Armies of the Silver Mage

by Christian Freed

  Ordein nudged Flonish and beamed, “he’d make a good Dwarf.”

  The Dwarf lord rose slowly, his four foot frame somehow impressive in the confines of the small tent. “It’s clear to me that we have lost focus with that one victory on the river. The Silver Mage seeks to open the paths to the underworld, just as he has in the past. Either we stand and fight, or we run and die. There are no other choices. My folk will gladly lend a hand in rebuilding your fortress once this war is done. Gru knows the world needs more beauty created by the Dwarves. We push on and fight. Here, now.”

  He sat back down with a smug look. Their argument was effectively finished.

  Steleon smiled for the first time in a week.

  “Ordein has the right of it,” he told them. “Stopping the mage is a task appointed to others. Ours is to destroy his armies. Have all units form battle lines and prepare for the attack. We march like that until we meet resistance. The enemy will be caught off guard. Let them die that way. General Melgit, how long before the army is ready to advance?”

  “The majority have been on the plains for about two hours now,” he said after a moment. “Say another two before they’re rested enough to do the job.”

  “Will that give enough time?” Flonish asked. “My cavalry need little enough to deploy but I think the infantry and artillery will need longer. Nine thousand riders make a handsome opponent, but won’t stand long if the enemy attacks too soon.”

  Steleon said, “you’ll have the men of the vanguard with you should it come to it. And the might of the Dwarven Hammer. Though I doubt the enemy will attack.”

  “How do you figure?” Maelor asked skeptically.

  The old warrior explained, “their army was shattered at the Thorn River. What units did survive most likely turned south to skirt around the mountains rather than stay in our path. The Silver Mage will know this. He’ll be more cautious about sending his forces in. The majority of their leadership can be presumed destroyed. Goblins don’t fight well without a leader. Any that did survive more than likely took to ground rather than risk the wrath of the mage. That makes the rest of the army potentially blind to our moves. I believe we can be arrayed in battle ranks and ready to fight before the enemy has the chance to react.”

  Melgit added, “sir, I’m taking a small staff forward with the van. That’ll give me better control of the situation. I don’t want to be caught with my pants down again.”

  The Dwarf lord quit tugging on his beard long enough to say, “what happens if we’re wrong? The army needs good leaders. Soldiers will do as their told, and sergeants will hold units together under the darkest conditions. Officers are hit and miss, but true combat leaders are special. Those we need more than anything. To put yourself at risk like that is brash, boyo.”

  “There is danger in any move we make. I wouldn’t mind getting a glimpse of what’s in store for us myself,” Maelor said suddenly.

  “Absolutely not, sire,” Steleon bit out. “You are Averon. If you fall we shall to. A general can be replaced. The king cannot. General Melgit, though I disapprove of the mission I see the necessity in it. Request granted, but keep your staff small. You may leave at your discretion.”

  Melgit gave a sharp nod and exited the tent.

  “I think I’ll head down there as well. Wouldn’t mind stepping in front of the lads for a while,” Ordein said. “Might even get to wet my axe in the process.”

  Two hours later the army groaned to their feet again. They complained and griped the way good soldiers are supposed to and struck the camp. Quickly they were packed up and moving again. They could feel the end drawing near. The final battle of this terrible war was upon them. Anticipation buzzed through the ranks. There were no cadence or cheers this march, for the once defenders had become invaders and required stealth.

  Light snow was falling, coating the outcroppings of rock and dead trees lining the road. Moonlight painted the clouds a ghastly color. The brunt of the storm was still hours away and already the Nveden Plains were changing for the worse. Banners fluttered in the wind. The mixed colors of three nations united to end an ages old evil. The soldier’s faces were grim, determined to see this through so that they may return to their families and loved ones. Soon, very soon, the army would meet the enemy in battle, and the fate of Malweir would at last be decided.

  FIFTY-SIX

  Gren was a ruined land. Broken and abused beyond the limits of nature and imagination. Dark magic transformed a world once rich in greenery and wildlife into utter desolation. Waters were poisonous and leaden. The very air was hard to breathe. Purple-black skies dominated by lightning and ominous thunderheads shrouded the land. This was the place of nightmares.

  Melgit’s first true glimpse of Gren abhorred him. He’d heard all the stories and tales grandmothers told at night to keep the children in line. Until now he’d never put much stock in them. These visions of ruination would forever scar his memory. A small part of him now understood why the Grelnor hated the men of the lowlands. It wasn’t hate. It was envy. This was the very birthplace of death and decay. How many generations were forced to grow up and only dream of color and warmth? Too wish for the one thing they couldn’t obtain, a world free from the yoke of tyranny. It was a forgotten dream.

  He closed his looking glass and shook his head in disgust. Beside him, Commander Slephen yawned. He was undaunted by the sights. He’d been a soldier all his life and had seen his share of blood and horror. Gren presented a new challenge, to be sure, but they were all the same when it came down to winning and surviving.

  “Lovely place to wage war,” he casually remarked through another yawn. “At least we don’t need to worry about snow.”

  Melgit forced a laugh and eyed his adjutant oddly. He didn’t understand how the man was so calm. “Nice to see one of my commanders still has a sense of humor.”

  Slephen shrugged. “It helps. Besides, with magic and dragons, we need something to keep us going. This war is nasty business.”

  “I wonder if your king will appreciate such candor when the blood flows,” Ordein asked.

  For the hundredth time Melgit wondered if he was trapped amongst madmen. “Have your scouts found anything significant yet?”

  “We captured a few Goblins,” Slephen replied. “I think we’re about to catch them off guard and take the day, General.”

  “Don’t be too hasty. This land is riddled with underground caverns connected by a massive tunnel complex. There’s plenty enough room to conceal an army until the time is right,” he paused. “Commander, deploy your forces along that crevasse to the right about six hundred meters out. That should give you enough maneuverability in case they launch their own assault. The rest of the army will form on your flank.”

  “Would you like my personal or professional opinion, sir?” he asked.

  A raised eyebrow was his response.

  “It’s not my choice of ground, but it’s a damned sight easier than most we’ve had to fight on. I’ll have the boys moving and in place within the hour,” Slephen told him.

  The man saluted and rode off. Melgit watched him go. Slephen was actually whistling.

  * * *

  King Maelor and the lead elements of the main body slowly moved into battle position. Guides came forward and began issuing orders for emplacement and the order of battle being passed down from Melgit.

  “So far so good,” he said as the army marched by. “I think we’ve taken them by surprise after all.”

  Loathe as he was to admit it, Steleon found himself agreeing. Aside from limited Goblin scouts, it appeared Gren was caught off guard. “It appears so, sire. I recommend caution nonetheless. We’ve been tricked before.”

  “We’ve also beaten back everything thrown at us,” Maelor reminded him.

  Steleon remained quiet. Too many dark thoughts were going through his head. He stood and watched the occupation of Gren proceed.

  * * *

  Fierce winds howled across the barren plains, battering
the single story stone buildings. A pair of Goblin sentries stood by the door of the largest, braving the hazardous weather. Inside sat three Men. Generals of the armies of the Silver Mage, they quietly discussed their next move. Arms folded across his chest, General Eorgis took in his peers with a foul look. A spider web of scars ran down the side of his face, ending where his left eye once was. A proven veteran, he’d been given command of the defense of Gren upon hearing the news from the Averon. With Jervis Hoole missing, and the dragon no longer under the mage’s control, Eorgis and his forces were all that stood between the enemy and Aingaard.

  “Enter,” he bellowed at the sound a heavy knock.

  A young soldier walked in. he was covered with sweat and out of breath. Eorgis eyed him disgustedly. Hoole’s lack of training had ruined too many good young men and he was being forced to pick up the scraps.

  “Do you plan on reporting or am I to guess what you have to say?” he ground out in metered hatred.

  “Sir, the enemy is down from the mountains. They are taking up positions along the plains and preparing for battle.”

  So it was finally time. “How many do they bring?”

  “It looks like his entire army, sir. Tens of thousands at least.”

  Eorgis dismissed the boy with a wave and went back to his generals. He had a battle to plan.

  The mighty war machine of Gren groaned to life. Battalions of Goblins and Trolls streamed up from their caves and laagers with fire in their blood. They sang as they marched, for the prospect of havoc was too strong to be denied. It had been long since they fought the hated Elves and Dwarves. Trolls and Goblins howled with excitement. Doom marched on the winds as the gap between armies closed.

  * * *

  “Damn this country,” Slephen cursed, wiping the sweat from his brow for the third time in as many minutes.

  Ordein chuckled. “Aye. It’s the perfect place to wage a war.”

  “Why would you say that?” Slephen asked him.

  “No one will care if this place is destroyed. Not like fighting back in the streets of Paedwyn or in the halls of Breilnor,” the Dwarf replied.

  He’d never thought of it that way. Just being in Gren was more than enough for him. Slephen was actually from a small village near Rellin Werd and Fel Darrins. This was his first taste of such vast emptiness, and it disgusted him.

  “Well, if they don’t make a move soon, we’ll be at Aingaard before long,” he said.

  “Won’t be much of a fight.”

  The winds continued to pick up. Riders started coming in, driven on by the strength of the approaching storm. All wore grim looks. Ordein gripped his axe haft a little tighter. He was sure something terrible rode on the winds. The moment he’d been waiting for was fast upon them. He knew it.

  “The enemy is moving this way!” one of the scouts reported with a grimace.

  Slephen failed to see the excitement in it. “From where and how many?”

  “They’re coming from due east and it looks like they’re bringing everything they have. We’re outnumbered, sir.”

  Slephen frowned. With the riders of Harlegor and the Dwarves they numbered around thirty thousand. If they were outnumbered, the mage must be throwing his entire reserves at them. It was a time of desperation for both armies.

  “Take word back to the main body with my compliments,” he ordered.

  Ordein asked, “what are we going to do?”

  Slephen still wasn’t sure. He eyed the Dwarf with a deadpan look and said, “we’re going to try and slow them down until Steleon is ready.”

  Melgit and Steleon listened to the scouting reports with growing interest and distaste. They’d been expecting opposition, but nothing on the scale being reported. This was developing into a losing situation and neither liked it.

  Maelor brushed a hand through his coal black hair. “It seems were not going to gain Aingaard before Winter’s Day. The fight is here.”

  “We could draw back into the canyon. Deploy the lines and bring up the artillery,” Melgit offered. “Give the enemy a smaller front to engage us on.”

  “That won’t work,” Steleon immediately said. “Seventy percent of our combat strength would be bottled up in the pass and we don’t know how many tunnels they have leading up behind us. They could come in from the west and cut us in two before we

  knew what was happening. Reinforce the lines and put your cavalry in reserve on the left flank. I want those catapults emplaced to be able to range the entire front. Seal the gaps. No one gets behind us or we’re ruined.”

  General Melgit strode confidently off and began barking orders. Maelor and Steleon looked at one another with doubt.

  Pikes lowered and arrows nocked at the first signs of advancing Goblins. Four thousand Men howled once and made a mad dash towards the Averonian lines. The catapults were loaded and awaited the order to unleash their specific brand of hell upon the foe. Melgit watched the developments through his looking glass. He held the order to fire. The small, dark shapes grew larger. But at such a distance he couldn’t make out friend or foe. Then he noticed the first of the shapes in plain view. The short bodies brandished battle axes and bore fierce looks. They were breathing hard and covered in blood and gore. It was the vanguard! He’d had no word from Slephen in some time and was beginning to fear the worst. From the looks of it, they’d already been engaged. If he guessed correctly, a host of enemy would be hot on their heels.

  “Open the lines and prepare to attack!” he shouted.

  They listened without comment as Ordein and Slephen recounted the first battle in Gren. Greatly outnumbered, they stood their ground and attacked. The enemy army hadn’t been expecting such and complete surprise was in Slephen’s favor. The vanguard split into two wedges and drove into the heart of the attackers while they were still unorganized. The attack was a rousing success.

  “We didn’t abandon the assault until they brought their full weight to bear on us,” Slephen explained. “Any longer and we would have been cut off and destroyed.”

  Maelor listened with growing interest. Even one friendly casualty was too many. “How many did we lose?”

  “Close to a thousand all told, sire. Most were killed but some were taken prisoner,” he replied with a heavy heart.

  “They are dead either way,” Jin replied. The newly appointed commander of the cavalry still felt uneasy in the king’s council.

  No one disputed his comment.

  “And the enemy?” Maelor pressed. He already knew they were outnumbered by at least three to one and hoped the vanguard managed to whittle that number down some. As it stood, the potential for slaughter was all too real.

  “Three, maybe four thousand,” Ordein answered with a scowl. Clearly he’d been hoping for more.

  “Sire, we must also take into account that we did catch them off guard. I doubt we’ll find success so easily the next time. They know we’re here now,” Slephen added.

  Steleon rubbed his bloodshot eyes. “Thank you, Commander. I’m placing you in reserve. Take your troops and try to get some rest while you can.”

  Slephen saluted and left them.

  “What do you think?” Steleon asked Maelor once the two of them were alone.

  Cracking his knuckles in anxiety, Maelor calmly replied, “this is your war, Steleon. I trust your decisions completely.”

  Steleon barely managed to conceal his surprise.

  Winter’s Day dawned with unusual ceremony. Lightning wreathed the purple sky with malicious intent. Heavy shades of red and orange marked the rising sun, adding seriousness to the affair. Storm clouds rolled across the Nveden Plains. Dormant volcanoes rumbled awake from far away. Fire and smoke spit into the sky. Then came the drums. The sound was incredible. Hordes of Trolls and Goblins howled and cheered as they advanced. The very ground trembled at their approach. Already angered at having been blooded so deep in their own lands, their army surged forward with vicious thoughts. They wanted the blood of every man standing before them. Onc
e that was done, they intended to slaughter every man, woman, and child in Malweir.

  The combined armies of Averon, Harlegor and the Breilnor rallied under their flags. The sheer size of the enemy hordes were intimidating. Lesser opponents would have thrown down their weapons and fled. But these were veterans now. They stood on the wall and won the day. Now came their most difficult task. Steleon watched the armies of Gren march closer. They were more than a league away and moving slowly. This was done no purpose, of course, to inspire fear and doubts in the waiting ranks. Steleon sent runners up and down the lines with orders. The wait was going to prove as hard as the assault. He hoped that Delin and Fennic finished what they set out to do. The alternative made him shudder. The commander of Averon turned to his generals. It was time to finish the war.

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  Jervis Hoole was forced to stop much sooner than he wanted to. His horse was lathered in a thick sheen of sweat and was breathing too heavily. If he didn’t slow now, he’d be moving on foot through enemy held territory. Hoole begrudgingly dismounted and led the poor beast to a nearby stream. A full day and night had passed since the disaster at the river. So far there hadn’t been any signs of pursuit. He refused to be fooled though. His list of enemies was long and no doubt included a fair amount of his own soldiers. That made every gulley or depression the perfect place for ambush.

  For the first time in his life he had no direction. He couldn’t return to Gren or his life was forfeit. All of the dreams and visions of the future were smashed in a single ill fated battle. Never again could he go home, and that pained him. He had a sinking feeling that all of his friends and family were being systematically rounded up and executed on Sidian’s orders. The Silver Mage didn’t tolerate failure.