A quick glance revealed the fact that the elvish army had suffered serious casualties. One of the nobles, however, was already preparing a force to head back into the darkness. They hoped to aid those who were wounded or cut off from retreat. The knight and the warrior rushed to join them.
The elvish noble organizing these rescuers was Galinral. His armor was covered in blood and his right arm was hanging in a sling. He immediately – and happily – accepted the companion's offer of aid. However, before this force even had time to mobilize, the wind picked up and began breaking up the dark mist. Their foes were quickly fleeing the field; heading into the woodlands of the valley below.
As soon as the archers were once again able to bring their bows to bear, the battle was over. However, there was still much to be done. The battlefield was littered with the wounded. There were also quite a few of unconscious, but still very much alive, trolls to be dealt with. On the distant horizon, dark clouds were already beginning to gather.
Time was of the essence. The Telian asked the Eilian once again to open his eyes and reveal those among the fallen who still lived. As he gazed over the battlefield, he saw many faint and fading auras. There were many who could be saved, but they would need to hurry.
The young knight quickly led his allies from one wounded warrior to another. He healed only those who couldn't survive without his immediate aid. The others he left to the care of his fellows as he continued his search for those who needed him most. Although the young knight did his best to conserve his strength and make sparing use of his power, it quickly became obvious that there were far too many injured for him to deal with alone.
“Tealor,” he said, glancing over his shoulder from where he knelt at the side of a prostrate elf. “Please try to find Ian. I'm sure he's already on the field somewhere, but I'll be able to help him quickly find those most in need of his aid. I can't keep this up much longer. Please hurry.”
“At once, Sir Darian,” the warrior replied, immediately kicking his horse into motion.
The captain quickly returned with the dwarf riding on the back of his mount.
“How are you holding up?” the bard asked, slipping to the ground and making his way over to the young knight.
“I'm alright for now,” he nodded, “but I'm beginning to feel it. I don't know how much more I can do.”
“I understand completely,” Ian replied. “I've already done a fair bit myself. Still, I've got more in me and I also know a bit about more classic medicine. We'll save a few more lives before we're done. Oh, I also have this.”
As he spoke, he pulled a small jar filled with a creamy green substance from one of his pockets.
“Yeah, Erana told me about that stuff,” the knight grimaced. “Let's only use that if we really need to.”
“Aye,” the dwarf nodded, “some people do find it somewhat unpleasant.”
Between the pair, the dwarf and the knight managed to pull nearly twenty elves back from the edge of the grave. There were far more who didn't need their immediate help, however, and a great number who were already beyond their aid. Both looked worn and weary when they finally accepted the fact that they could do no more to help or heal until they first had an opportunity for rest. Even so, the Telian was still capable of leading other healers to those that needed them and, more than once, Ian made use of his jar of creamy ointment.
Having done what they could for the wounded, the knight, the warrior, and the bard set out in search of their companions. Their friends were easy to spot moving among the wounded. Sarena marched at the front of their small party; her eyes scanning the battlefield in search of her husband. As soon as she saw the trio, she waved at them and stepped quickly in their direction.
“How have you fared, my love?” the sorceress asked as soon as she was within easy hearing distance.
“Very well, dear heart,” the warrior smiled. “And you?”
“Exhausted, my champion,” she sighed. “Completely exhausted. Other than that, I believe we're all unscathed – except for the valiant and unfortunate Rragor.”
The animal whimpered as if in agreement when Sarena mentioned his name.
“Is he alright?” Darian asked with a note of concern in his voice.
“He'll live,” Erana replied, “which is more than can be said for all of our allies.”
“Well, we'll try to get him fixed up tonight or first thing in the morning,” Ian said. “At the moment, I'm afraid he'll have to wait. Both Darian and I have done what we can for the next little while.”
As the bard spoke, he noticed that Sarena's attention had been attracted by something in the distance.
“Is everything alright?” he asked, following her gaze toward the horizon.
“It's those clouds,” she replied. “They're gathering quickly and we can't afford to be caught in them a second time.”
“I'm inclined to agree with you,” the bard nodded. “Whatever we're going to do, we had better do it quickly.”
“I believe we'd better turn our attention to these fallen trolls,” Sarena replied. “I fear it's only a matter of time before they begin moving again.”
“Agreed!” the warrior nodded. “Will you be able to...”
“No, dear one. I fear not,” the sorceress interrupted with a slight laugh. “Both Gwendolyn and I have taxed ourselves to our limits – perhaps even beyond. I also very much doubt that any of the other spell-casters are in much better shape. You'll have to rely on the powers of nature rather than on those of magic this time.”
“Very well, my beloved,” he nodded. “We'll just do the best we can. Darian, I recommend sending Sarena and Gwendolyn back to Galinral on our horses. We need more men if we're going to get this done before those clouds flood this valley again. Oh, and a few axes wouldn't go amiss either.”
“Yes, of course,” the knight replied, leaping from his horse and helping Gwendolyn into his saddle.
Sarena and Gwendolyn rode off in search of aid while the Telian and his companions wandered the battlefield searching for fallen trolls. The first they stumbled across was filled with arrows, its head was crushed, and one of its arms was completely severed.
“I can't believe this!” the rogue exclaimed, looking down at the carcass before him. “This thing is still breathing!”
“I believe, lad,” the bard began, “breathing again might be a better way to put it.”
“Whatever. It's amazing, either way,” Kilren observed, softly kicking the creature as he spoke.
Immediately, the troll's remaining hand shot out, grabbing the rogue by the ankle and throwing him to the ground. As it struggled to raise itself from the earth, the warrior and the knight passed their weapons quickly through its body.
“Are you alright?” Erana asked as she helped her love to his feet with a slight smile on her face.
“I'm fine,” he replied, staring down at the mutilated beast. “Those things are... weird...”
“Yes, they are,” the bard agreed with a chuckle. “Now, if you think you can keep yourself from poking and prodding every one we come across, we may be able to get finished before that fog returns.”
“Lead on” the rogue replied.
The group quickly made their way to the edge of the woodlands in the valley below. Erana and Kilren stood guard with their weapons at the ready as Darian and Tealor did their best to collect as much wood as they could carry. In truth, this amounted to little more than a pile of brush, but it was all they could manage until more help – and better tools – arrived.
By the time Ian managed to start a fire atop the first of the trolls, Sarena and Gwendolyn had returned. Galinral agreed that destroying the monsters was their top priority. As soon as they had reached him, he dispatched a squad of forty soldiers that were equipped with a number of axes, a horse, and a cart.
One troll after another was quickly buried beneath a pile of burning coals. However, this important work was also time consuming. As they carried on their task, the clouds above b
egan to move in the direction of the battlefield once again. Within minutes, the call for retreat was sounded. They had done what they could and would have to fall back for now.
As the party made its way to camp, they were met by Galinral. The commanders were going to hold another council of war. The battle had gone badly and they wanted the input of the Telian and his captain before they came to any decisions.
“What happened to your arm?” Erana asked, her eyes turned to the sling supporting her brother's arm.
“Not a great deal,” he replied, glancing down at his shoulder with a smile. “It's just a scratch.”
“Really?” Kilren asked with a note of disbelief.
“No,” the elf chuckled, “no, not really. In fact, I'm fairly certain that my shoulder and arm are both broken in several places. But they've done what they can for me at the moment. I can't feel it – or much of anything else – on that side of my body.”
“Can you help him, Darian?” the fair ranger asked.
“Mmmm,” the knight replied, drawing his brows together. “I can try.”
“No thank you, noble Telian,” Galinral said, lifting his good hand. “I know how much you've done today. It's been more than enough. The priests hope to have me healed by tomorrow or the next day. Until then, they can kill the pain.”
“How did it happen?” the elvish maiden asked.
“I'm afraid I ran afoul of the hill giant,” he replied. “I, along with several of the other lords, attacked the monster. I was knocked from my mount by the tree it was using for a club. In all truth though, that probably saved my life. It put me out of his reach, anyway. Not all the lords fared as well.”
“Well, you've been avenged,” Kilren chuckled. “Sarena and Gwendolyn burned the thing to a crisp.”
“Come now, Kilren,” Sarena said with a smile. “Don't forget that you and Erana played your own part in the creature's demise.”
“All we did was stay out of its way,” he laughed.
“Well, you kept it busy until we arrived.”
“How could you two kill such a powerful creature?” the elvish lord asked as his gaze passed from the sorceress to the human maiden. “You must be far more powerful than I realized.”
“Perhaps we are,” Sarena smiled, “but there's more to it in this case.”
Kilren quickly recounted the details of the encounter – from his point of view – to the elvish lord.
“That's incredible,” Galinral said.
“If you think it’s incredible hearing about it, you should have seen it,” the rogue laughed.
“I can imagine,” the elf nodded. “Sarena, why don't you think you two could do that again?”
“I don't think it would be wise to try,” the sorceress asserted. “It's obvious that Gwendolyn is very powerful. There are those that might say I am, as well. However, we can only safely channel so much power. I almost wasn't able to stop it.”
“I wasn't able to stop until you did,” Gwendolyn admitted. “I felt like I was beginning to burn alive.”
“If I hadn't managed to stop when I did, we very well may have burned alive,” Sarena observed. “Still, it's also clear that Gwendolyn and I do share a very strong bond for a teacher and her student. In time, we might learn to combine our power safely. However, I wouldn't want to risk it again anywhere near that mist. Our powers fed off it in an... unexpected... way.”
“Aye,” Ian admitted. “I think you could well describe it as unexpected or even surprising.”
“True,” the sorceress replied, “But even so, it wasn't the most surprising thing that happened today. At least, not in my mind.”
“What was, dear lady?” Ian asked.
“The fact that Gwendolyn actually managed to heal Callin with her own two hands,” she replied, smiling at the maiden at her side.
“Did she?” both the Telian and the bard asked at the same moment.
“She did,” Sarena nodded.
“Congratulations,” Darian said with a wide smile on his face. “That's amazing!”
“It was nothing,” the maiden replied with a slight blush, “At least, not compared to what you can do.”
“Maybe,” the knight said, “but all I do is ask the Eilian and they heal the wounded through me. What you did was very different and, I imagine, much more difficult. You should be very proud of yourself.”
“How did you manage it, lass?” the bard asked, clearly excited by the maiden's accomplishment.
“Actually, I just did what you suggested!” she replied. “I filled my mind with thoughts of love and compassion and, suddenly, I was healing him.”
“To be perfectly honest, I was very surprised,” Sarena admitted. “Not just because healing is rather a rare art for sorcerers, but also because the child had just channeled so much arcane energy. I thought that – even if she managed it – the agony would be almost crippling. It seems she's very powerful indeed.”
“Thank you,” Gwendolyn replied, blushing again. “It truth though, it didn't hurt. I mean; it did make me sick for a few minutes, but it wasn't like I expected it to be at all.”
“What do you mean?” Ian asked.
“Well, it wasn't anything like using fire,” she replied. “I can understand why it wouldn't be, I just wasn't expecting it. It was more like... Actually, I have no idea how to describe it. Imagine trying to describe hot and cold to someone who had never felt them. It's like that. It just felt different. That's all I can tell you.”
“Hmmm,” the bard replied, scratching himself under the beard. “That is interesting. Sarena, what do you make of it?”
“I'm not sure,” she said thoughtfully. “I wouldn't say that my power ever feels all that different. When I engulf a foe in flames or make an ally invisible, it's all very much the same.”
“Aye,” Ian nodded, “That's how I would describe it myself. Whatever I do, the power is very similar – no matter what the final manifestation is.”
“What do you think it means, master bard?” the sorceress asked.
“Not much,” he nodded. “At least, I suspect it doesn't. If I had to guess, I would just say that's the way she feels healing. Her powers seem to have a wider range than our own. It may just be differences in the spectrum; if you see what I mean. I would say I find it curious more than puzzling.”
“Perhaps you're right,” the sorceress smiled. “Whatever the case, the most important fact seems to be that she managed to do it.”
“I agree, dear lady,” he nodded, “I completely agree.”
By the time the party crested the hill, the commanders were already gathering for the council of war. The dark clouds on the horizon were drawing ever closer and decisions had to be made quickly. For now, they would hold the top of the hill in tight formations. If the vapors began to overtake them, they would fall back and take up a new position.
The moment they arrived, the band was immediately led to a small clearing where the commanders awaited them. The council began at once.
“The first thing we need to address is this unnatural mist,” one of the older elvish generals said, rising as he spoke. “We can't fight in it. Our main – perhaps our only – advantage against these creatures is the bow. If that's taken from us, we get what we had here today: defeat and carnage!”
“I wouldn't exactly call it a defeat,” Lord Malkan, the supreme commander of the army, asserted. “I feel our soldiers did very well, all things considered.”
“Call it what you will, Malkan,” the old general replied. “We certainly can't call it a victory, can we? Half our forces are dead or wounded. And what do we have to show for it? A few hundred warg carcasses and a handful of incinerated trolls.”
“I think you're downplaying the effectiveness of our troops,” the supreme commander suggested.
“I disagree,” the general replied, shaking his head. “Our forces fought well. However, we can't afford to downplay the effectiveness of that blasted fog! We can't fight against that, Malkan. You have to see tha
t!”
A murmur of agreement rose from the ranks of the elvish commanders.
“I admit it was unexpected...” Malkan began.
“No, sir!” the general interrupted. “Being out flanked would have been unexpected, the trolls using bows would have been unexpected, the enemy having griffons would have been unexpected. This was unthinkable! What is that mist? Where does it come from? And what do we do about it? We're not prepared to face this, Malkan. We have got to fall back!”
“I would respectfully remind you, general, that I am in command here,” the elvish lord replied. “I've taken your advice under consideration. Now, take your seat.”
Immediately – and without protest – the aged general obeyed.
“General Kastlin has raised some very valid points,” the supreme commander began, choosing his words carefully. “This fog is something we simply aren't prepared to face yet. I think that we can now safely assume our enemy is some kind of magic-user.”
“Oh, yes,” Sarena said with a smile on her soft, red lips, “I think you can very safely say that some kind of magic-user is to blame. In fact, I think we can assume that an incredibly powerful magic-user is behind all of this. I also believe this was a trap.”
“Would you care to explain your reasoning?” Malkan asked.
“With the greatest of pleasure, my dear commander,” the sorceress replied. “To begin with, this fog is the result of no ordinary spell. I think we can all agree, at least those of us who know anything of magic, that it would have taken a great deal of time and effort to prepare. The caster's not simply reading from some spell book. This has been years in the making. And, of course, the speed at which these vapors can accumulate is remarkable. Not only have I never seen anything like it, I've never even heard of anything like it. Ian?”
“One moment,” the bard replied, closing his eyes in thought before continuing. “Several similar things spring to mind. The most recent was roughly four hundred years ago in the kingdom of Vraunn. According to legend, a dense fog filled a portion of their lands for over five years. Finally, the source was discovered; the wizard Yanteal had created an artifact capable of maintaining the fog perpetually. He had done so, at least according to him, to protect his lands from invasion. There are other examples, but I don't feel they're quite as applicable to this situation.”
The Beasts of Areon (The Chronicles of Areon Book 2) Page 15
