The Fae Wars: The Fall

by Lucas Marcum

  “Just don’t mess with it for now,” Acevedo replied. She poked at the pile of belongings again, seeing a folded leather wallet. Opening it up, she saw the floating image of a slender young elven man with a lance in his hand, leaning on a dragon. As she watched, the man in the image grinned broadly, then leapt nimbly onto the dragon’s back and disappeared. Acevedo flipped the wallet to the next page. This time the image was of their captive, her face somber, clad in full battle armor. Spidery script floated underneath it.

  “Looks like her ID,” Ewart commented.

  “Yeah.” Acevedo closed the wallet and dropped it back onto the pile.

  “Where’s the thing that makes her bulletproof?” Jones demanded. “I want to see that.”

  With a shrug, Ewart replied, “Damned if I know. Maybe in her armor? We need to get that shit off her anyway. If she jumps me, I want to be able to shoot her.” He poked Williams, who turned and looked at him. Ewart gestured in crude sign language for him to take the elf’s hood off and stand nearby. Williams nodded cheerfully and did as he was bid.

  Acevedo squatted in front of the elven woman and waited. As the hood came off, she blinked rapidly, then focused her eyes on Acevedo. Putting the translator ring on, Acevedo asked, “Where’s the rest of your army?” The elf looked at her, rolled her eyes, and said nothing.

  Acevedo frowned and looked at O’Malley, who just shrugged. “Ask her how many soldiers she had and where they were going,” he suggested.

  “How many soldiers do you have in your unit? What was your objective?” Acevedo asked the elf.

  The elf smiled smugly but said nothing.

  “Confident little shit, isn’t she?” Ewart commented. “Let me try something.” He picked up the wand and pointed it at the elf’s face; she immediately flinched and turned her head. “Interesting. She knows we can use it, or she wouldn’t flinch like that.”

  “Ask her how it works,” O’Malley ordered.

  “How do you use this weapon?” Acevedo asked.

  The elf replied immediately, “You can’t. It’s attuned to my life force. It’s not intended to be…” Ewart had taken the wand and put his finger on the rune, which glowed brighter. He pointed it at a nearby tree.

  The elf protested, “You can’t use it, I’m telling you…”

  The wand spit a bright blue bolt, which struck the tree. There was a flash, a sharp cracking noise, then a gentle rain of splinters and small pieces of wood, as what was left of the tree fell around them.

  The elven woman’s mouth hung open in surprise, her pretty features a picture of shock. “But you aren’t supposed to be able to…”

  “Goddammit, Ewart!” Acevedo yelled.

  “Well, how about that,” Ewart said drily. Pointing the wand back at the elf, Ewart commented, “So, push and hold the glowy bit until it’s bright, then release.” He pointed at the heap of equipment. “Ask her what the rest of this pile of shit does.”

  “Specialist, we need tactical and strategic intel. This is useful, but…”

  “Sergeant, if we don’t live to get her ass back to our lines, what she can tell us don’t matter shit. If we’re going to stand a chance, we need to learn how to use this crap.” He held up the wand. “I’m willing to bet this bitch can punch through those shields of theirs.”

  “He’s got a point, Sergeant,” O’Malley said. “Get that armor off her. It’s magic, too. I put half a magazine of 5.56 into her, and it shrugged it off like spitballs.”

  “Can do, sir.” Ewart and Williams moved to the elf, unstrapping the woman’s armor as she protested.

  Several minutes later, the armor lay in a pile, and the elven woman sat shivering in a thin tunic and leggings. Dropping an armored boot into the heap, Ewart announced, “That’s it. I don’t think there’s anything else.”

  The elven soldier, who’d been sitting quietly, suddenly lunged at the pile. Ewart grabbed at her, but the elf dodged nimbly and snatched up one of the armored boots. Pressing a crystal that was embedded into the armor, she gritted her teeth. As Acevedo reached for the captive, a low-pitched humming noise arose around her, splitting her ears and making her skull feel as if it was going to explode. She fell to the ground, clamping her hands to her ears, vaguely seeing Ewart and O’Malley doing the same. The elf stood up, then spun as Williams charged at her, throwing a foot out in a lightning-fast roundhouse kick.

  The deaf soldier went flying and hit the ground hard, then clambered to his feet. He raised his rifle, and the elven soldier again struck like a snake, slapping the barrel aside, and punching him in the face. Blinking in surprise, Williams stumbled back, then suddenly grinned at the elf, lowered his head, and charged. Seeing that he not only wasn’t going down, but was coming for her again, the elven woman backpedaled, trying to open the distance between herself and the big army mechanic.

  Before she could, Williams reached out, caught a handful of the elf’s tunic, and hauled her into the top of his helmet, delivering a vicious headbutt to the face. There was a crunch, and the elven woman collapsed into a senseless heap, blood streaming from her face. Pausing for a second to catch his breath, Williams looked around at his comrades writhing in agony on the ground, then picked up the boot and inspected the small glowing crystal. With a glance at the other soldiers, then again at the crystal, he shrugged and tapped it. The glow faded from the crystal.

  The paralyzing hum ceased as suddenly as it started. Acevedo rolled over and sat up. Seeing the elven woman lying unconscious, she looked at Williams.

  The deaf private shrugged and explained cheerfully, “SHE’S APPARENTLY NEVER BEEN IN A BAR FIGHT.” He patted the top of his helmet. “YOU GOTTA USE THE TOOLS AT HAND.”

  Shakily, Acevedo laughed, then reached over to help O’Malley up. “You ok, sir?”

  The captain rubbed his head and muttered, “Sneaky little shit. Let’s keep her a long way away from that stuff.”

  “You can say that again.”

  “Little Warrior,” a bass voice rumbled from behind them. “Is all well?” Furo’s deep voice startled Acevedo, and she turned. The two orcs had come up behind them, silent as ghosts, despite their massive size. Furo had a large bundle of wood in his arms, and another on his back, and Durok had a dead deer draped over his shoulder.

  “Yes. We heard the control device,” the bigger orc said flatly. “Did she activate it?” He looked at the unconscious elf lying on the forest floor.

  “Yeah. She pushed something on her boot,” O’Malley replied. “What is it?”

  “For controlling slaves. It produces a note that causes immense pain in the eyes and tusks.” He eyed the elf. “Perhaps it does not work like it does on Uruk-ki.”

  “Oh, it works,” Acevedo replied sourly. “It just made my head feel like it was going to explode.”

  Durok regarded her for a moment, then shrugged. “Yet you triumphed. Bind the Elori and follow. We have found ancient ruins that will shelter us from the skies.”

  The two orcs turned and headed off into the woods, not waiting for the small group of soldiers. O’Malley looked at Acevedo, then at Sergeant Jones. “Ancient ruins? What the hell are they talking about?”

  The paratrooper shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Don’t ask me.” He pointed at Acevedo. “They’re her pet orcs.”

  Trading another glance with Acevedo, O’Malley sighed. “All right. Tie that pain in the ass up and gag her again. Ewart, go with our friends and see what the fuck they’re talking about.”

  The specialist picked up his rifle and replied, “You got it, sir.” He jogged after the retreating shapes of the orcs.

  ***

  Fifteen minutes later, slogging through the dense scrub, Acevedo and O’Malley pushed aside a low hanging branch and stopped dead in their tracks.

  “Wow. What the hell is this?” Acevedo asked. In front of them was a large dome-shaped structure made of weathered brick, with weeds and vines growing around it. There were several low openings in the sides, leading into the dark interior. In
the brush nearby were the remains of stone walls. Twenty yards past the dome, there were the ruins of a two-story building, its windows and roof gone. The stone walls stood solid, and there was a tree growing in the center of the building.

  Ewart, who was standing a dozen paces away with his rifle slung over his shoulder, turned and replied, “I think it’s an abandoned smelter or something.” He pointed at the dome. “I’m pretty sure that’s an old blast furnace. We had a lot of these in West Virginia where I grew up, and I feel like Pennsylvania probably had a lot of them back in the day, too.”

  O’Malley put his hands on his hips and surveyed the ruins for a moment, then said, “Well, beats sleeping in the open, I guess.” He looked around. “Where are our friends?”

  Ewart nodded at the furnace. “The smaller one is in there, starting a fire. The bigger one was gutting a deer over in the trees someplace. Not sure where he is now.” He unbuckled his helmet. “Dudes are handy to have around.”

  There was the sound of crunching in the brush. The trio turned in time to see Sergeant Jones leading the elven prisoner, followed by Henderson, Colonel Suarez, and the two surviving paratroopers, who were loaded down with equipment from the Humvees.

  Gesturing to the soldiers to take the prisoner inside the structure, Jones stepped up next to O’Malley and said, “Sir, you need to hear this.” He handed an earpiece that ran to the radio on his back to O’Malley.

  With a frown, O’Malley put the earpiece in and listened.

  “…not transmit from any radio devices unless it is absolutely essential. The enemy has been triangulating on radio signals to intercept survivors. All units are to make their way west at best possible speed and rally with friendly forces in and around the I-99 corridor. Any organized unit of greater than 50 soldiers are instructed to contact Fifth Army’s G1 office via landline at 210-755-3600 or email at ARNORTH.mil@mail.mil. Your identity will be verified, and you will be given further instructions. Message repeats. To all remaining organized units in the Mid-Atlantic theater of operations: Continue defensive operations as per OPPLAN ORANGE. If your position is compromised, withdraw to the MLR at best possible speed. Do not transmit from any radio devices…”

  Removing the earpiece, O’Malley asked, “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Nothing good,” Jones replied. “I think our defensive lines are failing again.” He looked up at the now fully light sky. “Let’s get inside. We can discuss tonight’s move under cover.” He gestured at Ewart, who was now seated on a nearby stump. “You have first watch.” The specialist nodded and continued scanning the trees around them. He headed towards the furnace, with O’Malley and Acevedo following.

  Ducking to get under the low opening, O’Malley was startled. The inside of the furnace had been cleared of sticks and debris, and several Army-issued ponchos hung over the other openings. High above, a circle of sky was visible where the chimney had once stood. In the middle of the large, open area, a fire was burning brightly. Its warm glow illuminated the inside of the ruin. The soldiers had collapsed onto the floor and were staring at the fire. Another of the paratroopers, a young man named Martinez, had disassembled the .50-caliber machine gun and was swearing to himself as he attempted to fix the weapon.

  Furo, the smaller of the two orcs, was threading a chunk of freshly cut meat onto a long, thin wire and dangling it over the flames. Several other blackened pieces of deer meat sat nearby on a torn piece of cardboard. Furo wordlessly picked up the piece of cardboard and handed it to the nearest paratrooper, who took it and looked at it for a moment, then smiled, pulled out his Leatherman, carved the meat up, and handed it to the soldiers nearest to him.

  Furo grunted and turned back to the fire. There were few words, only the snapping of the fire and the sounds of chewing.

  O’Malley flopped onto the floor and leaned back against the wall, suddenly exhausted. Acevedo sat next to him and stared silently into the flames.

  Suddenly, O’Malley sat up. “Wait a minute. Why could I talk to you earlier?” He looked at the orc, who was cutting more strips of meat.”

  The orc didn’t look up from his task. “Magic.”

  “I wasn’t wearing the ring then,” O’Malley replied, “and I’m not now. How am I understanding you?”

  “I do not know.” The orc looked over, then shrugged. “Perhaps the ring is growing more powerful.” He looked Acevedo, who was still staring into the fire. “Perhaps she is a magic user.” He gestured around them at the old forge’s walls. “Perhaps it is this world. We have legends of wild, powerful magics here. Ancient magics.”

  O’Malley regarded the orc for a moment, then replied, “But we didn’t know about magic until the invasion.”

  “Maybe you didn’t know about it, but that does not mean it does not exist,” Furo replied. “I did not know that box you speak into to communicate with others existed, yet here it is.” Furo peered at O’Malley intently, his sole remaining eye piercing. “Perhaps there is more to you humans than you know.”

  “I guess.” O’Malley shook his head. “Why did you invade us? What did we do to you?”

  “It was not us,” Durok’s deep rumble replied. The big orc had entered while O’Malley was distracted. “It was the El’dori.”

  “You know what I mean,” O’Malley retorted. “Why invade? We don’t have magic, and our resources can’t be that special.” He looked back and forth between the two orcs. “What makes this world worth the lives and treasure?”

  Eying the officer for a moment, Durok answered carefully, “Some species have long memories. The El’dori are one of them. They remember their humiliation in millennia past and thirst for vengeance.”

  With a solemn nod, Furo replied, “When the humans drove them from this world and sundered the planes, the El’dori were enraged as only they can be. They mean to reclaim what is theirs.”

  “But we don’t remember them!” O’Malley blurted. “We didn’t even remember they existed!” The smaller orc only shrugged. “How long ago was this, anyway?” O’Malley asked.

  “Humans have never been a long-lived race and are known for their short memories. The El’dori live for thousands of years and remember much. They remember when they were dominant here, as they are so many other places.” Furo hung another wire of meat over the fire. The smell of the roasting deer made O’Malley’s stomach rumble. Furo continued, “As for how long?” The orc shrugged. “Who can say?”

  “Thousands of years? Hundreds? How long are we talking about here?”

  Durok regarded the man curiously for a moment, then shrugged. “Does it matter? Civilizations have risen and fallen. Ice and darkness, fire and war have come and gone. Proud stone fortresses are now time worn piles of rubble; languages and peoples, once unified, now split asunder by time and distance. Time is irrelevant.”

  O’Malley shook his head and stared at the fire for a minute, then asked, “Is there any hope? We can’t seem to beat them. All we can do is run and die.” He glanced at Acevedo, who’d fallen asleep, her head resting on his shoulder.

  The two orcs again exchanged a glance, then Furo answered, “It is legend amongst the Uruk-ki that the humans are never defeated unless they are dead or choose to be defeated.”

  “Indeed,” Durok continued, “in the thousands of years of warfare between man and orc, elf and dwarf, no one ever managed to defeat the humans entirely. Entire races have fallen before the armies of the Elven Imperium, but humans always remain.”

  With a nod, Durok added, “Some races are powerful with magics, like the El’dori. Some races are powerful with skill and strength of arms, like Uruks. Some races are famed for their technological prowess, like the gnomes and the dwarfkin.” Durok spoke slowly, watching O’Malley closely. “Some races are equally adept at all three…like the humans.”

  “Indeed,” Furo added, “the elves thought their magic could overcome your technology, and perhaps they were right…for a time.” He popped a piece of charred deer meat into his mouth and chew
ed for a moment, then grinned, his tusks and teeth glinting menacingly in the firelight. “But when you humans rediscover your magic, the elves are in for an unpleasant surprise.”

  Durok’s grin matched the smaller orc’s. The sharpness of their teeth and the twisted smiles spoke as loudly as Durok’s next words. “Indeed…and we await that day eagerly.”

  -8-

  “E Pluribus Unum”

  The Abandoned Foundry

  The Allegheny Foothills

  O’Malley awoke with a start to the sound of a rapid burst of gunfire that ended in a shrill scream. Rolling over from where he’d fallen asleep with his back against the wall of the furnace, he grabbed dazedly for his rifle. The young officer scrabbled on his hands and knees towards the nearest of the low entrances on the sides of the dome. Acevedo followed right behind him, her eyes wide, and a look of fright and confusion on her face. There was a string of yells in the guttural language of the orcs, then an enraged bellow. The clash of swords against armor followed, answered with more gunshots.

  O’Malley ripped down the poncho covering the low doorway, threw himself out, and immediately rolled to the side. Rising to a knee, he aimed his M-16 outwards, scanning for threats. In front of him lay one of the paratroopers. A stubby black crossbow bolt stuck out of his chest, and his eyes stared sightlessly at the sky. Another trooper lay nearby, facedown. His rifle was shattered, and a dark pool of blood was spreading into the soil beneath him. A half dozen paces away, there was a furious melee in progress. Durok and Furo swung their barbed swords, viciously pressing two other orcs in a dizzying mix of strikes, punches, and kicks. The new orcs were dressed in lighter armor and had shortswords and small shields with a spike on the front. One of the attackers was already down, his shoulder nearly hewn from his body, and dark blood pumping out. He was trying to crawl out of the fight with his remaining arm, but collapsed and was still.

  A sudden burst of gunshots sang out from next to O’Malley. Acevedo had dropped prone and was firing aimed shots at the attackers. Specialist Ewart knelt in the doorway, also firing his weapon. As rounds sparked off their armor, one of them raised his shield arm to cover his face. Durok, seizing his chance, swung his barbed blade, catching it in the smaller orc’s neck. He yanked it out with a bestial roar, sending a spray of blood and tissue across the small clearing.