by Greg Curtis
Soon they knew, everyone of them knew it in his or her soul, Tendarin itself would be in their sight, and after they had destroyed the great city of stone, the rest of the humans would be helpless. They would run in panic, chickens before the foxes, and never even know that they were being hunted until it was too late. In time they would be dead and the last of the plague of defilers would be cleansed from the world.
Of course before then they would need more soldiers, and a larger army. They knew through their leaders that Lord Y’aris was already working on that, explaining to the fool Finell that they were at war. Soon, instead of just thirty thousand elves cutting a glorious swathe through the human border lands, it would be three hundred thousand, and the humans would be cut down in their millions.
That was merely the beginning though, as they returned the world to its path of righteousness. The other outsiders, they had to go too. After the utra maybe it would be the trolls. The urdan. They were savage and simple. Too simple to have proper cities, as they lived in their tents and followed the deer around through their mountainous homelands. Perhaps it would be the gnomes. Annoying and pathetic little vesans. They would fall easily and quickly be forgotten. Or maybe the sprites would follow, the silver elves as many called them. Though they weren’t really elves. Not in their hearts. They had turned their back on Elaris after the war with the last king, forming a new realm of their own. For that betrayal of their lord’s illustrious ancestor, they had to die.
And then finally, when all the others were gone, it would be the turn of their most ancient of enemies, the dwarves. The stone monkeys thought they were so safe in the mountains. Buried under unimaginable masses of rock. But they weren’t. Not when they were alone. And Lord Y’aris would have a plan for dealing with them.
Every member of the watch was living with the same thoughts, the same dreams as they marched through the valleys heading north. And every one of them dreamed of the day when there were only elves left. The true people. And the entire world was theirs. For too long they had allowed the outsiders to grow in number, believing them to be worthy of their regard. It had been a mistake. But now thanks to Lord Y’aris, the could see their error. The only thing they couldn’t understand was how they’d been so wrong for so long. But all that mattered was that the mistake would be corrected.
Then the forests would grow again, They would reach from the beaches on the east coast, all the way across to the west. A thousand leagues or more of unending green. And they would grow in the furthest most northern lands in the freezing cold, all the way to the most southern lands where the sand ruled.
The Mother would be so pleased with them. She would bathe them in her love. And their Lord Y’aris as well. He was such a brilliant commander. So clever and always generous with his praise. They could almost celebrate the benediction that they knew would be coming after they had levelled the city.
It was with dreams like those running through their heads that they marched down the long rift valleys, scarcely even bothering with a scout. After all even on foot they were too fleet for the humans, and in any case, the humans had proven themselves to be pathetic foes. Three of the five southern cities had held them back, but at a terrible cost to their people.
Greenlands had burned, and with their crops gone, the survivors would starve over the following winter. Their survival was only to be short lived. Maybe if their walls had been complete they would have held out longer, but like everything else the utra did, it was half a job. Half finished. And the smaller towns and villages south of the city were gone.
Preston had held up better, the natural cliffs protecting the city proving an effective shield. But their fields too had burned and their bridges had been torn up so that supplies could not get to them. They were trapped in their fortress city, just waiting to be killed when the rest were dead.
Copper Hills had fought them back with cannon and cavalry. But again they had only so much black powder and so many soldiers. Much less of both now. When next they attacked in full force, the city would crumble.
And Torrington when they reached it in the east, was an open city. It would fall quickly.
But first, West Hold. And this city they knew, was less well defended than the others. No walls, few cannon, not even many soldiers. It was a trading city, and they didn’t see the need for such things. Stupid utra. It would be an easy battle. They might lose hundreds, but the humans would loose at least ten for every one of them who fell. And then their civilians would fall and the city would burn. There would be nothing left of West Hold when they were finished. Not a building, not a soul.
This would be the first of their truly great victories. Was it any wonder that they couldn’t keep from smiling as they marched? Every so often they broke into song, unable to hold back their joy as they strode to victory.
Then the world changed for the watchmen, and at first they didn’t know that anything had happened. Only that a few figures on horseback had appeared at the head of the valley. But it was enough for the commanders at the head of the column to give the signal and let the army come to a well ordered halt.
Were they surrendering? Were they already that frightened? In a way it made sense that they should be. Though they really should have understood that there would be no advantage to surrender. They would be killed regardless. But humans weren’t known for their wisdom, and if it made the victory easier, why complain.
So they sat on the grass waiting for their commanders up ahead to tell them what to do, perfectly content with life. And then someone in the hills above them yelled fire, and they swiftly realised that all was not as it had seemed. The treacherous utra had set a trap for them.
Huge wheels of burning hay appeared from the tops of the hills on both sides of them, and started rolling down the slopes towards them. It was a strange weapon to use, not so much deadly as disconcerting, and few were harmed. All they had to do was dodge the burning fire balls, then draw their weapons and start charging the enemy.
They did just that in their thousands. In their tens of thousands, a wave of Elaris’ finest ascended the hills far faster than the pathetic humans could ever have expected, to crush them. But it wasn’t a completely one sided battle, and many elves fell to crossbow bolts from the filthy utra who were waiting for them. But that would not stop them, and those who fell would be honoured as heroes, while those who made it to the top would avenge them with blood.
Then the cannon opened up, and all their dreams of glory turned to dust as bodies were turned to sprays of blood and body parts.
Hundreds of cannon cresting the hills, hidden behind tall grasses, suddenly spat fire, catching the watchmen completely by surprise. And worse, they were somehow able to fire down the gently sloping hill at them. That was not supposed to be. The cannon were supposed to be in the cities, protecting them. How could they be out there in the field? How could they be firing down hills? The charge would fall out of the barrels. But the how was unimportant when each blast of the cannon tore holes in their lines, huge holes as dozens were cut down at once with every blast.
Suddenly victory was not assured. But still the watchmen pressed on. Hundreds and thousands falling with every step, they were still determined to make the crest of the hill and bury their swords in the enemy’s chests. To make them pay for their treachery, even if they lost.
Even that wasn’t to be. The humans had found another strategy to turn the battle that way, and barrels of oil had been poured over the grass. With a shout from someone up ahead, the oil was set alight, and the valley turned into an inferno of flame. In heartbeats the elves couldn’t see the enemy. The flames and the black smoke shielded them from view, and at the same time they also couldn’t run through the fire. They wouldn’t make it.
“Longbows!” The cry came from along their entire column, and of course it was the only thing they could do. So they sheathed their swords and drew their bows, sending volley after volley of arrows into the inferno ahead. But they had no idea if they hi
t anyone. They couldn’t see the enemy. They couldn’t even see the hill’s crest. And meanwhile the humans kept blasting away with their cannon. They had already been aimed before the fire was lit, and they were firing shot which spread out over an area.
Blast after blast rained down upon the watchmen, and thousands were felled with every volley, shredded and dismembered, their remains turning the long grass red. And all the time they could do nothing save fire their arrows blindly into the fire, hope that they hit some, and wait for each new blast of the cannon to take their lives.
It was a terrible day, and every elf there knew it. But there was still one blessing in their dying. None of them would have to tell their lord that they had failed him. None of them would have to see his face fall at their news.
The utra believed that there were nine hells;, to have to tell such a great leader of their dismal failure, that would have been to be cast down in to all of them.
Better to die.
Chapter Fourteen.
“My main strike force? Twenty thousand? Routed?” Y’aris was shocked as he received the news from the messenger. But more than that, he was angry. Twenty thousand of his men, routed in a single day. More than twenty thousand. The most powerful strike force of his entire army, defeated. It just wasn’t right. But it wasn’t the end, and Finell didn’t have to know. It was just a matter of regrouping. Of recruiting more watchmen. Of getting that stupid child to finally begin the war. And making sure that the survivors didn’t begin to lose faith.
“Send word to the survivors to gather at the training grounds outside Whitefern. I will meet them there, and we will swear our benediction and plan our retaliation for this evil attack. These utra will not go unpunished.”
“The survivors are here my lord.” The messenger’s word’s surprised and shocked Y’aris and more than that, they didn’t make sense. How could one of his armies have marched into Leafshade and he’d not known of it? What would the people say when they saw so many watchmen in one place? They would call it what it was, an army, and his lies could be exposed. And yet it didn’t change things. They would still have to take in more of his master’s water.
“Here? Where do they camp?”
“We have no camp my lord. We are standing at your door.” He said it so calmly and easily, without a trace of deception, and Y’aris knew the man wouldn’t lie to him. And yet it couldn’t be. Y’aris could remember nothing of thousands of his soldiers standing at his door when he’d let the messenger in. Just to be sure he rushed to the front door and swung it open, and sure enough there was no army. Just a few watchmen standing at attention.
“But I don’t see you?” And yet even as he said it he looked again and realised that there were more than the normal pair of watchmen standing guard. There were another six watchmen standing there, and they all looked dishevelled and broken. As if they had been in a war. A slow dawning horror clutched at his heart as he turned back to the messenger. It couldn’t be. But the man couldn’t lie.
“All?”
“We seven my lord.” The messenger calmly confirmed everything he’d feared with those few words, and Y’aris knew a moment of terrible darkness.
“Seven? Twenty three or twenty four thousand watchmen? All dead?” His voice was a shocked whisper. That was nearly half his army as well as his main strike force. All assembled into a single unit with a single purpose, to attack the five southern cities and bring them to their knees. And they were all gone? In a single day?
“Yes my lord. It was a trap. We marched through the valleys and the humans ambushed us from both sides with their cannon and balls of fire. Half the army was destroyed in the opening assault, and the rest shortly after. Only we few survived because our troop leaders ordered us to remain at the rear of the column and report back to you as soon as we knew how the battle had gone.”
They’d faced down cannon in the open? That seemed wrong somehow. And yet even as he wondered Y’aris remembered reading somewhere that the utra had found a way to wheel them. An unimportant message that had meant nothing at the time. So someone had failed badly in not bringing it directly to him and making certain he was told of the military implications. And that someone would pay dearly for his failure.
Cannon and fireballs. He assumed that meant warspells. It was a terrible combination in an enemy. The sort of danger that his forces should have dealt with by retreating and circling. Using their mobility. But of course the others had never fallen back. Even in the face of total annihilation they had never considered retreating. To retreat was to admit defeat, and that way led to doubt. Doubt could never be permitted.
So Y’aris had taken that thought from them, telling them again and again that they were elves, that they should fight to the end. And to make absolutely certain he had given them extra doses of the cursed water. While they were away from him for so many months, fighting the accursed utra, he had to make sure that they would not slip out from under his control. So he had given them so much of the water that the Reaver had begun to consume them. All of them sooner or later, would have become abominations. But that was the nature of war. It required sacrifice.
These seven he knew, would have attacked the humans too, even after all the rest of their number were dead, save that they had been given orders to return to him with word of the battle. Unquestioning obedience, and an unwavering belief in themselves had seemed like a perfect way to create an army. An unstoppable army. But there was a price for that unswerving loyalty as Y’aris suddenly understood, and it seemed his army had just paid it. Worse his enemy knew it.
Finally the utra king’s message made sense, but too late. And he had said they would leave no survivors. The utra had been as good as his word, while his soldiers had been as stupid.
“Wait with the others outside and I will be with you shortly. We will drink to the memories of our brothers and sisters. Cut down by treachery. And to the glory of our people.” The words fell off Y’aris tongue almost by themselves. He had spoken them so many times that he scarcely needed to think about them. But still it seemed to work as the soldier smiled, his grim news apparently forgotten. Twenty three thousand dead watchmen forgotten. He bowed quickly to him and rushed outside to tell the others the good news, while Y’aris hurried over to his trunk and the tablet.
All the time he was wondering what this disaster meant for his war. He didn’t need to win it. In fact in some ways it would be better for him if Elaris lost. It would give him the excuse he needed to take the throne, and present him with a perfect scapegoat in Finell. But before that he needed at least one major victory. Something to claim as his so that when the time came to throw Finell to the wolves, the people had some faith in him. A strong military leader to keep them safe from the warmongering utra.
He still had nearly thirty thousand watchmen at his command. But they were scattered, burning down the smaller villages and towns, killing the humans, driving them back to the cities of the five southern realms where they could be killed in numbers. None of his remaining armies were large enough to attack the cities themselves. For that he had had his strike force. Now the others would have to become that large. He had to take at least one of the southern cities soon. And there was only one it could be, Greenlands.
Its walls were broken, never actually finished, its army was shattered, its people were trapped inside, cut off and surely running out of supplies, and best of all its ruler was dead. It was the weakest. And it was the city that stood directly between Leafshade and Tendarin. It was their road north. If they could take it, they could hold it against the utra armies, and then slowly transform it into a bastion. A bastion from which his soldiers could strike further north in time. And a bastion from which his master’s soldiers in time could strike out, without his people ever knowing.
His first task had to be to get more watchmen to support the forces he already had camped outside the city.
Yet before that there was even another matter to attend to. He had to get Finell to finall
y start the war. Before the foolish boy discovered the truth. Because sooner or later someone would start asking where their son or daughter was. Why there were no more letters. And how they could be away training for so many months unseen. And those questions would become a chorus that he could not answer. And if the high lord discovered the truth he would be angry. That was Finell’s only true emotion. That and a burning desire for vengeance.
He could never find out that the war had already been started, let alone already been lost. Finell valued loyalty above all else. And his punishments for disloyalty would be terrible. Y’aris could never allow him to doubt him.
Maybe it was time to start him drinking the water. It was far sooner than he’d intended of course, he couldn’t have the high lord publicly deferring to him for every decision. People would notice. And when the high lord every so often had to visit the Grove, it was dangerous too. The elders would spot his condition. Even Y’aris stayed away from the Grove, and his deal with his master had given him just enough power to do what he needed to do, and not so much that his connection would be noticed.
