by Victor Kloss
“You didn’t know that, did you? But it’s true. I was like all the rest of them, playing games with other people’s lives. Good, evil; none of that matters to them. They thrive on conflict, because as long as there’s turmoil and confusion, the council stay in control.” He laughed softly and shook his head. “I left because I didn’t approve. Why keep building up one army or kingdom just to tear it down the second it starts becoming powerful enough to be considered a threat? Why not just build your own kingdom and eliminate all the threats?”
He sobered.
“The High Council did not take my defection well. They always think they know better than anyone, about anything. They vowed to destroy me, and they’ve spent centuries trying. How do you think Elizabeth got so powerful so quickly? The High Council was backing her.”
He looked up at Ben, eyes dull now.
“And now they’re using you, and you don’t even know it!”
Ben looked around at the soldiers surrounding them, at the high ceiling and towering columns and at the huge doors at the end of the throne room. How many people had been ordered to their deaths here? How many had been enslaved here in the dark elf homeland, let alone in other lands that had been conquered? Suddenly, he saw that the soldiers were no longer standing rigid, but were looking at him, watching with anticipation, even eagerness. Suktar’s own troops wanted him gone. It was something that had always puzzled Ben during the brief periods when he’d studied history in school. Where there was someone truly horrible in power, why could no one gather the courage to face and remove such a tyrant? And now here he was, a young human, with the dark elf king at his feet and the chance to stop a true dictator.
He looked back at the dark elf and saw that the purple under his hand seemed to be growing.
Grabbing the sword, Ben pulled it free of its scabbard once more. “What you have said is something to ponder another day. Today I have decided — me, not this sword, and not the power that the council invested in it — that you no longer rule here. There may be another king of the dark elves, but if so it will be someone who lets his people live freely, not rules them with an iron fist.” Ben’s eyes narrowed and Joshua pulled the shield back on and stepped next to his friend. “Now get up. I know you are almost healed, and I’m not going to run this sword through you unarmed.”
Suktar narrowed his eyes and stood, hand coming away from the wound that was now almost closed. He opened his hand and the black sword flew through the air. The massive dark elf caught the blade with a mighty roar and in two great strides he stood over Ben and Josh, bringing the colossal sword crashing down with all his strength. Ben moved to the left and for once Joshua didn’t block but simply twisted to the right and let the sword smash down on the tiles, sending fragments flying.
Turning on his heel, Ben brought the sword around in a wicked arc, white blazing from the tip as it sliced into the ancient king’s neck, shearing his head clean off.
Purple light exploded in all directions, throwing them both off their feet. Ben held his hand in front of his face, trying to see, as the sword at his side blazed like the sun. The throne room shook, and great tiles and pieces of rock started falling. Joshua ran over and put the shield over them.
“We’ve got no time!” he shouted to Ben.
They huddled together as the very ground they were sitting on shook, chunks of the building slamming down all around them. All they could do was hope.
From the air around them, from every direction, came a whisper that could somehow be heard over the destruction of the palace as Suktar’s voice reached them for the last time.
“This isn’t over. There will be others after me. There always are.”
The last word echoed as the walls collapsed. Ben’s last thought before he lost consciousness was that at least he knew with certainty that the dark elf king was finally dead.
— Chapter Thirty-Five —
Turning of the Tide
The Institute was still holding the line, but only just. Men holding spellshooters stood next to the Royal Infantry from the British Army, machine-guns and magical weapons firing in a constant heavy racket.
The dark elves pushed forwards, bolts of magic smashing through the ranks, elven pike battalions forcing their way through with airborne dark elves on steeds of all kinds raining down fire and power on the Institute’s flanks.
Suktar’s field generals had been smart, gaining a foothold in Ireland at the beginning as well as in Scotland. From there they had employed a pincer technique, a driving force landing directly in Dover and pushing up while at the same time two armies came in from the sides — crossing from Ireland on the west into Wales and from their position in Scotland down through Newcastle on the northeast.
While the dark elves tried to reinforce and strengthen their position in Scotland, they moved slowly and continuously south. Thankfully for the Institute, the Scots always managed to give them a resounding battering.
The Institute was working directly with the British government now, as well as with the Queen and the royal princes. Set up in London, the war room was a constant state of controlled confusion. One of the princes was apparently even now part of a counterstrike, the RAF holding back dragons and wyverns, giant eagles and dark pegasi. Just as they had thought they were holding their own, an elite unit of Suktar’s Royal Household Guards had appeared in the centre of London.
Thankfully there was a director on the scene, just back from the front at Dover.
Alex wiped sweat out of his eyes, squinting through the smoke of blazing nearby buildings. Without turning around, he barked a command to his unit, instinctively knowing where they were.
“Axel, take your team and circle around to Spur Road. Durnham, you take Constitution Hill. We’ve already got a squad covering The Mall.” He hardly heard their replies, knowing already they would obey without question.
He turned to the SAS captain who was with him.
“Let me ask you why, oh why, is Buckingham Palace possibly the least defensible structure ever built? You’d think if the royalty were going to live somewhere, there would at least be a wall, a moat, something!”
The captain nodded but didn’t comment. He had seen a lot of action, but not with any of the Institute and Alex had seen the man sceptically eye his holstered spellshooter a few times. For now, he didn’t question, however, as Alex had been put in command.
“Okay, they are going to come in from all sides, and come in hard. These are the elite of the elite in the dark elf army. You’ve got the rounds that our allied elves provided, right? Nothing else will make a difference.”
The captain un-shouldered his gun and pulled out the magazine, bullets shining brightly. “I have no idea what they did to these, but yeah, all my team have them.”
Alex nodded, looking around. He flipped a golden coin and caught it out of the air. “Okay, let’s get into position.”
They moved fast, going around the back of the palace itself. Most of the SAS were positioned all across the top, but Captain Jones’ team was with him.
Advancing in a crouched jog, they went through some little known passageways and came around the back, spreading out. Not a moment after they entered the clearing, the attack started.
Dark elves descended upon them, moving like smoke, cloaks a purple so dark they were almost black, knives spinning through the air. Two of the SAS went down before they noticed, but Alex threw himself into a roll and came up smoothly, pulling out not one but two spellshooters. Firing like a Wild West gunfighter, he used spells that were narrow but powerful. A bolt of ice so thin it could hardly be seen took one dark elf in the eye. From his other spellshooter a jet of gas engulfed another, choking him.
Alex saw white bolts of light shooting out faster than he could track, but in a controlled stream. Silently impressed with the captain’s composure when faced with dark elves for the first time, he continued his work. It was a little known fact in the Institute that the Director of Trade had been one of the best Spellsw
ords ever, a fact that had led to his becoming one of the youngest directors in the Institute’s history.
Suddenly, a band of dark elves launched itself straight at them.
“Cover me!” Alex holstered one spellshooter and from the other shot a spell that immediately transformed into a long bowstaff of blinding white light. He sprinted straight at the dark elves, his unit fanning out to the left and right. He just caught a shout from the captain as he ran: “He’s mad! Covering fire, now!”
Alex bowled into the dark elf elite, staff whipping about in a constant blur, power streaming out to create a protective shield and a deadly sharp disc at the same time. As the two opposing forces smashed together he saw how many there really were. A fleeting thought crossed his mind that he might have overextended this time.
A huge elf came at him, with two others obviously singling Alex out. He disarmed one and knocked the other out, but the large one batted at him. Barely keeping the massive sword at bay, Alex moved backwards step by step. He was taking heaving breaths, his muscles aching like never before. Then it happened. The sword knocked his staff aside and the elf moved in.
Alex threw himself backwards, but he knew he was done. The sword went back, and the elf stopped. In fact, all the elves stopped, confusion evident on their faces. They looked at each other, and suddenly the large elf let out a wail so full of anguish it made Alex’s heart grieve in some strange emotional echo.
Alex held up his hand, and his unit fell back. As they watched, the dark elf elite unit all came together and strangely, in unison, knelt as one - heads bowed. A full minute passed in total silence, the wind blowing and the sound of the leaves in the trees the only thing that could be heard. As quickly as it had begun the unit rose and moved away, so fast it seemed like they had never really been there.
Captain Jones came up to him from behind. “What was that about? For a minute there I thought it was over.”
Alex could only shake his head. “I’m not sure, but I have a feeling….”
A great roar came from above, and they all crouched down immediately, looking up to see a huge black dragon.
“Great! This really isn’t my lucky day!” Alex grabbed the captain and pulled him close so he could be heard over the huge beast’s continuous screaming. “Captain, I told you this might happen - get your men to positions of cover and change your weapons to long-range anti-aircraft.”
As he went to go the captain grabbed him. “But what about you?”
Alex shook him off. “You’ll see!”
*
Captain Jones rounded up what was left of his SAS unit. He was impressed with how well they had done, all things considered, but felt a jolt of sorrow for those he had lost already. It was hard to believe what they were facing, something out of a story like those his young sons liked to read, but nothing that he had ever considered would happen in the real world.
“Jackson, get the men under cover now!”
He followed his own advice and sprinted to the side of the palace, crouching down and looking up while swapping one weapon for another. He pulled out his cross and kissed it, praying harder than he ever had.
“If there is anyone up there, I’d appreciate a bit of a hand.” He looked around and saw off to the left a few dim figures that seemed to launch towards the black dragon breathing a stream of fire down at the Canada Gate. “Hang on… that couldn’t be?”
Grabbing his radio, he opened the frequency to all his units.
“All units, focus covering fire. We’ve got friendlies up there taking out that huge scary thing. Let’s help them out!”
*
Alex rode his great eagle alone with three wyverns soaring behind him, two riders on each. It would have to do, as they were the only ones here. The data he’d been given definitely hadn’t said anything about a black dragon in London itself! They had to stop it.
As he came closer, he realised this wasn’t just any black dragon; it was larger than any he’d ever seen. He fought back a surge of fear and kicked his eagle into even faster flight. A quick gesture of his spellshooter to the left and then the right and two wyverns flew past. He aimed and fired at the creatures, covering them with a shimmering mist that he hoped would camouflage them well.
Alex was close enough now to hear even the dark elf rider screaming. He seemed to have gone almost berserk with rage. He squinted, and pulled out his spyglass, causing the scene to come into sharp focus.
“What the?” It was Lord Kranathor, a high-ranking dark elf of royal blood. From what Alex remembered, he was a cousin to Suktar himself.
*
“Now you will die, humans!” Kranathor screamed, spittle flying from his lips. He stood in his stirrups, gazing balefully over the crest of his black dragon as its fires raked back and forth over the remains of the foolish Institute warriors who had dared to stand against him.
He began drawing power to himself, summoning his magic into his hands and building a large orb of crackling purple energy. He would hurl that down upon the main cabin of the largest group of humans left alive, shattering any remaining resistance in one fell swoop.
But even as he started to raise his hands and their volatile cargo, Kranathor swooned. A strange wave of despair washed over him. He felt suddenly drained of energy, and an emptiness opened up inside him.
And then he knew. “NO!” he screamed, the orb falling apart as his concentration fled. “My king!”
Their king, the mighty Suktar, was no more. He would make them pay for this! How could it be? Some unknown power must exist to be able to take down King Suktar. But he knew it must be true. All the royal family were linked to the king, so they would know immediately when a new one needed to take on the helm. He narrowed his eyes, mind already whirring. If Ictid had fallen as well, then it wasn’t out of the question that Kranathor himself could—
A strange hum cut through his thoughts and drew Kranathor’s attention. He glanced down, and saw that what he thought was just a cloud was, in fact, something quite unsettling.
As Kranathor stared, the faint outlines of a flying creature appeared, growing more distinct with each passing second. He could make out details now, including the swords and spellshooters in each figure’s hands — and the hooded robe cloaking the lead figure, long hair whipping in the wind and a slightly mad grin on his face.
*
“Surprise!” Alex shouted as he and his unit dropped the illusion that had been shielding them.
He closed in fast, his diamond formation swinging around and covering the huge dragon. Just as they closed in, a barrage of heavy gunfire came from below, distracting the great dragon from them. The captain was doing his part, and Alex couldn’t let an opportunity like that pass unused.
While his unit targeted the dragon’s wings, he urged his great eagle right at Lord Kranathor. He met the dark elf’s stare, which widened in recognition, and then he did what no one, least of all himself, had expected. He threw himself off his eagle, straight into Kranathor. Knocked out of the saddle, together they slid across the dragon’s back. Alex grappled with the dark elf, who was screaming endlessly in his own language.
“Oh, shut up!” Alex finally got his spellshooter out of his holster just as the powerful elf managed to face him, and with a shout they both attacked. The power collided and rebounded in opposite directions, throwing them both straight off the black dragon into the yawning darkness below.
*
Zadaya was down to his last spell, an airsoft designed to provide a soft landing if you fell from a great height or jumped. Sighting down the barrel, he fired his spellshooter at a dark elf in mid-leap towards them, and under other circumstances certainly would have laughed as his attacker suddenly began to drift away, trapped in mid-air by the innocent little spell.
But Zadaya didn’t feel much like laughing right now.
He had been sent to the front, on the border of Scotland and England, and the fighting had been brutal.
“I’m out,” he told his remaini
ng Spellswords and Wardens. “Anyone got anything?”
All around him the others shook their heads. They were all bloody, battered and sore, and it felt as if this day had gone on forever.
Well, for better or worse it probably wouldn’t last much longer.
He still wouldn’t give the dark elves the satisfaction of having an easy time of it, though. Instead he took a deep breath, straightened, and even as he sheathed his spellshooter he raised his sword.
“Alright, you lot,” he shouted, fighting to project as much composure and confidence as possible. “We’re out of spells. We’re pinned down. And there are at least three times more of them than there are of us. I’d like to say that back-up is coming, but frankly you all know that we were the back-up.” He mustered a weak grin. “Not the most inspiring pep talk, I know, but hey, it’s been one of those days!” That got a wave of half-hearted chuckles, which was better than nothing. Zadaya let the humour fade from his voice and face. “Use your swords,” he reminded them quietly. “Use your fists. Hell, use your heads if it comes to that. When this day is done, any of them who are left — and it’ll be a lot fewer than there are now, I’ll tell you that much — will know they’ve been in a fight. They may defeat us, but I promise you they will never forget us.”
All around him, his Spellswords and Wardens shook off their fatigue and injuries, and roared agreement.
If he had to die today, at least he would do so surrounded by people he felt proud of, fighting for what they believed in.
Raising his sword high, Zadaya turned towards the horde of dark elves just now breaching the intersection between this street and the wider ones back beyond.
“For the Institute!” he shouted at the top of his lungs, and his Wardens echoed the cry. “For Elizabeth!”
And he charged one final time into the fray.
The dark elves met them head on with a crash. These weren’t their strongest forces, but the numbers were on their side. Elves with long pikes pushed forwards, and Zadaya moved smoothly between two, hamstringing one and running the other through. He yanked his sword free and blocked a thrust that would have taken out a Spellsword to his right. They fought back to back, and their foes attacked and died. But taking down three times their number didn’t matter, as the elves just continued coming. Zadaya had a brief burst of hate for his dark cousins — so much needless killing for what? He threw himself into the fray again, attacking ferociously, until suddenly he realised he had gotten cut off from the remainder of his team. His fighting became desperate now, hacking and slashing back towards his own troops. He knew it was only a matter of time.
