Armies of the Silver Mage

by Christian Freed

  “I say we sneak down behind them and attack. Hopefully we kill one or two before they get spooked enough to run. Then we turn their bows on them. We may not know swords, but each of us grew up hunting.”

  “This is crazy.”

  “I’m listening if you have something better in mind,” Fennic queried.

  Delin shook his head in defeat. “I hate when you do it.”

  “You only hate it because I’m right. Come on.”

  “When did you become the leader of this adventure?” he asked before following.

  They went as fast as they dared without risking discovery. Neither was especially sure of how to handle the situation so they just eased into it. Patches of sunlight and shadow dotted the lightly forested slope, making it almost impossible to spot their foe. The Goblins were cunning and well camouflaged. Delin quickly realized the only way to kill a Goblin was to view it as a deer. They moved closer.

  Gentle thrumming danced across the slope. Lines of fire sped from the trees into the diminishing ranks of the defenders. Delin saw another recruit topple over with a burning arrow in his chest. The world suddenly became a terrible place more real than his darkest fantasies. The recruits weren’t much older than he and Fennic.

  Fennic crept closer to the Goblin archer, Phaelor humming softly in his hands. His blood pounded with the warrior spirit of generations long past. The star silver sword demanded justice for blood spilled. And Fennic delivered. He strode confidently forward, the instrument of the gods. Life and death were insignificant compared to the power he wielded. Fennic attacked.

  The Goblin archer spun about suddenly. His bow was knocked and drawn. Fennic charged from the trees at the same moment and the Goblin loosed in terror. The arrow sped past Fennic’s head, forcing him to duck right. As heightened as his reflexes now were, the Goblin was better trained and quicker. The beast dropped his bow and drew the wicked blade from his waist. He was on Fennic in a heartbeat. Steel clashed, with the village boy fighting for his life. The Goblin was much stronger than he anticipated. A brutal slash knocked Phaelor from his grasp and he knew it was over. The Goblin slowly drew back for the killing blow.

  Fennic found he couldn’t close his eyes, no matter how hard he tried. He saw his own reflection his the Goblin’s soulless eyes. He watched the rust stained blade arc down. But the blow never fell. The Goblin jerked back in mid-swing and pitched forward in a spray of blood and ichors. Fennic looked up to see Delin holding a blood stained sword.

  “You saved my life,” Fennic whispered.

  “I shouldn’t have had to,” Delin replied.

  He was in shock at having taken his first life.

  EIGHTEEN

  “What do we do now?”

  Flaming arrows were still dropping into the defenders. Only a span of moments had passed since Fennic and Delin joined the fight. Norgen was still alone in the back of the enemy masses and inflicting great damage. Bodies piled up around him. The situation on the slope was much less dramatic. Phaelor lay partially buried under dead leaves a few meters off, close to the Goblin’s bow.

  “Grab the bow and follow me,” Fennic said with a twinkle in his eyes. “If we can kill enough of their archers the rest will break and run. Come on.”

  Both of them knew that Delin was the better archer by far. He’d practically grown up in the woods, hunting and fishing. His father taught him everything needed to survive in the wild. Delin’s only problem was he didn’t know if he could keep killing. Determined to save the recruits, Delin strung the bow and turned to darker thoughts. He tried to focus. Tried to imagine the enemy as wild deer or bear. It was the only way he decided. Delin drew back and fired.

  The first was the toughest kill. He’d had plenty of time to study the dark gray body. The way the loose armor covered the torso and the bulging muscles in his arms and neck. These Goblins were stronger than they appeared. The arrow sliced through the back of the Goblin’s neck, ripping out the throat and vocal cords. Delin watched the dying Goblin pitch forward down the hill to the cheers of the men below. It was then Delin knew he was making a real difference.

  He killed eight more before running out of arrows. What remained of the Goblin archers broke and run for safety. Born in dark caves, Goblins keep to themselves and are generally superstitious by nature. Some say they were once related to Dwarves, due to their size and aggressiveness. Wary of the sunlight and a host of dangers concealed by the light, the Goblin race stayed in the safety of the darkness. Here, they were caught in the open by a foe that had learned to fight back.

  * * *

  Sergeant Hallis pulled the blood stained Dwarf to his feet and they watched what was left of the Goblins retreat. Too many on both sides were dead, with others lying in pain on the threshold. Further fighting served no purpose. Hallis and Norgen stalked the battlefield for wounded Goblins. There were none when the pair finished.

  “You and your company came just in time,” Hallis told him in an acidic tone. “I don’t think we were going to hold much longer. How many did you bring?”

  Norgen wiped some of the blood from the blades of his axe. “Myself and two others.”

  “You attacked a reinforced company of Goblins by yourselves? I’ve seen bravery in battles plenty of times, but yours was near suicidal,” Hallis said in disbelief. “But the help is much appreciated. Name’s Hallis.”

  “Norgen,” the Dwarf scowled back. “Who’s in charge here?”

  “I am now. Most everyone else was killed in the beginning.” Just then recognition flashed in the man’s eyes. “I know you, don’t I?”

  Norgen nodded. “Aye. Back in Alloenis.”

  “I remember. It was you and that pair of boys we couldn’t convince to join us.” He looked around at the dead. “Probably better they didn’t. This is no job for boys.”

  Norgen couldn’t help but agree. He’d been just a lad when he killed his first Goblin and the memory was forever a part of him.

  “What brings you this way?” Hallis asked.

  Norgen gave an abbreviated version of the story, to the point where none but the vital points remained. Dwarves were long known for their skill at telling tales and dragging them out for hours on end. For Norgen to speak so plainly and quickly was quite a feat.

  “Ills news,” Hallis said. He looked over his shoulder at the sound of Delin and Fennic returning. The soldier passed Norgen a queer look. Norgen shrugged.

  The boys looked his in the eye and nodded once. He could see the difference in them. They were men now, no longer innocent boys from the countryside. It warmed his heart to see them both alive and unharmed. Norgen said nothing about the pair of bows with two full quivers each they brought with them.

  “Survived your first scrape I see,” he told them. “Remember what you learned here. A good soldier learns from mistakes.”

  “I almost died up there,” Fennic said shakily. “Phaelor…”

  “That’s war, boy,” Norgen reminded. “We almost die every time we touch the blade. Are either of you wounded?”

  “No,” Delin answered. He drew a deep breath for the first time. “Just a few cuts and bruises.”

  Sudden pain lanced through Fennic’s shoulder and he instinctively reached up to clutch the pain. Bright red blood trickled down his bicep, coloring his fingertips when they came away. Funny, he didn’t remember being cut.

  “Let me see your arm,” Norgen said. “I’m no healer, but I’ve been hurt enough to know how to treat the simple wounds.”

  Fennic grimaced as he stripped his tunic off. The pain was so harsh he knew he was going to lose the arm. He just knew.

  “Relax. Tis just a scrape,” the Dwarf said. “Looks like an arrow grazed you.”

  Delin tried to stifle a laugh and failed.

  “What’s so funny?” Fennic fumed.

  “You! It’s just a scratch and you act like you’re dying!”

  “I don’t remember you being attacked the way I was. Ouch,” he cried out when Norgen pinched the wound sh
ut.

  Delin laughed harder. “Because I wasn’t foolish enough to charge into them. If only your mother could have seen you!”

  “Enough,” Norgen growled. “A wound is no laughing matter. Goblins oft dip their arrows in poison. You are fortunate to be alive. Otherwise the poison would have worked through your system and killed you already.”

  The reality of war stung Fennic. He looked at the minor wound and shuddered. What was he doing? He wasn’t a soldier. Wasn’t a warrior from legends told. He was a simple farm boy from Fel Darrins. No one from the village had anything to do with Averon for decades, though he had a hunch that was soon to change. Like it or not, the people of the sleepy village were about to be embroiled in a war of the grandest scale. No one was going to be safe from the armies of the Silver Mage.

  “Gather the bodies and burn them,” Hallis ordered his recruits. “Jin!”

  A battered soldier with a blood stained bandage around his neck limed over.

  “How’s the neck?”

  Jin did his best to smile through the pain. “It’s nothing a pint of ale won’t fix.”

  “Good. I want you to take the rest of the men and bury our dead. Don’t let any of the recruits help. Keep them busy with the Goblins. It wouldn’t do to see them bury their friends and family right now. Keep them moving so as there’s no time to think about

  it.” he paused in thought, recalling the disaster in the Gren Mountains. “How many horses do we have?”

  “Three, but one be able to ride.”

  Hallis looked around. “Send out two scouts. We need a better defensive position before night falls.”

  “I’ll see to it,” Jin told him and then walked off.

  Satisfied for the moment, Hallis drifted back to the Dwarf and his companions.

  “What are your plans now? The road is not safe.”

  Norgen finished cleaning and dressing Fennic’s shoulder. “Seems to me the enemy is all over this side of the mountains. It isn’t wise to travel alone, if you get my meaning.”

  “Indeed I do. And we can sorely use the help. It’s a pity there’s not more of you.” Norgen’s eyes misted, forcing him to close them else they witness the agony in his heart. “There were more. We marched two days out of Breilnor when we were attacked by the Gnaal. I alone escaped.”

  “I am sorry. We had no way of knowing,” Hallis offered.

  “Tis not your fault. The Silver Mage has sent his creatures out in search of something, but what I do not know. I believe whatever they hunt will be the only thing capable of destroying his filth for all time.”

  “You bear ill tidings. Gnaals haven’t been seen outside of Gren in hundreds of years.”

  The Dwarf merely nodded.

  “Still, if what you say is true, there is time to win the war. King Maelor is assembling a great host. I have no illusions of it being enough. For I have seen them might of Gren and all the world should tremble. These are ill times,” Hallis said with a dark voice.

  “There’s a stream a few hundred meters east of here. I’d appreciate it if you and a couple of my boys went and filled the canteens. Paedwyn is far afoot,” he told the boys.

  “We’d be glad to help,” Delin told him, grabbing Fennic by the collar and pulling him along.

  “I wish I still had that innocence,” Hallis admitted while they walked off.

  “We are long past that time,” Norgen said.

  NINETEEN

  Guards and pickets were established for the night on rotating one hour shifts. Jin posted the pickets a hundred meters out for early warning and brought the guards in much closer to the mouth of the cave. He alone would remain awake for the remainder of the night. They’d been lucky to find a shelter big enough for them all, though it wasn’t truly a cave. Time and weather had eroded a large portion of the under bank while several downed oak trees provided natural cover in the front. The enemy had only one avenue of approach. The men slept comfortably that night.

  Most of them.

  “I can still smell them,” Delin whispered.

  Fennic watched him with sad eyes. “It’s all in your mind. The battle was far from here. We need to sleep. I have a feeling things aren’t going to get any easier.”

  “Even if we went home?”

  “Especially then. Do you think anyone will be safe from this war? That battle could easily have taken place in Fel Darrins. No, Delin, the only way to feel safe again is by stopping the Silver Mage. Besides, you heard Norgen. The mage is afraid of something. He knows he can be beaten.”

  Delin wasn’t so sure. Then an idea struck. “What if its Phaelor?”

  Neither actually considered the sword to be the source of all their troubles. Fennic saw it as a powerful gift commanding its own destiny and choosing hosts as the ages past. What if the star silver sword was mean to kill the Silver Mage?

  “Get some sleep. I have a chill going down my spine,” Fennic snapped.

  “Fair enough,” Delin said knowingly. “What do you suppose your mom and dad are doing right now?

  A smile crossed his lips. “I can see her pulling a fresh baked apple pie from the stove, waiting for dad to come home. The whole house smelling of spices and roast meat. She has the last of the wild flowers in a vase on the kitchen table. At least that’s how I want to think of them,” Fennic said.

  “I can see myself sitting down under the willow trees along the river watching the otters play. Tarren’s there too. She’s brought a picnic lunch. The sun is shining and I’ve got Big Tom landed.” Delin fell asleep smiling.

  Night grew colder. Delin was fast asleep, snoring lightly in his cloak. Fennic, however, found sleep elusive. Dark visions taunted him. He pictured himself on the ground waiting to die. Phaelor whispered to him, assuring him of his rightful destiny. And there, alongside a stream in the heart of Averon, Fennic Attleford had his first premonition of the land of Gren.

  All thanks to a foolish idea and skipping work to go fishing. His life, not two months removed, was finished. Voices drifted to him from across the shelter. Their distraction was a welcome relief.

  “What happens once we get to Paedwyn,” Norgen asked.

  Hallis let out a long sigh. “Well, we need to get you in to see the king. These boys will start their training. I only hope there’s enough time before the enemy arrives. The situation is far worse than you think.”

  Even Jin, consumed in his duties as sergeant of the guard, perked his ears.

  “I have seen the hosts of Gren and they are mighty.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that,” Norgen said.

  Hallis replied, “This war is going to take more than the strength of Averon to win. We need your help as much as the Elves.”

  “Would that the Elves still had their will to fight, but I’m afraid countless years of battle and turmoil have turned them against the affairs of others. I’m thinking me and my boys here are all the help you’ll be getting for a spell.”

  Hallis clasped the Dwarf on the shoulder. “Perhaps, but we don’t know what the new day brings until the dawn. We may yet find reason to hope.”

  They were up and moving well before dawn. Hallis kept his mounted scouts ranging in giant circles while the column moved through the wild. The roads weren’t safe and the countryside was wooded lightly enough to provide cover. Most of them, Hallis included, were worn out from days of harassment and battle. They were all armed now, and ready for the next fight. The weak had been trimmed from the ranks, as was the case in every army since time began. The Goblins weren’t going to find them so easy a target again.

  Hallis walked twice as far as the column. The Goblin force was just a reconnaissance raiding party, and that meant the main force was much, much larger. He ranged the length of the column a dozen times over offering encouragement and barking orders. Always were his eyes searching the flanks for sign of the enemy. The new recruits soon forgot the disaster from yesterday and found motivation in his actions. The pace quickened. Hallis rejoined Norgen and the oth
ers when the column stopped for a quick midday meal.

  “What do you think?” he asked between mouthfuls of bread.

  Jin laughed. “We’ve made good time today. Right about now I wish I were a training sergeant.”

  “How so?”

  “How many of them get actual combat veterans to train? Their job is easy with this group.” Jin went back to his canteen for another drink.

  Hallis sat silent in the knowledge that his friends, his brothers, in Gren Mot had once felt the very same way. Now, who knew their status.

  “If all the lands were so fortunate,” Norgen said. “Let us see how well they fight when the weight of Gren moves down onto the plains.”

  “They’ll never get out of the mountains,” Jin boasted. He was a good man, Hallis decided, one of the best junior noncommissioned officers in the army, but he still lacked a wisdom for all out war. “King Maelor has sent ambassadors to all the lands. We won’t stand alone.”

  “Aye, but none have answered,” Norgen replied.

  Fennic didn’t like where the conversation was headed so he decided to change it.

  “What’s Gren like, Sergeant Hallis?”

  All but Norgen turned to the boy with mouths slightly agape. It never dawned on them that he might have another reason for knowing.

  “It is a dark and evil land,” Hallis said with careful thought. “The plains are covered in ash and decay. Nothing lives there. Nothing clean and pure. There is darkness and despair. I would not wish anyone to see what I have there. The enemy has armies ranging as far as the eye can see, and not just Goblins and Trolls. He has Men among them as well. The last descendants of ancient Gren, before the rise of the Mages.”

  “Do not think that because they are Men they can be turned to our side. No, they have become as evil as the very land.” His face turned dark. “They are wild to look at, with long, gnarled beards and dressed in course wool tunics and horned helms. They are fierce warriors. No doubt the Mage will have them in the front when the invasion begins.”

  Delin stared wide eyed as he listened to the description.