Twenty-sixth of Harvest
Year 1182 of Emancipation
It was approaching the month of Nirakos when Svaleta witnessed a sight that had not been seen in over a millennium.Some two hundred elves emerged from the Forest of Narandir on snowy white horses, clad in golden armour and wielding spears and swords with intricately carved hilts. They were led by a human woman with a longsword strapped to her back, riding beside a tall, lightly built elf. It had been a long and brutal journey for Belkai, daughter of Androv, to take her place as the Lord of Narandir, and she had hastened to fulfil her oath to come to Svaleta’s aid. Beside her rode Lithmae, the chieftain of Narandir’s forest elves, wilfully submitted to his new lord. They were silent as they headed northeast with dogged determination, hearts steeled for war.
Some witnesses swore that they saw monsters follow the elves, but a strange mist slowly drifted across the land, and many hid as it passed, gripped by an instinctive and primal fear. Word quickly came to the king, Farhad Orinor, in his palace and he immediately forbade any attempts to enter the mist.
“If it follows the elves,” he told his generals, “Then it is a magic that we dare not attempt to pierce.”
No word came from the Prophetess Siara or her priests and priestesses, at least none that the common folk heard. Rumours abounded but none were addressed by the king’s heralds. Some spoke of an alliance between the Aliri and the Dark Forest, others spoke of the Arcane’s wrath. None imagined the truth, that Narandir was coming to Svaleta’s aid. For their part, Belkai and Lithmae spoke little as they rode, though Belkai carefully studied the minds of the elves around her. They were determined, loyal to their chieftain, willing to support his allegiance to their new lord. Would that stand the test of battle? Belkai could only act in the faith that it would. And if their spirit failed then the mist that followed hid the true strength that stood behind her promise to Farhad. She had forbidden her human comrades to follow her. They had risked enough travelling to Narandir, she had no intention of losing them in open warfare. Neither of them was trained for this. Nor was Belkai, but she knew that she had no choice. The elves respected strength, and she could not send them to war without going at their head.
***
General Alihad, chief of Svaleta’s Army, had spent fourteen days reassembling the remains of his forces after the failed attempt to liberate Larton. Most of the wounded had died of their wounds, despite the efforts of Siara’s healers. The magic of the Aliri’s witches was of an older, darker time that the Temple of the Sun had not encountered before. The realisation was a shock to Alihad, who had watched as young lives ended in screams and whimpers in the fields. Every night he cursed whatever madness had caused this war even as he tried to rebuild his men’s morale. His senior officers had spent the two weeks trying to devise tactics to nullify the witches’ power, but there was no ignoring the fact that there was simply too much ground that needed to be covered, too much time where they were exposed to the devastating magic. The reinforcements Alihad was counting on never came, diverted to head off a second front that was driving towards the Quarries, with King’s Crossing in the road. His devastated command was all that was left to attempt to break the Aliri hold on Larton, which was still holding out against the siege. When the king had sent word that reinforcements were coming from Narandir, he had disregarded the messenger as a liar. The man spent his nights on guard duty and his days hopelessly tending the wounded.
The surprise had come when news had reached him of the column of elven cavalry approaching from the south. He had scoffed at such ‘reinforcements’ – two hundred horses would not be enough to reach the Aliri lines, let alone break them. His attitude changed when he was told of the mist that seemed to follow them along the road. He remembered the reports of the fog that had hidden the initial Aliri invasion. Something was following the elven cavalry, and whatever it was, Alihad hoped that it would be enough to make the difference.
He was awoken early on the twenty-seventh of Harvest by his sword bearer, who had already lit the lanterns arranged around the spacious tent.
“General, the elves have arrived. Their leaders wish to speak with you.”
Alihad grunted as he stood and began to dress himself. The sword bearer stepped outside to prepare tea for Alihad and his guests. Once he was wearing his armour, Alihad stepped over to the small table that he used for entertaining guests. He put away the maps that were unfurled, still unsure whether he could trust the newcomers, even with the king’s announcement. He had a few moments to focus, and then his sword bearer stepped inside to announce the elven leaders.
Alihad was taken aback when the first person through the entrance was a young woman, no older than her mid-twenties. Her auburn hair flowed down her back, and he felt exposed before piercing green eyes that seemed to search his very soul. She was wearing white armour of a material that he couldn’t place, with the solidity of steel but a texture reminiscent of boiled leather. Rising above her left shoulder was a sword hilt that appeared to be made of fused vines. The torch light glinted off the longsword’s blade as she stepped into the tent.
“General, I present Belkai, Lord of Narandir.”
“Milady.” Alihad bowed and motioned to one of the available chairs.
“And Lithmae, Chieftain of the Forest Elves.”
Lithmae was easily two heads taller than Alihad, clad in similar armour to Belkai, but bearing a short sword strapped to his hip. He looked Alihad up and down and gave a formal greeting as he removed his helmet and placed it on the table. He sat beside Belkai, and Alihad took a seat across from them both as his sword bearer served the steaming tea before ducking outside and closing the flap.
“I was not aware that there was a lord of Narandir,” Alihad confessed, hoping to test this Belkai’s character by the subtle insult. To her credit, she simply smiled as she replied.
“There are many things that are not known of that Forest. But yes, I am its lord, and Lithmae leads its elven clans. We have pledged our support to your king, at least as far as liberating Larton.”
“You are aware of the unique situation?”
“You face the witches of Angmir,” Lithmae said, leaning forward and bracing his elbows on the wooden surface of the table. “They are an ancient force, existing long before the Palian Empire entered these lands. It does not bode well that they have sided with the Aliri.”
“I fear that your two hundred cavalry will not be enough to break them,” Alihad said. “The power those witches possess is beyond anything that I have ever seen on this earth.”
“The power of Narandir does not primarily lie in its elves, though I think that we possess more power than you suspect,” Lithmae replied.
Alihad understood the meaning and took the bait. “Something follows you in that mist.”
“It is best that it remains secret until we strike,” Belkai told him. “For your own sake.”
Alihad didn’t answer for a while as he contemplated what they were hiding. Finally, he nodded. “Do you need to rest after the journey?”
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“We are ready to attack at first light,” Lithmae assured him. “The stamina of elves is something that I cannot adequately explain.”
“I fight elves,” Alihad said grimly. “I am aware of your strengths.”
Lithmae nodded slowly, appearing to take no offence at Alihad’s statement.
“And your men?” Belkai asked.
“They will be ready,” Alihad assured her. “This is their land. We will not suffer it to be held by the Aliri a day longer than we must.”
Belkai stood, and the two men followed. She looked Alihad in the eye, again seeming to pierce into his very soul. Her face softened as she spoke. “I can feel your fear, General. I assure you, this time the battle will be different. We will break the power of Angmir. When you see green flame, unleash your forces. Today Larton will be liberated.”
***
The Aliri Empire had seized the city of Larton only a few days into the war. The Svaletan border defences, long adapted to stopping bandit raids, had crumbled in the face of the sustained Aliri assault. With shock and awe on their side, the main Aliri thrust had quickly surrounded Larton and cut it off from the rest of the kingdom. The leader of the Aliri forces, a relatively young elf by the name of Echtalon, had considered it his masterstroke. The annihilation of the Svaletan counterattack two weeks ago had proven his strategy correct.
At least, it had until that morning. Echtalon had heard rumours of the cavalry approaching from the south, and he had no illusions about what he was facing. The elves’ memories ran much further back than humanity’s, and stories were still told of Narandir before it had been occupied by Svaletan mages. If the forest tribes were riding to war, then they were bringing a power that Echtalon rightly respected. He was already awake before dawn each morning to survey the lines and see if anything unusual had been spotted. The days crawled by with no sign of the elves, though the Svaletans continued to send patrols to march in sight of Echtalon’s forces and remind them that another attack would come. Perhaps, Echtalon told himself as he walked in the cool morning air, two soldiers on either side carrying torches. Svaleta had long rejected magic, trusting to force of arms. They had no counter to the power of Angmir, not even with Narandir’s aid.
His thoughts were shattered by the sound of a horn in the distance. He didn’t recognise it and was about to call for an alert when the section commanders began yelling their own warnings. He stood silently and watched as his men formed ranks, hiding his frustration as those freshly woken stumbled around disorientated. The earlier enthusiasm had faded after the first battle for Larton. They had spent too long standing in formation letting the city starve and few of his soldiers had so much as raised a sword when the Angmir witches decimated the Svaletan counterattack. Lack of action was never conducive to discipline.
“They are coming again.” The feminine voice belonged to an old woman with greying hair. Despite her seemingly frail body, the witch’s eyes shone with a fierce intensity. “There is something different.”
Echtalon nodded as a fog came rolling in from the south. It didn’t take long for visibility to be restricted to a few metres at most. It mattered little to the elven general. Their senses were honed by both blood and decades of intense training. What they couldn’t see, they could smell and hear.
“At the ready!” Echtalon yelled. He glanced at the witch, then froze. What is that? He could hear something in the distance. Not just horses, but a strange chittering. The flapping of wings. Something flashed green deep in the fog.
***
Belkai had left her horse behind in the charge, choosing instead to sneak forward amongst the creatures that had followed in the fog. It was a bizarre feeling, walking beside insects the size of houses, knowing that without her power she would have been devoured in an instant. It took only a few minutes to come near the Aliri lines, and Belkai stopped and closed her eyes. She could feel the hatred of the Angmir witches, could sense the darkness that Ashelath had planted in them centuries ago. Their Matriarch was there, Belkai was certain of that. All she needed was for the witch to cast a spell. Then she would locate her and remove the Aliri advantage.
***
Echtalon was growing impatient with the fog that clouded his vision. For all his keen senses, he wanted to look his enemy in the eye before putting it down. He could sense something drawing closer, could hear the sound of hundreds of feet, but not of a kind that he understood.
“Can you clear this?”
The witch nodded and stepped forward, joined by two of her comrades. With hands raised towards the sky, they began to chant in an ancient tongue. Above, Echtalon could see the slightest glimmer of sunlight begin to breach the cloud.
The chanting stopped with a gurgling sound. Echtalon turned to see the lead witch grasping her throat, desperately trying to draw a breath before there was a sickening crack and she collapsed, her neck shattered by some invisible force. Before Echtalon could move, a second witch collapsed with blood leaking from her eyes. The third screamed a curse before her chest erupted in a spray of crimson.
Brilhardem, the elf thought with a flash of fury. A Child of the Wind. The vermin discovered magic after all.
He had no time to respond. Something massive rushed past him and he caught a glimpse of insectoid legs as thick as a tree before one of his men was pulled into the air. There was the sound of snapping bones, then a brief shower of blood. More screams sounded.
“General! We have to go!” It was one of his torch bearers who gave the shout. Echtalon turned to rebuke him just as a winged creature came past, took the man in its jaws, and hauled him into the sky. His second bodyguard seized him by the arm and began pulling him through the fog.
“Now, General! We have to go!”
A figure emerged from the fog, a woman wearing white armour. As his torch bearer stepped in front of Echtalon to block her path, she reached behind her back and pulled a longsword out of its scabbard. With surprising speed, she leapt forward and slashed the blade through the elf’s throat and sent him to the ground. A spearman leapt forward, and the woman brushed his weapon aside before jamming the sword through his throat.
“General!” A group of six had gathered around him now. “It’s time to leave!”
Echtalon let them lead him away, not knowing that he left two thirds of his force broken and dying.
***
Belkai let the sword drop to her side as the officer was herded away. Whoever he was, she could sense his fear despite his efforts to hide it from his men. His spirit was broken. If he returned to fight, his boldness would be gone, she was sure of that. She closed her eyes and steadied her breaths. Alihad’s cavalry was dealing with the last pockets of Aliri forces, and she could sense that Lithmae’s soldiers were approaching Larton’s walls. They had won this fight with even fewer casualties than she’d expected. Not bad for a first-time general. The war may not have been over for Svaleta, but without the witches of Angmir they at least stood a chance of fighting off the Aliri. Ashelath had started this war, and his role in it had finally ended. The last blood had finally been shed on his account.
She opened her eyes and let her mind join the silent whispers of Narandir’s beasts. She calmed them and called them to return to the Svaletan staging area. The fog followed them, revealing a battlefield piled with ruined corpses. She bit back a wave of bile as she saw the destruction that her creatures had left. Mishtar would have inflicted this on innocent people in his paranoia, she thought bitterly. All because of Ashelath’s lies. The individual Aliri soldier probably hadn’t deserved it either, but this was war. This is hell.
“Belkai.”
She turned to Alihad, who bowed his head. “Thank you. It will take a few days to track down the survivors, but we have broken their hold on Larton. You have fulfilled your oath.”
Belkai nodded and rested a hand on his shoulder. “You have done your people proud, General. It took courage to trust me after what you faced.”
The Svaletan glanced back at the retreating fog. “Your beasts…”
“They obey my commands,” she promised. “They will return to Narandir, and they will not come north again. They will not leave Narandir.”
“The Aliri have a second prong in the west,” Alihad said. “We could use your aid again.”
Belkai shook her head. “I came to defeat Angmir, not the Aliri Empire. I am sorry, General.”
Alihad had expected her response and bowed again. “Then it is farewell, Lord of Narandir. Perhaps one day I will visit your Forest.”
“You would be welcome.” Belkai returned the bow and watched the general leave to take back control of the battle. Lithmae quietly took his place beside her.
“The general is troubled,” the elf noted. Belkai looked around the battlefield again and nodded.
“He carries the weight of the kingdom on his back, far more so than the king,” Belkai told him. “For all his authority, I pity him.”
“This is their fight,” Lithmae said quietly, not knowing where Belkai’s pity would lead. “They must win this themselves. Elves do not fight the wars of men.”
Belkai didn’t answer. She knew he was right, though a part of her felt a need to do more. Whether she accepted it or not, their job was done. She forced a smile, then turned to Lithmae.
“Then let’s go home.”