Twenty-ninth of Harbinger
Belkai had no real knowledge of war, yet she found herself planning one. She did know that she was at a severe tactical disadvantage. She knew that the dwarves’ ultimate goal was the ruins in the western region, but that did not determine their strategy. The truth was, the Forest was too large and her numbers too small to effectively defend. It wasn’t so simple as surrounding the ruins with all of her forces and hoping to absorb the shock of an attack. The homes of the elves had to be protected, as did their sacred sites in the east. Narandir was more than a ruin, it was Belkai’s home. She had no desire to give the dwarves an inch of her land. The elves felt the same, even more so after their millennium of oppression under their former master. Perhaps a military leader would have seen things differently, but fate had given leadership to a mage, not a soldier. Belkai had less than a thousand combat-ready people under her command, and her best fighters, the Ikari, had followed Arak and Brimur to Lustria to investigate the portals there.
What resulted was a compromise that she hoped would be sufficient to stop her foes. She had six hundred elves trained and capable for warfare. A third of those had actually seen war when they had liberated Larton. Belkai had separated those six hundred into three groups, with the combat experienced scattered across all three. One group had stayed at the main elven settlements as their home defence. More disturbingly to the elves, most of Narandir’s spiders were also in that area laying traps. The other two groups had set up a pair of defensive positions to the south and west of the ruins. The first group, led by Lithmae, had positioned themselves on the south side. That area was far more open, mainly cultivated fields. If the dwarves intended to dig their way into Narandir, this was an ideal place to emerge. Belkai had sent the giant insectoid creatures, called askili by the elves, to the same area. The second group was dug in to the west of the ruins, in an area where the forest was thinner, an easier route to the dwarves’ goal. Belkai had taken Syndra from the ruins and placed her in command of this group. Belkai herself had wanted to join them, but Davos and Loranna had convinced her to stay at the ruins. They needed their commander far enough way to stay safe even as she maintained control of the battle.
The mages were a different story. The southern Correlate were expert fighters, and she split them between Lithmae and Syndra. The Watchers and Brilhardem were formed into teams of two or three of each and patrolled outside the main defensive positions to monitor for the dwarves. If they found anything, the Brilhardem would signal Belkai, and she would co-ordinate the response. Raman’s thirty Spellcasters were in the area around the ruins as the last line of defence before reaching Belkai and the two Watchers that Lasiri had left there.
There were significant gaps in the defences, Belkai knew that, but the dwarves were coming in blind with definite objectives. That made them at least somewhat predictable, and Belkai knew that she was depending on that fact. It might not be enough, but it was what she had. She didn’t know if anyone else was coming, or what other aid she might receive. She had to assume that this was it. So it came down to what Falkar had given to Nimura, and she wouldn’t know the answer to that until the first blood was shed.
Belkai stood in the shade of the crumbling watchtower and closed her eyes, feeling the heartbeats of the fighters in the Forest. She didn’t know most of their names, nor did she know their pasts, yet their lives had led them here, ready to fight and die for her. Her eyes were filled with doubt as she looked over to Davos as he walked towards her.
“Are you okay?” he asked softly. He leaned against the wall beside her and took her hand in his.
“Mishtar had a thousand years to prepare for war,” Belkai said. “He couldn’t even stop us.”
“They didn’t call him the Recluse for nothing,” Davos reminded her. “He wasted his time. You’re already more than he ever was. You were born for this moment.”
“If we fail...”
Davos stood in front of her, and gently lifted her chin so that their eyes met. “The world can be a dark place, Belkai. There will always be evil to conquer and trials to face. You win some battles and lose others. But light always shines brighter in the dark.
You have brought peace between the Aliri and Svaleta. You have brought the mages together. You have already done the impossible, Belkai. We all trust you. We all have hope because of you.”
“Davos, whatever happens, Delorax cannot get to that artefact,” Belkai said. “I don’t know what I may have to sacrifice to keep it safe. But he cannot get his hands on it.”
“He won’t.” Davos leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “I swear it.”
And how will you stop him, Belkai wanted to ask, but forced herself to accept his words. There was a time to have hope, and if it wasn’t now, then when?
***
Belkai’s scouting teams were scattered across the western region of Narandir, each operating independently as they kept watch for any signs of their enemies. It wasn’t a new concept for Lasiri Ar’ola. She may have been the head of the Watchers, but she well remembered the many years that she had spent in the hunting parties wandering the kingdoms and putting down Arcane incursions. She’d learned many bitter lessons during those years, and she had taught them well to her students once she had ascended the ranks. She didn’t know the Brilhardem in her hunting party, but she knew Brimur’s approach well enough that she trusted them. Anyone who survived the Ikari wilderness and reached Brimur’s standards of magical ability was tough enough to fight alongside a Watcher. In the worst possible way, Belkai had proven that beyond a doubt. Certainly, the mages with her seemed competent. They were older, all Lustrians, and seemingly eager for a fight. That was good. They would need that fire for the fight to come.
It was approaching midday when Lasiri stopped at a stream to refill their water bladders. One of the older mages – regardless of technical definitions, Lasiri had always thought of her people as hunters, not mages – came up to her and sat by her side.
“Do you sense anything?” the Watcher asked. The mage shook his head.
“Not foreign to the Forest, anyway. This place is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.”
Lasiri smiled. “It is certainly different from the Dominion. Imagine if you did your Pilgrimage here instead.”
The mage looked around and grunted. “I’d rather face the orcs. At least you can see them coming. But here? There are a million places to hide. The Forest almost overwhelms the senses. I don’t know how Belkai handles it.”
Lasiri cocked her head and sat back. “You’re struggling with it?”
The mage nodded. “Every tree has a whisper, every insect that makes the trees home. There are deer, birds, and the creatures that Mishtar formed here. It’s a cacophony.”
“You’ve been in forests before.”
“Not like this. This is a very different place, a different world, even. You cannot imagine what we sense here.”
“But Belkai can sort through it.”
“More than any of us,” the mage confirmed. Before Lasiri could ask another question, he went rigid. Lasiri slowly stood, watching as the other mages spread out and unsheathed their weapons. The Watchers stood at the ready, though none had conjured their own weapons yet.
“What is it?” she whispered to the mage beside her. As if in answer, the ground bucked as if it had been struck from below. Lasiri was struck by a wave from the stream, and the Brilhardem called for her team to stand still. One of them announced that she was signalling Belkai, and Lasiri flexed her fingers. She whispered a spell and a flaming green sword appeared in one hand, a similar-looking shield emerging on her opposite arm. Red light flared as the other two Watchers summoned their weapons. Somewhere close by, a tree toppled and Lasiri heard what sounded like a small rockslide. She shifted in that direction, straining to see what was coming. She sensed nothing, but the mages seemed nervous. That wasn’t a good sign.
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Lasiri heard the arrow before she saw it and threw her shield arm up just in time. The arrow shattered on impact, and Lasiri called out a warning. She could see them now, a group of dwarves in bronze armour advancing towards them. The archer notched another arrow, raised his bow, then collapsed as his neck snapped seemingly of its own accord. Lasiri and the two Watchers moved forward, Lasiri leading with her sword and shield, her hunters following up wielding flaming axes. Their introduction to dwarven prowess was brutal. They may have been shorter and weighed down by armour, but they moved with surprising speed and power. Lasiri whipped up her shield to stop a blow from a steel hammer and was almost driven off her feet by the blow. As the dwarf lined up a second swing, Lasiri slammed the shield into his face, then as his head flew backwards, she sliced her blade straight through his neck. A second dwarf charged her with a spear at the ready, but suddenly collapsed like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Another arrow missed Lasiri by an inch, and she shifted to face the new threat. She charged at the dwarf, who was loading a strange arrow into a wooden device. He laid the arrow on top and began to pull a drawstring back horizontally. He was too slow. Seeing Lasiri coming in fast, he threw the weapon at her face and drew a dagger while she was ducking. She parried the first swing, and kicked his legs out from under him. As he fell, her blade pierced his chin and carved upwards out through his skull. She tore her blade out and took a second to look around. One of the dwarves fired its strange bow, catching one of the Brilhardem by surprise. The arrow struck her in the neck, pinning her to a tree. Her hands desperately clawed at the shaft, but a second arrow through the skull put her down. Lasiri turned to see one of her Watchers cut down by a spear. She raced to his aid but couldn’t move faster than the hammer that caved in his skull. He was avenged quickly as Lasiri tackled the dwarf to the ground, casting her sword beneath his neck in time for him to land on the blade. She was back on her feet before his head stopped rolling. There was no way to win this, Lasiri knew. Her group was down to four, and the dwarves kept coming. How big are these tunnels?
She didn’t hear the fluttering of wings over the clatter of the battle. The first sign of the Blackwings was when a dwarf was suddenly lifted into the trees and a splash of blood washed over his comrades. Those few who noticed froze, making themselves easy pickings for the creatures that Belkai had sent to reinforce Lasiri’s hunters. The Blackwings struck hard and without mercy. Their needle teeth and razor-sharp talons quickly found the weak points in the dwarven armour, and hauling them into the treetops made them easy prey. Others slammed their prey into the ground, the impact enough to knock them senseless while the Blackwings tore at any exposed flesh. Lasiri pushed aside her horror at the Blackwings’ brutality and rushed forward under their cover. The dwarves still fought hard, but it was a tough ask to fend off an angry Watcher while a Blackwing was trying to rip your helmet free. Lasiri took full advantage of that fact, and the surviving members of her team were right beside her as they slashed their way through the dwarven forces.
***
Had Belkai been a military strategist, she would have understood Lasiri’s battle to be a distraction from the main assault. The ferocity of the raid had blinded her to the wider reality as she guided the Blackwings in to support the hunters. War is an unforgiving teacher, and its lessons are written in blood. The main assault did not come in the southwest, where Lasiri fought for her life, but rather against Lithmae’s company in the southern fields. He had prepared his positions well, taking full advantage of the Forest itself. He had archers and spear wielders in the trees, out of sight of anyone on the ground and ready to strike in ambush. The bulk of his forces, one hundred elves, were arranged in three lines around the fields. Each elf was placed a few feet apart, giving them room to manoeuvre and strike, while theoretically forcing any enemy avoiding a blow to move into the kill area of the next elf. The fifty Correlate mages were on the southern end of the fields, ready to dart in and strike chaos amongst any dwarven attack. The remainder of Lithmae’s forces were standing in reserve, ready to plug any hole that was torn through his lines. It seemed an effective strategy, but it was yet to be tested.
The first sign of trouble came when they felt the first subtle tremors running through the earth. Muscles tensed, weapons were readied, and Lithmae swallowed nervously as he sat in the branches of an ancient tree overlooking the fields. The grass seemed to ripple like a disturbed pond, and he lifted his horn, ready to signal for his archers to strike. Whatever breaks through, we will hold, he swore to himself. He heard the crashing of the askili drawing near, sensing the approaching threat. He could see his archers in the trees ready to launch their shots, eyes glued on the rippling ground.
Lithmae didn’t know what he’d expected, but it certainly wasn’t what emerged. Without any warning, the rippling earth exploded upwards, showering his ranks with dirt and debris. What burst out of the hole was some sort of technological nightmare. The first thing Lithmae saw was a chain of blades moving too fast for any non-elven eye to distinguish, anchored between two iron arms attached to a wheeled monstrosity at least ten feet long. He could see two barely-clothed dwarves inside, but they were shielded by an ironclad compartment with small viewports. Lithmae didn’t know what powered it, but he assumed it was the yellow bands of light that seemed to pulse around the body of the machine. It shot out of the hole that it had dug, slammed onto solid earth, then crashed into the tree line. Its blades shattered the trees, turning them to splinters that hurtled through the air fast enough to rip limbs from the bodies of those caught in the blasts. Some of the archers fired, their arrows bouncing harmlessly off the machine’s iron sides. Two elves leaped onto the sides to find an entrance, both flying backwards with arrows sticking from their throats. Still the machine continued chewing through the trees as it rolled north. The Correlate mages were a mile away on the other side of the fields, and broke cover as they charged forward to get close enough to be of help.
A series of screeches reached Lithmae’s ears a moment before two askiri burst out of the trees and charged the machine. The first slammed its massive foreclaws into the side, almost knocking it over. Lithmae’s elation was short lived. The dirt exploded beneath the askiri and a set of huge reptilian jaws clamped down on its leg. The creature let out a screech and lashed out with its foreleg, giving a blow that would have turned an elf to a bloody mist. The serpent’s head rocked to the side, then it launched upwards to seize the askiri by the throat and slam it into the ground. Even across the clearing, Lithmae could hear the crunch of its bones shattering. The second askiri was close behind, though, and leapt onto the back of the serpent, ramming its claws through its body even as it began coiling around the giant insect. They died that way, one crushed within the serpent’s coils, the serpent with a claw through its skull.
A purple bolt flashed past Lithmae, launched by a Correlate mage, and exploded against the dwarven machine, knocking two of its wheels off. It began to spin before it was hit by another four blasts and went still. A previously hidden door swung open and the two dwarves stumbled out, disorientated by the impacts. They both went down instantly with arrows through their chests. The victory was short lived. The mages were nearing the machine’s entry passage when a company of dwarves swarmed out firing mechanical bows and brandishing swords and war hammers. Lithmae’s lines were already broken, and his surviving archers didn’t make enough of an impact on the dwarven horde to stop them before they began crashing into what was left of the defensive lines. The time for directing was over. Lithmae unsheathed his sword and dropped from his tree, landing in the middle of a cluster of dwarves trying to outflank the main defences. Steel rang out, and two dwarves fell dead before they knew he was there. A third swung his hammer for Lithmae’s chest, but he stepped to the side and sliced his blade through his attacker’s arm. The dwarf roared as his limb hit the ground, and Lithmae ended his suffering with a blow to the head. Too late, he realised that he had attracted the attention of a good dozen or so dwarves, all of whom charged at once. There was no stylised fight, just a desperate exchange of blows and counterthrusts as he retreated back towards the elven lines. He sensed more than heard the crashing of an askiri, and leaped up a tree as the beast smashed through the group of dwarves, pummelling them into the ground. A thunderous roar tore through the air, and Lithmae turned to see that one of the Correlate mages had exploded the roof of the tunnel, blocking off any reinforcements. The dwarves were still pressing the attack, but now they were cut off. Victory or death, Lithmae thought grimly. He knew his own choice.
Without a second’s thought, he dropped onto the askiri’s back. It bucked once, then seemed to recognise him as a friend and charged towards the dwarven force. The surviving Correlate mages gathered alongside him, and the unlikely counterattack struck the dwarven rear with stunning force. Correlate magic was a darker, ancient force that summoned pure energy to devastating effect. The dwarves were torn apart by fiery blasts and pressure pockets that crushed their bodies. The askiri was in a blood frenzy at it ripped apart every foe that strayed within its kill zone. Lithmae leaped free and joined the fray, carving his way through a group of dwarven archers. One of them drew a dagger as Lithmae closed in on him, and charged forward, dropping to the ground to avoid the elf’s crushing blow. As Lithmae spun to recover, the dwarf swung his blade, slicing through his leg. Lithmae collapsed beside him and bit back a scream as he dropped his sword. He smashed his fist into the dwarf’s face and took hold of the dagger with one hand. The other found a rock and rammed it home on his enemy’s wrist once, then twice, and once his grip loosened Lithmae pulled the dagger free, reversed it, and plunged it through the bridge of his nose. Only then did he collapse onto his back and let loose a scream of agony as blood spurted from his leg with every beat of his heart.