by Ben Hale
“Did the elves select you as the commander of the gathering?” Val’Trisian asked, and Braon heard the slight inflection as she mentioned her surface cousins.
Newhawk smiled and shook his head. “This is Braon,” he said, sweeping his hand at him, “high commander of the gathered races.”
All of the elves snapped to look at him in confusion, and then back at Newhawk as if waiting for the end of a joke. Before they could decide what to think, Braon addressed them in his most serious voice. “Welcome to the gathering. I am sure you have quite a few questions, as we have for you.”
“You can’t be serious,” Val’Trisian said, her voice incredulous. “He’s just a boy, a human boy at that.”
“I am serious,” Newhawk said, his smile gone. “This boy has more of a mind for battle than anyone I have ever seen. The Oracle herself placed him in command, and you would do well to listen.”
Her expression displayed disbelief, so Braon decided to take a different tact. “While you decide whether or not to believe him or trust me, do you mind if we get some questions answered?”
She shook her head, seeming about to protest again, but shrugged like it didn’t matter and said. “Let’s hear it.” Her voice was patronizing but Braon ignored it. It was hardly the first time he'd heard that tone.
“We did not send a messenger underground, although we would have if we knew where your city was. How did you come to know about the gathering?”
Val’Trisian’s lips twitched as if she had expected the question first. “We didn’t until a ten-day ago.”
She didn’t offer further explanation but her expression was hard, with just a tinge of something more. The anomaly was so subtle that it took him a second to recognize it for sadness. Then an idea crossed his mind. It was a gamble, but if he was right it would help her trust him. “The fiends are underground . . . aren’t they?” he said and watched her expression twitch. Not respectful exactly, but surprised.
“They attacked our cities and drove us out,” she admitted.
He nodded, filling in the blanks. “You tried to fight, but there were too many, so you were forced to flee. Who suggested you contact the surface?”
She flashed him a tight smile, her chin tilting upward, “I did.”
Now that he appeared to be gaining ground, he didn’t let up. “Magic or messenger?”
Her smile widened. “Both. The messenger came out of a cave near the dwarves, and she overheard some of them talking—but that wasn’t enough for most of the houses. Mind magic was used and we discovered that many of the minds in Lumineia were moving towards one location, driven by a vast collection of darkness. The invaders resembled what drove our people out.”
“How long did it take before you decided to come here?” Braon asked, guessing that it hadn’t been an easy decision.
“Almost a week.” She grimaced. “Our people were loath to leave the underground and ask the surface people for aid.
“Especially when the few times your kind have come to the surface it has been to pillage or kill,” Braon said, making the statement with no rancor.
Val’Trisian bared her teeth. “Yes,” she said after a moment, and he saw Talfar and the other watching gnomes nod, as if she had confessed a sin.
Braon allowed a small smile. “I understand why you are here. Now, what do you want?”
“We are here to consider joining you.” She bit the words off and threw a look at Newhawk.
“How many warriors do you have?” Braon asked. Now that he’d gotten her to open up, he settled into the usual queries.
“Thirty thousand female magi and roughly the same number of male warriors,” she said, but again, Braon saw that there was more she didn’t say.
“How many slaves?” he asked.
She blinked at his knowledge of their society. “Most of them gave us time to escape.”
Braon tried not to think about their callous look at life. Instead, he said, “Are you accustomed to the surface light?”
“We have been using visible fire as much as possible, but none of us will be able to stand full daylight.”
He nodded, satisfied with the information he’d received. “We are grateful that you have come. The Oracle let us know several things about the coming engagement. We now have ten days before the vastness of Draeken’s army reaches this cliff. As you know, we are outnumbered, and we will be killed.”
“Inspirational,” Val’Trisian said, but Braon ignored her. He knew enough about the dark elves to know that if he wanted them to trust him, he needed to be direct.
“The Oracle departed several weeks ago with a force that carries our only hope. They will attempt to reach Draeken and destroy him before we are wiped out. In the meantime, we have gathered everyone we could, and fortified the cliff and the city. All we can hope is to survive long enough for them to succeed.”
“How many are already here?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.
“Well over nine hundred thousand now,” Newhawk answered, “from more than eight different races and tribes.”
Val’Trisian's eyebrows shot up, as did her guards, and their gaze flicked between Newhawk and Braon like they were seeing them for the first time. Braon also saw the slight tightening of her jaw as she realized that her entire race presented a fraction of the forces commanded by the two humans in front of her. When she looked back to Braon, a grudging respect was reflected in her opaque eyes.
After several moments she said, “Assuming we decide to join you, and accept your leadership, what would you have us do?”
Braon tilted his head towards the dip in elevation that led to the wall being constructed. “That area is The Deep Battalion. Your entire race would live in and defend that area during any time the light is gone. Someone your people respect will be my appointed general, per my approval.”
“That would be me," she said with an edge to her tone. "I am the eldest daughter of the house of Trisian, first house of our race. Our matron was one of those killed during our forced exodus, elevating me to my new rank.”
Braon inclined his head. “My condolences.”
Her expression hardened. “It was an acceptable loss.” She spat the words out with such vehemence that Braon almost flinched. “She was even more brutal than most of our people.”
Resisting the urge to frown, Braon continued, “Newhawk will give the details of our strategy. How soon do you think you can get your people here?”
She jerked her head in the direction of the mountains. “Two days.”
“Then I will see you again in two days. Report to Newhawk if you have any questions or concerns, and as soon as you understand our communication structure, use it whenever necessary,” he said.
Newhawk shifted, drawing their attention to him. “And a word on discipline. It would be best for all if you keep your people from . . . harming any of your new allies.” The hardness to his features made the suggestion sound more like a threat.
She accepted the warning with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “We are glad to join your gathered army, and I assure you we will do our part.” Her eyes sparked. “We look forward to killing these dark beings.”
Braon nodded and turned to leave but she asked one more question. “How long do you expect this battle to last?”
When he looked back he saw that she had no desire to stay a minute longer than necessary, so when he replied he did so with pity in his voice. “After the battle is joined, it will be over in no more than seven days.”
Her forehead wrinkled as she tried to understand. “But why—”
“Because that is the longest the Oracle said we could survive,” Braon said. “If Draeken is not destroyed by then—” He shrugged. “—we will be dead.”
As he walked away from the stunned dark elves, he hoped that his gut was right. They needed the dark elves, and they would fill the last real hole in their defenses, but he prayed with all his might that they wouldn’t ruin the tenuous alliance that the surface elves had beg
un.
It would mean their destruction long before Draeken's army arrived.
Chapter 30: First Scars
Braon mounted Reiquen behind Newhawk, still pondering the exchange with the black elves. The conversation had revealed much about a race shrouded in mystery, a race that many regarded as pure evil. Although he had seen certain tendencies in Val’Trisian that lent credibility to the legend, he’d also observed signs of good in the head of the house of Trisian.
For one thing, she had denounced the cruelty of her mother. For another she had been willing to work with the surface races. This demonstrated that the dark elves were more similar to the surface races than even they would care to admit.
In his opinion, every race contained light and dark qualities, because both attributes were inherent in every individual. The darkest days in the chronicles of Lumineia where when the majority of a race succumbed to evil, or the few that became corrupt were in positions of power. Either way, wars and oppression had been the result.
Dark elves were a perfect example. The tales of their raiding were common, yet it seemed that many were variations of a few incidents. The discrepancy led Braon to draw one of two conclusions. One possibility was that the dark elves had only come to the surface to attack when a large portion of their people had chosen evil. The second was that the surface attacks had been perpetrated by a faction of the population, and did not represent the people as a whole. The latter explanation appeared more likely, and if it was true, would mean that the dark elves didn't merit their reputation. In truth, the history of Lumineia brimmed with the atrocities of mankind, but the dark elves were still perceived as more evil.
Indeed many of the races that had joined the gathering had come only because they had been forced to. The desire to live was a powerful motivator, and Braon knew that many in his army would willingly choose to sabotage their efforts—or even join the fiend army—if they thought they would survive. It was just as well that the enemy they faced had a way of forcing inter-race cooperation. Fortunately, most of the attempts at sabotage had been unsuccessful, and the results hadn't caused critical damage to his plans.
“Commander,” Thacker said from behind him, leaning forward to speak into his ear.
“Yes?” he asked.
“Emeka is reporting another group of . . . large reinforcements approaching his division,” Thacker said. “Several giants.”
Braon considered the report for a moment, then asked, “Friend or foe?” Giants were not known for their kindness, and lived in hills or mountains. They could have just wandered down here.
Thacker mentally spoke with his son Jake, Emeka’s link, and then replied, “They appear friendly, but, just in case, General Emeka has stationed several commands ready to repel an attack.”
Braon nodded in satisfaction. “Remind the general that we cannot afford bloodshed. Then find out the giants’ intentions and report back.”
“Yes commander,” Thacker said.
As they continued to fly east towards the city, Braon reviewed his task list. He considered several changes he wanted to make in the training schedule—but kept his ear open for the situation with the giants. He also reviewed what he knew about the large race. Although they were renowned as vicious, Braon tended to believe most of the stories he’d heard were embellished with a generous dose of fear.
Giants stood well over thirty feet tall, with some topping forty, and had four sub-groups. Hill giants were the most common, and were found in every region of Lumineia. They were also the smallest type, and lived alone or in pairs. Fire giants were the most rare, and lived in or near volcanoes. Larger than hill giants, they were the sole type that lived in communities, although that was a rumor. Due to a lack of encounters, little was known about fire giants. Stone giants, like their hill cousins, traveled singly or in couples, and were considered the largest and most dangerous of the huge race. Another rarity, the ice giants kept to the far northern territories, but little was known about the blue-skinned behemoths.
“Commander?” Thacker asked as they were just coming into view of the city.
“Go ahead and report the situation,” Braon said.
“Apparently the giants are allies, and wish to join the defenses. Their leader is a stone giant, Valdor, and says his home is near the dwarf citadels to the north. He witnessed the dwarf exodus and somehow found out about the gathering.”
Braon’s forehead crinkled as he considered the new information. “Ask Onix if he knows anything about Valdor.”
After a minute, Thacker responded, “Onix says he knows of him, and that to his knowledge he has never attacked a dwarf.”
“Good,” Braon said. “How many giants are with him?”
When Thacker responded, his tone gave away his apprehension. “Valdor claims he has over three hundred giants prepared for battle. The bulk of them are stone and hill giants, but he was able to find two ice giants as well.”
As Reiquen landed on the roof of the house of Runya, Braon leaned back and then dismounted with a grateful thought to Newhawk. Turning towards the stairs, he realized that Valdor must have understood the ramifications of such a gathering, and since the dwarves had left their mountains weeks ago, spent the time collecting as many of his kindred as he could find. The behavior bespoke intelligence and foresight. Nodding to himself he stopped and turned to Thacker. “See if Valdor is willing to split his people among all seven battalions.” He watched the telepath send the message and receive the answer, wondering if his idea would work.
Thacker’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Er, Jake is asking me to pass on Valdor’s response word for word.” When Braon bobbed his head Thacker closed his eyes and recited, echoing the words of another. “I not sure good idea. Many of me people no speak good, and some no like smaller people. Me think make dead. Better if stick together.”
Braon hid his disappointment. “Understood. Have Valdor take all his people to the Lake Road. We could use some extra firepower there anyway. Also inform Golic that they are coming and to prepare any under his command. I don’t want some frightened soldier starting a fight we can’t afford. Further, have Golic work with Valdor and figure out the best way to utilize the giants during the battle. I know they throw boulders, but find out if there is anything else they need.”
Braon turned down the corridor with Thacker falling into step behind him. He knew the instructions would take a second to transfer, and he had work to get to. All around him the house of Runya bustled with activity, with elves hurrying about their business. Glancing out a window as he passed, he saw that the city was no different. Azertorn had become a hive of activity as the elves raced to prepare for the coming onslaught.
Braon allowed a small moment of satisfaction. They had done well during the last few weeks, and far better than he could have hoped. With the addition of each new race, they had become stronger and more versatile, and Braon was proud to see the races of Lumineia gathering on the side of good, even if they were only doing it to survive.
Threading his way through the elves, he turned into the battle center—and stopped cold. Elves in robes lay scattered all over the floor while healers rushed to help. Some lay sprawled and broken, and others sat crumpled to the floor where they had been hurled against the walls. Some of the forms were too still . . .
—Energy sparked from the failed map, causing everyone in view to flinch. Braon swallowed hard as he realized that his orders had lead to their deaths. Before he could look away, four faces seared a permanent image into his mind. For the first time since his appointment he felt like a fifteen year old boy, looking at consequences of his actions . . . and wishing he could undo them.
He blinked, and the commander returned, once again in control. Spotting Telerial, the archmage, leaning against a wall, he made his way to him.
“What happened here?” he demanded, sweeping his hand at the unconscious and dead elves, suddenly realizing that everything appeared inexplicably drenched in liquid.
Teler
ial squinted up at him, and Braon saw a bead of blood running down his cheek. Although he appeared dazed, he answered, “We were trying to create the map. All the roots from the image plants have been grown to this location, and it was time to form the map that would receive the image.” The powerful elf winced and pointed towards the puddle at the center of the large room. “We thought we were ready to link the magics. When we tried to join the light with the water magic, it exploded.” He swept his hand at the scattered forms of his magicians. “I don’t know what happened.”
Braon’s eyebrows knit together in concern. The map that the archmage had been working on was critical to their success, and without it he would be acting blind. At the same time, he hadn’t realized the sacrifice required to create it. For one brief second he considered canceling the order, but the ramifications of that decision were unthinkable.
Kneeling down to be at eye level with the elf, he gripped his shoulders and forced him to look at him. “Telerial,” he said, noticing that it was the first time that the head of the magic guild appeared weak and not full of pride. “You have exactly one week until this map must be finished. Without it, we will all perish. Our survival hinges on your success. Whatever the cost, you must complete it."
Telerial blinked and focused on the young man, his expression hardening. “We will not give up commander.” He bit the last word off like it was made of poison, and Braon almost flinched at the acid in his voice.
He turned away before his emotions could betray him, and after ordering more healers to the room, departed. With an effort he kept his gate steady until he arrived at his room and asked Thacker to remain outside. Closing the door behind him, he leaned against the wall and slid to the floor. His round frame began to quake in silent sobs as he fought to control the tears, biting his hand to prevent an audible sound.
The order he'd just given could cost more lives, and add to the blood he already carried. Was it worth the price? Was it worth the cost of depriving families of their father or mother? What if they could last the seven days without the map, and he was killing someone unnecessarily? In his heart he knew that he couldn’t take the chance. Too many lives depended on him. Too many people had placed their trust in him. At the risk of needless loss, he had no choice.
