First of Frostmaire
Smoke no longer rose from the ruined machine at the southern meadows. It was an hour past dawn as Loranna and Lithmae walked through the elven defences. Although they maintained the same position, Lithmae had shifted his defences two hundred feet into the forest. He’d learned from his earlier mistakes and made the difficult decision to place the Correlate mages as his frontline. They were arranged in a jagged inverted-U formation designed to funnel the dwarven forces through a gauntlet of fire. If their lines were broken, the elves had two defensive belts ready to strike. Any false bravado was long gone. They had seen the face of war, felt the sting of death, and were filled with grim determination as they awaited the next stroke to fall.
“Are they ready?” Loranna asked as they reached the rear of the lines. As much as Lithmae wanted to lead from the front, he had learned that that was a good way to quickly end up dead.
“As ready as they can be,” he replied honestly. “No one is ever truly ready for war.”
“Indeed.” Loranna took his hand in hers. “We will hold, Lithmae. You can be sure of that.”
He looked at her and gave a sad smile. “Whatever happens, Loranna, stay by my side.”
She raised her head, and he leaned forward and kissed her softly. She held his neck and kept him close. “There’s no other place for me.”
“If the worst should happen...”
She shook her head forcefully. “It won’t.”
He grabbed her shoulders and held her still. “If it does, get Belkai out of this Forest. Don’t let it become her tomb.”
“What about you?” Loranna’s hazel eyes narrowed, and Lithmae felt his heart sink as he stared into them.
“This is my land,” he said, his voice shaky. “No dwarf will stand on it so long as I have breath. I am sworn to this land and its lord, but it is the land that gave me life.”
Loranna looked at her love, the Chieftain of the Narandir elves, and felt her heart swell within her. What she wouldn’t give for one more night, one more moment of passion stolen from the lives they lived. But she sensed the same as he – one way or another, the story was drawing to a close. Their enemies would come again soon, and this time there would be no mercy and no holding back.
“They are ready for the fight,” Loranna said, reminding him of his own words. “This land is theirs – ours.”
A cry rang out before he could answer. It was followed by two quiet blasts from a horn. The lookouts had spotted something headed towards them. The lovers broke off their embrace, and Loranna hefted her axe. She gave Lithmae a curt nod, and he drew his sword. They could feel it now, a rumbling in the ground as if a thousand feet were marching as one. So it begins, Loranna thought, now wishing that she had made Lithmae ignore his own counsel and join the front ranks. A single glance at the bandaging on his leg told her that it was a foolish thought, but nonetheless she longed to sink her blade into those who came against her new family. She would soon have her chance.
The original dwarven assault had emerged from a single hole, making the attackers a predictable target. This time, however, it was not a probing action but a true offensive. Nizali had directed half a dozen tunnelers to the southern meadows, and as they broke through the surface in a line, the weakened ground collapsed. Almost a solid hectare of grassland simply disappeared, and the tunnelers emerged with their blades spinning and ready for action. They were the key targets for the Correlate mages, but they held their fire, wanting to bring them in close. The first ranks of dwarven infantry emerged cautiously, following close behind the tunnelers. What concerned Lithmae were the serpents. He had a feeling that they were lurking, waiting only for the right time to strike.
The tunnelers reached the shattered tree line and began to expand the initial incursion. They made it sixty feet before the Correlate sprang their trap. They fired their energy blasts into the flanks of the tunnelers, shattering wheels and denting steel. The dwarven response was unexpected and brutal. The machines turned impossibly fast, and hidden springs released, sending their blades shooting through the air. A steel rain ripped through the mages’ positions, shattering trees and shredding whatever flesh was caught along the way. The dwarves plunged into the maelstrom, hunting down the survivors and cutting down those who dared to raise their hands and attempt to resist. The first elven archers attacked now, launching from a safe distance, and their first volley struck down two dozen of their attackers. A return strike from their mechanical bows sent elves crashing out of trees impaled by the heavy arrows.
Lithmae quickly saw that his defences would not hold. The dwarves were focused on a frontal assault, and without the Correlate’s ambush he simply didn’t have enough men to survive that fight. Their armour was tough, their training was excellent, but they were no match for the brute force of their enemy. Something had to change, and he made his decision quickly. He gathered forty men from the second defensive line, and he and Loranna led them to the west, intending to flank the main assault and give their forces a chance to regroup and push back. They pushed out at least half a mile as they circled back, taking half an hour to get into position to strike. Their primary defensive line was starting to crumble under the weight of the dwarven assault, and Lithmae watched in horror as another company rose from the tunnels.
“It’s now or never,” Loranna whispered. Lithmae grunted, and his body tensed as he prepared to lead the charge. He didn’t look back as he cried out, “Take them down!”
Loranna was by his side as he sprinted forward, and they caught the first line of dwarves by surprise, fighting as one being as sword and axe smashed into bronzed armour and slashed through bloody flesh. Lithmae knocked a dwarf backwards, and as he began to recover, Loranna spun past and buried her axe in his throat. A solid kick to his chest freed the blade and flooded the dirt with his blood, and Loranna straightened to block a blow. She rammed the butt of her axe into this man’s helmet, and he stumbled, dazed by the blow. Before she could finish him off, an arrow caught him in the mouth and put him down. Lithmae shifted another ten elves towards the south to meet a counterattack, and he felt Loranna come alongside him. Too late he felt the ground rumble, taken by surprise as two of his men were snatched away by reptilian jaws that tore through the ground beneath them.
“Don’t stop moving!” someone screamed. Lithmae grabbed Loranna and swung her aside as he felt the ground began to part. He turned and raised his sword as rows of serrated teeth filled his vision.
***
Even if Lithmae had called for help, it would never have come. On the western side of the Forest, Syndra had assembled her forces in a series of clusters spaced a few hundred feet apart from each other. She was, first and foremost, a hunter, and approached her imminent battle as such. She saw the dwarves less as an army to be confronted and more as prey to be weakened and then finished off. As such, she constructed a web, each position a lethal unit of mages, swordsmen, and archers, surrounded by tripwires and brutal traps – her vengeance for the horrors she had witnessed in the tunnel. They were far enough part that no two clusters could be pinned and overwhelmed by the one assault, but close enough that they could abandon their positions and reinforce another should a breakthrough occur. The Blackwings waiting in the trees above provided another layer to her defences, one that she doubted the dwarves were prepared to counter. Syndra herself was in the central cluster, surrounded by her strongest soldiers, ready to reinforce the area that faced the strongest assault. She was shocked soon after dawn when Lasiri emerged from the bushes, joined by several of her scouting teams.
“They’re coming,” Lasiri said by way of explanation. “We’ve been trying to signal Belkai, but we can’t locate her.”
“How many?” Syndra asked. Belkai could handle herself.
Lasiri shook her head. “Many. We couldn’t last long in a fight. I’ve sent more teams to Lithmae, but they’re already under attack.”
Syndra nodded, and stared off into the distance for several long moments before turning back to the Watcher. “Spread your teams out, reinforce our positions. Your Brilhardem will know where to go.”
Lasiri passed on the orders, but stayed put, along with two of her Watchers. “You’ll need the help.”
“I’ll take it.” Syndra smiled for the first time in two days. It didn’t last long. A war horn blew in the west, and she heard the screams of dwarves caught by her traps. “That didn’t take very long.”
Another horn sounded, this time from further south. Another cluster was under attack. A third and fourth horn rang out soon after. She glanced at Lasiri.
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“It’s the real thing,” she said, and looked up as the Blackwings woke and tore through the air towards the west. “No hiding it now.”
A horn blew three times in quick succession, and Syndra swore. One of her clusters had collapsed, its survivors escaping to the next one in line. She heard scampering feet, and a runner froze as he found himself face to face with her bow and Lasiri’s flaming whip. Both women lowered their weapons and the runner took a breath to steady his nerves.
“Two clusters are gone,” he reported. “The westernmost had no survivors. It’s not just dwarves. They have trolls, armoured ones. Their holes are coming in and behind our positions. They know exactly where we are.”
Syndra nodded. “Where’s the biggest breach?”
“The southwest,” said the runner. “I don’t think they’ll hold much longer.”
“Lead the way,” Syndra ordered. She looked to Lasiri, who nodded.
“Right behind you,” the Watcher promised. Syndra barked orders to her twenty elves, and the small group set out to join the fray. It didn’t take long before the sound of fighting reached their ears, and Syndra began to truly understand the severity of their fight. Fires were beginning to rage as the dwarves set the Forest alight to burn the elves out of their positions. There were rumbles and flashes of purple light as the southern mages blasted away at their foes, but the most powerful magic only went so far against such overwhelming numbers. It was time to shift tactics. Syndra stopped and snatched up the horn strapped to her waist and blew it four times, two long blasts followed by two short ones. She passed it along to the runner and ordered,
“The same pattern, every seventy seconds.”
The first reinforcements appeared five minutes later, a group of elves, Watchers, and Correlate from one of the clusters that hadn’t yet been attacked. Soon she had a full hundred and twenty gathered around her, and she gave her orders. They would break the southwestern prong first. Lasiri would lead forty straight against the dwarven assault and reinforce the surviving clusters, while Syndra would lead the others to outflank, pin, and ultimately overrun the attackers. They would gather their survivors, then push north against the second prong.
“Step by step, we will roll them back,” Syndra concluded. “Make them bleed for every inch of Narandir that they defile with their steps. No mercy.”
“No mercy,” the group echoed, and she locked arms with Lasiri.
“I’ll see you on the other side.”
The Watcher smiled. “Either in victory or in peace, Sister.”
Syndra called out to her section, then began to run through the thick undergrowth. To the death, she silently swore. Not an inch given. Above her, the Blackwings speared through the air as they spotted targets. It was a bizarre feeling; under Mishtar’s rule the creatures had been a present threat, not an ally. She could hear the screams of dwarves as they were clawed at or hauled into the air to meet their deaths amongst the branches.
Syndra had split her group into four teams of twenty, but they were still gathered as a wedge when they ran across the dwarven attack. The first sign of the enemy was a pair of scouts trying to find a way around the besieged clusters. Bow in hand, Syndra cut them both down before they had the chance to react to the new force. Syndra stopped and gathered the other thee section leaders. After whispering her instructions, they returned to their teams and spread out, leaving a good twenty feet between each unit as they continued to advance. A low growling caught Syndra’s ears, and she froze as two armoured trolls burst into view. She fired two quick arrows at the lead beast, and when both lodged themselves in its armour she cast her bow aside and pulled two long daggers from sheaths on her hips. She’d faced trolls before, and though it was always a tough fight, she’d always come away the victor. She charged in close, dropping at the last second and sliding under a bone shattering swing of its nail-studded club. She raised herself into a squat and slashed both blades against its knees, where the armour had small gaps. The troll roared angrily as both daggers found flesh, and as it turned Syndra was knocked backwards. She landed on her feet, and launched into action before it could strike. As one arm raised the club high, she jumped and jammed both daggers into its neck, using them to hold her in place. She pulled one free and jammed it into the troll’s eye, twisting the blade as it dug deeper. The beast let out a furious roar, then slapped her to the ground. She hit hard, now without any weapons as it tore the dagger out of its eye and threw it aside. It took a stumbling step towards her as it ripped the second dagger out of its throat. In doing so, it sealed its demise. The shattered arteries gave way, and blood poured from the wounds as it fell to its knees before Syndra. She stood and spat on it as it took its last breath and collapsed to the earth. She didn’t look back as she snatched up her daggers and turned to see the second troll collapsing beside two dead elves. Another four delivered killing blows to its head and neck, and Syndra shouted her approval. An elf came up beside her and handed over her bow, then it was time to regroup and keep pushing forward.
They only managed another hundred feet before a scream caught her attention. Four survivors of the besieged cluster were running west, eyes wide with fear. Syndra waved to get their attention and they shifted course. Before they could reach her, a black shape appeared from the trees and didn’t stop as it passed through all four of them. They collapsed without a sound, faces white as snow.
“Shades!” an elf cried out, and they froze in place. There were more of the spectral figures now, each circling. Two elves tried to get to the bodies but were cut down within six feet. They were trapped, stalked by an enemy that they couldn’t touch.
***
The tunnelers were deafening despite the size of the tunnel. Nizali didn’t bother trying to shout any last minute instructions to his company leaders as they approached the final mile of their advance. His orders had been simple; smash all resistance, find the ancient ruins, and seize control. Nizali would deal with the rest. There were four hundred dwarves in the tunnel, armed and ready for battle. They would overwhelm the elves through sheer force. Not even the witch Belkai could kill all of them before she was overwhelmed. Even mages bleed, Nizali thought, remembering seeing her emerging from the desert battered and broken. This would be the final push, the only important part of this campaign, the one stroke that would end Narandir and propel Nimura back to its former glory. Nizali shifted the war hammer in his hands as the machines began to claw their way upwards towards the surface. He’d estimated that there would be only a small elven force around the ruins themselves, but the tunnelers would make short work of even a larger defensive position. He glanced back at the columns of soldiers and smiled at the enthusiasm on their faces. They were ready. All they needed was a target.
Sunlight flooded the tunnel as the machines broke the surface, almost blinding Nizali with its sudden brilliance. Almost immediately, arrows rained down upon the tunnelers, shattering themselves harmlessly on the heavy armouring. Nizali grunted. All the mages gathering in the forest, and ultimately this was what it came down to – the wedding of steel to flesh. He looked back at his regiment and smiled. He had walked the Forest and seen the elves in their splendour. They could not defeat dwarven might.
“To glory!”
His shout echoed through the tunnel, and turned into a deafening roar as four hundred tongues repeated the war cry. War hammer held tight within his grip, Nizali charged into the light. Too late, he realised his mistake. He reached the surface just as the leftmost tunneler slammed to a halt as if struck by a giant, freezing for a brief second before it was shattered by an invisible blast. The next tunneler must have seen the attacker, because it shifted its course and fired off its blades into the forest. More arrows bounced uselessly off its iron hide, but its doors popped open as Nizali spotted a flash among the trees. The crew managed to get halfway out of the machine when it too tore itself apart, sending their shredded remains flying through the air. Damnable mages, he thought, and charged forward, angling for where he had seen the flash. There was only one way to defeat a mage – get close and bury your weapon in his skull.
A fireball tore through the air and Nizali ducked, ignoring the screams as another dwarf was set aflame. It must have been Spellcasters, he realised, the honoured mages of Wexburg. Despite their natural love for pomp and ceremony, they were fierce fighters. He picked up his pace, moving as fast as his limbs would drive him. Another fireball flashed past, exploding somewhere in the dwarven ranks. The last two tunnelers fired their blades into the trees before their crews joined the charge. Nizali managed to get into the tree line unscathed. The first bodies he saw belonged to a half dozen elven archers. They were barely recognisable, their bodies turned to bloody shreds by the steel rain from the tunneler. He spared them only a glance before rushing forward. A blinding light flashed past him, exploding against a nearby tree. He spun to see a woman dressed in a yellow robe. She swore, and brought her wand up for a second shot. Nizali dropped down, scooped up a dagger from one of the dead elves, and threw it through the air. The mage waved her wand and the dagger was swatted aside by a magical force, but by then Nizali had come within striking range. His war hammer connected with her chest and crushed it like a twig. She collapsed as blood spurted from her mouth. He raised his hammer for a killing blow, but a blast of air threw him to the ground. He rolled onto his back and saw a second mage raise his staff. He never got the chance to finish him off. Two dwarves appeared behind him and sank their axes into his flesh, driving him to the ground before finishing him off with a blow to the face. Nizali rose to his feet and picked up his hammer.
“Stay close, we’ll move towards the -”
The explosion took him completely by surprise. One moment the two dwarves were standing ready for orders, the next they were turned to bloody pulp as a fireball detonated right on top of them. He turned and charged forward, dodging from side to side as the mage let loose another shot. He didn’t notice two arrows snap through the air, missing him by less than an inch. The world had contracted to just Nizali and the mage waving his staff in the air, leaves swirling as he generated a whirlwind to stop the dwarf. Nizali took a chance and threw his hammer with all of his might before pulling out a dagger as a backup. The mage blocked the hammer, the whirlwind slamming it into a tree where it stuck fast. He unleashed the wind next, and Nizali was slammed to the ground. He swore and hauled himself to his feet in time to duck under a spray of shredded steel. He felt a familiar rumble in the dirt and couldn’t help but smile as the mage prepared another strike. Before he could finish his spell, the ground fell away beneath him and the jaws of a rock serpent tore him from sight. No spell would save him now.
Nizali spun around as he heard movement. A dozen dwarves formed up around him, and one of them tossed him a sword. They were within sight of the ruins, and not a soul stirred as the last of the Spellcasters went silent. Nizali laughed.
“Where is your alliance now, Belkai?” he called out. “This was always the age of steel.”
He lifted his sword and pointed it at the ruins. “Forward to victory!”
The dwarves roared as one and charged forward, victory and glory in sight.