River. Shum ordered all the lieutenants to him. The sky was black now, and on the breeze, Shum smelt a large goblin camp nearby. Several witches’ including Lady Strala and others he did not know were meeting on high ground some distance away and surrounded by a guard of Grey Reapers and Deadbite Canines.
The warlord detested the Deadbites. Once of mankind now warped into half-breed that belonged to neither species. They were fanatically loyal to the witches’ cause. He did not see the Lady Ravyne with the witches’ yet and wondered where she was. He saw the enormous white raptor Skraww in Strala’s company, which would explain the 1,000 or so noisy ravens circling around in the sky above him. Skraww had earlier learned of Shum’s needless killing of commanderSkrooth, and the mighty raptor was sorely tempted to dive onto the Warlord and tear his eyes out. However, he stayed his anger as Lady Strala had promised him sweet revenge when the time was right. Several lieutenants approached Shum and advised him that the defenders were situated at the border of Aledran only a few miles upstream, where the forest began at the start of a vast valley they called the Great Rift. Ravens had sighted many bears, wolves and elves adorned for battle.
Shum recalled how ferocious the bears were from the encounter ten years ago. This time, however, he commanded over 3,000 brawlers, alongside a goblin army, witches magical aid and a variety of other creatures. The outcome of this battle would be different. Shum gave orders to his lieutenants to form up into their houses, rest and be ready for orders from the witches’. A short distance away, Strala now in her preferred skeletal form stood on the bank of the Glistening River. Her grinning skull ensured no interference from any lesser creatures as they shunned her presence. She reached over the fast-flowing water with a closed bony fist. She recited a cipher as small objects emitting a pale blue glow, shone out between her clutching finger bones. Several moments later, two round objects like small pearls dropped into the water without a splash. They sunk out of sight as other witches’ leaned anxiously over the bank to watch. All that was visible was the fast current of water. Beneath the water, the assassin’s darted upstream mimicking small fish to travel undetected towards the heart of Aledran.
It was much darker than it should have been for that time of the afternoon, but the witches’ enchanted sky had choked out the last of the light as the sun disappeared over the western horizon. The Falcons were forced to roost for the night in the safety of the tall trees further in from the border. The last Falcon seeker reported seeing an enormous army encampment on both sides of the Glistening River near the Dusk
fall Bridge. The night, however, was uneventful. Gron and Princess Eylon had thought the attack would begin, but nothing happened. They anticipated the witches’ were waiting for something. A flock of nightbirds had come over during the night, most likely to test their defences. The elves with the Druid Light Bows fired many sparkling arrows into the night, and each enchanted arrow found a nightbird. After an hour, the nightbirds no longer came.
Just before daylight, a heavy mist rolled up the open steppes following the Glistening River upstream towards the entrance to the Great Rift were weary defenders held their ranks. As the mist cleared, the first of the Falcons went up. The wolves howled warnings as the overwhelming stench of hound came with the mist. Suddenly the mist lifted to float above them and the defenders were met with a daunting view. Like the scum of the sea that clings to the bow of a skiff, Strala’s chaos legion gathered before the entrance to the Great Rift. Thousands of brawlers pawed at the ground with several detachments of armed goblin reavers mixed throughout. Four swamp trolls towered behind the enemy’s ranks, dressed in rags and holding tree trunks as clubs. The Wildpack stayed beyond the reach of the elfish arrows as their wicked eyes gleamed in the struggling morning light. Like a great black hand, boiling clouds held the rising sun at bay, and the morning remained dark and cold.
A clash of noise above hidden in the mist and the first of the Ravens had engaged Ayah’s Falcons. Whistles and screeches filled the air, thuds and swooping of wings came to the defenders below as they looked up. The waves of mist and black sky reduced visibility, and no help could be given from the elves. Raven and Falcon's feathers began floating to the ground. The noise above stopped as a Kite Hawk plummeted to the ground in the space between the Wildpack and the defenders. He flapped around on the ground in distress with a broken wing. A young Dane brawler followed by barks of laughter from his comrades, darted forward out of his line to snap up the wounded Kite-Hawk, despite the warning bark of Falix, his house lieutenant. An enchanted elf arrow found his side. He ran around in circles snapping at the large black arrow that ran him through the chest, before going stiff and falling to the ground. A moment of silence followed, and then a mighty roar from the wolves and cheering from the elves.
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