Eventually they breached the plateau. So few elves and humans remained to do battle, and yet they continued to do so. Now the queen stood to full height, and he could see from her rounded belly that she was with child and near the end of her pregnancy. He gritted his teeth with the resolve to end their species for good. That was his charge and he would see it through.
“Drochan,” she said, practically spitting the word at him. “You defile my home and slaughter my people at the cost of your own. For this unwarranted transgression you must die.”
The light was dim, provided only by lanterns and torches which his own soldiers had brought with them. It wasn’t much to see by, but it would do. Light flickered around him, but he saw her well enough to see the curved, slender blade which she carried in her hand. She brought it down with strength, her darkened armor a stark contrast to the whiteness of her skin. He parried her strike and pushed with his strength to get her back on her heels. She would have the advantage, normally, as he had been fighting already and was growing tired and hot, but with her pregnancy, he figured they were about evenly matched. It was as close to fair as they would get.
While the others fought around them, they faced off with each other. Each strike of her swift blade was parried by his own, or glanced off his armor. He conserved as much energy as he could, using his protection to his advantage and only defending critical strikes. For a pregnant one, she was quite fast and fluid. Enough so that she sometimes caught him off guard. Still, their battle was more or less even. It remained that way until his own forces, the ones at the center of the hall, started to fall.
He didn’t notice it at first; he was too busy fighting the Queen. Neither of them spoke a word, they simply matched their blades against one another. But as his soldiers fell, the remaining Devan began to work together, fending off the next and the next. Soon enough, all that were left on the platform were himself, and the remaining Devan. He didn’t notice this until he felt them pierce blades through the fine lines of his armor at his side and back. Each blade bit deeply and he cried out in anguish as he fell down to his knees, barely catching his sword before it clattered away from him.
“You should not have come, Drochan,” the Queen said as she moved forward towards him. “Your destiny was to die here.”
As she raised her blade, he surprised the elves by hefting his own and swiftly stabbing it into her chest. It pierced center mass, going all the way until it hit her spine, where it stopped with not further strength to finish the blow. She staggered, eyes glistening and wide. Curved blade clattered to the ground, and pale hands wrapped around the blade that pierced her. Even as he looked on he felt more blades pierce him. Even as the final blow came, a blade piercing through his neck and spraying blood everywhere, he knew that he had slain her. All was not for nothing.
The King fell, taking with him the queen of the Devan. Above them the battle still raged. Human soldiers had pushed back the Devan, pushing them deeper and deeper into the caverns. The losses were staggering. So many fell that Brivan would never recover from the war, even if it had the chance to do so. Those that survived eventually made it to the central chamber, but found it empty of Devan save for dead bodies.
They found the King there, and they took him away. Absent was the body of the Devan queen. The King was brought out of the hall, and back to the encampment. Normal grounds would call for him to be brought back to Brivan, but the new acting general realized that this would not be possible. His body would decompose too swiftly, and the march was a long one. Ultimately they were forced to do all they could, and bury him beneath a hastily carved marker, in a box more befitting a farmer than a great King. Those that still lived lamented his death, and then the bloodied mess of battered soldiers that remained, only a scant few hundred, began the long march back to Brivan.
And so the last King of Brivan had fallen, leaving behind a kingdom with no leader, and no shortage of troubles. Onward the soldiers marched. One foot after the other; all in the name of reaching home. A place they would never see again.
About the Author
Brad is an aspiring architect with a Master’s Degree in Architecture. He’s been a fan of the written word since he was very young when he enjoyed timeless classics like The Boxcar Children and The Hardy Boys. Now he imparts his love of books on others through his own written words.
Website: Writtenbybrad.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/writtenbybrad/
Also By Bradley R. Mitzelfelt
The Dark Mage Chronicles
Book 1: In the Shadow of War
Book 2: In the Depths of Winter
In The Depths Of Winter Page 22
