Darkness has Fallen (Elf World Saga Book 2) Page 4

  Overhead the still growing flocks of carrion birds circled, certainly there was no shortage of dead these last days to appease their hunger.

  Ser Wills was a few yards ahead of him, as usual, there was not something right about Wills on the best of days, and these were far from best. A lifetime in the shadows had cracked something in Wills, not his mind but something deep down in his soul, a sadness somehow held at bay by sheer force of will. As the day progressed he appeared more and more as a reaping angel of death, harvesting the dark evil souls of the damned.

  Ser Ious and Moss trailed behind him, how Moss had found them Myst did not know, but early that first morning of the attack he had appeared riding a mule. The mule had proven a good choice as it was holding up better than the warhorses. They were trying to save the poor creatures as much as possible, whenever a group of orcs seem to form into a cohesive group, a charge of cavalry broke them up and re-scattered them. It was the greatest danger, the Orcs still had the larger, if broken and decimated force. If they could pull together into a cohesive military formation that could halt the chaotic retreat, then they could turn and strike the elves. The advantage the elves had in hunting down the routed Orcs lay in the fear and panic they had instilled as well as the complete failure of morale. Myst knew at sometime, maybe soon the two jumbled forces would break contact and the Orcs would reform.

  Ahead from a thicket of brush a couple Orcs broke, running headlong up the riverbed. Myst brought up his crossbow and fired at the one to the right as Wills tended to go left. They continued to plod along, mechanically working the compound crossbows lever to re-cock and then pulling another quarrel and setting it in the firing grove. He used to have a magic crossbow were a new bolt would magically appear when it was re-cocked. I beautiful Star Elf girls had given it to him, but he had forgotten to pack it… “moron,” he kicked himself for that mistake.

  He looked down at the dead Orcs as he passed; Wills again had gotten a hit clean into the base of the skull severing the spinal column for a silent quick kill. Myst noticed he had somehow got his orc in the left-center side of the back hitting the heart, purely instinctual shooting as he was almost too exhausted to try an aim. Wills dropped the reins of his horse so he could opened the throats of both Orcs, “Just in case.” Wills remarked looking up at Myst, just like the last all the others they had killed, before silently walking on and re-taking the lead.

  The call of a thrush came from off to the right where the streambed branched. Wills covered the left path as Kiron Varis seem to appear from the darkness. Kiron had joined Myst a few days before the attack, a Southern Wild Elf who was a man-at-arms for House Sunstar’s small castle in Mentoferrat, and was nearly as good of a scout at Wills, and certainly better than Myst. Another one of his father’s surprises, apparently the old man wanted Myst to survive the conflict and was pulling in resources to protect him. Lord Pedar only had the one son and not likely to have another.

  Humming to himself, Kiron was wiping blood off the blade of the heavy curved long knife he favored for close in blood work, “There was two more up that way trying to hide, then the trail dead ends,” he laughed, “just like the Orcs.” Kiron resumed humming the tone; Myst recognized it as an Old Andalis song Kiron’s wife like to play on her six stringed guitar. It was said the song was a blend of Andalis and Wild Elf melodies, whatever its origin it was also one of Myst favorites.

  “By God I wish I was home listing to your wife play that…”

  Kiron just smiled and turned to follow Wills up the left path, “The thought of her keeps me going, and of the cool courtyard of the castle with its pool full of beautiful naked girls splashing, ah and the taste of tangy Sangria so wet and cool…”

  “I’m going to throw something at both of you if you don’t stop about Sangria…” Ser Ious told them,… then wistfully “but a frosty cold harvest ale… what I would give to dive into a vat or that!”

  “Ummmm, dark honey mead,” added Moss from the rear.

  Wills had turned to stare at them; his look seems to wonder if they had all finally cracked...? Then he smiled, “harvest ale, Ious what are you a fairy…”?

  The brass clarion of a trumpet broke the silence; they mounted up and forced the horses up and to the right out of the stream and up a small rise.

  “A fairy cousins,” Ious chimed in, “As we elves are cousins to fairies…”

  They rode up and formed into the small battalion of Knights just as they started the quick trot down into a field of abandoned dry wheat. It looked to Myst like a few hundred, or make that maybe four hundred, Orcs were desperately trying to form a shield square. A successful square could defeat a cavalry charge, if they had the disciple to hold the line, and the time to form it…

  The trumpet sounded and the Elves kicked their horses into the closest semblance of a charge they could hold. Hoofs thundered as the few Knights that still had lances lowered them to impale, and the Orcs in the rear of the nearly formed defensive square started to melt away, a trickle quickly became a dark flood, another tidal wave of retreat as the wall of Elven Knights broke into the scattering rank of Orcs, they had run out of time, and death again found the Orcs easy for the reaping.

  Up and down went Myst sword, up and down, painting the sky with drops of red, up and down as time seemed to slowed to a crawl. Sun and blood on a canvas of pale blue sky…

  Suddenly time leaped forward and Myst tumbled from the saddle of his falling horse, to roll into a dusty charge of steel on steel with a large Orc sergeant who had taken the legs out from under Myst tired warhorse. Somehow Myst found himself nearly chest to chest, as each forced the others sword high and for a second Myst looked into the red eyes of the other and saw the pain and frustration and, Myst dropped his weight suddenly to the left, his sword changed directions and flowed downwards, and surprise flashed on the face of the Orcs as Myst blade somehow broke contact with the Orcs blade who was trying to force it up, and Myst found himself behind the Orc whose face he had ripped open a seconded ago. A short seemingly gentle swinging backwards cut and the Orcs head fell from its body.

  Myst looked around; standing in another sea of blood, as dead and dying Orcs littered the red field of wheat.

  Ious, Wills, and Moss had their mounts in a triangle pattern around Myst, and Kiron was down looking at the leg of Myst now standing warhorse. The rest of the Elven Knights had followed the fleeing Orcs. The more dead Orcs they easily killed today, would save Elven lives tomorrow without doubt, but a hard bloody task it sure was. A quiet stillness for a brief moment filled the field, then the buzzing of flies...

  Kiron stood up. “She is fine, the Orc only succeeded in tripping her, and well losing his head.” He handed Myst the rains, and Myst swung up into the saddle.

  Blood was dripping from Ious’s forehead, he had taken a nasty cut and was trying to staunch the floow. Myst angled his horse over to his, placed his hand over the wound… The faint glow of magical green light and the blood stopped. Myst wavered in his saddle and both Ious and Moss who had rode up as soon as he had seen his bosses intent, grabbed a hold of Myst to keep him upright.

  “Yar, don’t have the strength left to be doing much of that,” Moss scolded.

  Myst shook his head clear and grunted, “I think we are all about played out… I wish Kayla was here, she could heal the near dead without breaking a sweat, all I can manage is closing a minor cut.”

  Wills spat then grinned, “It’s still a handy trick, and more than the rest of us… besides if you’re soon-to-be wife was here, you would have left us more time with your private little whore back at camp…”

  Myst laughed for the first time in days, “don’t count on that, besides as it was you spent more time at the brothel than the rest of my staff combined…”

  Slowly riding to another trail covered in blood and gore, and seeming unaffected by two days of deprivation and slaughter, Wills pointed casually with his sword, “About two dozen went off that way.”

  “Ach, he’s be
like da Angle of Death,” Moss committed.

  Ser Ious was pulling crossbow bolts from some of the dead orcs to replace his dwindling supply; he looked at the dwarf, “obtuse or acute”?

  “What’s you say Elf?”

  “You said, the Angle of Death.”

  “Yar, dat messenger things from da Gods with the wings, Angles” Moss roared at Ious!

  “Oh..., the Angel of Death, that makes more sense.”

  Moss stomped off back to his mule, “Bloody Elves, obtuse my arse, whatever that was” muttering as he remounted his mule.

  ~

  Myst looked at the sky, “mid afternoon maybe, but damn what day was it?” Tired was a day ago, now he was near collapse, hie mind wandering, it took will to concentrate on the task at hand...

  General Milo Terras with the main body of Knights should be off to their right, perhaps a quarter mile, less hard to tell? And that is where the supplies and fresh water could be found and they could certainly use that. The rest of the Elven army was not far off; the infantry was trying to keep in some cohesion as their formations forced the Orcs on. While the cavalry doing its job, chasing down fleeing orc infantry, which kept being scattered like chaff before the advancing line.

  Ious held up an empty water skin, giving it a shake. They waited for Myst to make a decision. “Another hour and then we will break contact and resupply. Anyway, the army will halt at sunset and take up fortified positions. We have pushed the Orcs as far as we can, they will continue to run or reform. As it is they have left maybe a hundred thousand dead these last few days with only a few hundreds, certainly less than a thousand of our own lost… So one last hunt, take the lead Wills. Let’s go kill something…”

  Wills smiled his evil grin, and literally covered head to boot in gore, he turned to follow a set of Ocr tracks. Myst thought, “truly like the Angel of Death, reaping souls... ”

  On a higher hill overlooking them a small group of Ocs watched, Sub-Commandant Graz Fang had a spyglass to his eye, he recognized the Sun Elf below them, “Small world,” he thought… “What a fucking mess, lucky we were not caught in the slaughter. And we had better head back or we will find ourselves caught up in the kill zone.”

  “It looks as if the 3rd Strike Army has been completely routed,” he told his men. Then to his mage, “send a message to Grand Marshal Jaznits, let him know we got here too late, and the tactical situation estimate losses of 150,000 troops, also that Marshal Ornitz is likely dead with the rest of his command staff.”

  Graz shook his head at the loss, “If Marshal Ornitz is not dead already, he knows the horrible fate that he would face from Grand Marshal Jaznits for failure…”

  He looked once again at the forces below. “We will have to ride hard in a moment to keep out of the destruction.” He still would likely have to use his war lance before the day was over, so it was not a complete waste of time coming here...

  “As you command,” the Orc mage bowed and set forth to cast the required spell.

  An eagle screamed as it flew over head, the scavengers and birds of prey filled the air.

  His troops shifted nervously with the sense of danger and panic that infected the Orc army below.

  Sub-Commandant Graz Fang, turned his mount and the group road back they way they had come from, they would have to ride hard to get ahead and arrange a greeting for the on coming elves.

  He thought grimly, “that and see that the loot I’ve had hidden made its way back home without anyone finding out about it, profit was definitely frowned on by the Orc Blood Army, yet it seemed all the generals lived far more lavishly than the needs of the Orc fatherland require, or would approve.”

  ~

  Chapter 3

  In Surin City, Lord Pedar Sunstar paced the walls. Months into the siege most of the civilians had been evacuated and even some supplies and extra forces had magically reinforced the city. The Orcs must know by now there was little chance of them taking the city. While the Orcs masters, or allies as the Orcs considered them, the Shadow Elves had indeed held the naval blockade of the city, but they had failed to fully impose a magical blockage. That alone had doomed the Orcs to eventual failure of the siege. Lord Pedar now had more mages in the city then the enemy had without and he was determined to increase that advantage this day.

  The Orcs had built five large wooden platforms just behind their palisades for the mages and shamans to group together and give them a greater commanding view of the city. While this gave Grand Marshal Jaznits the Orcs dictator, greater control of the magic users and gave them greater control of the sector of the wall they were attacking, it did put a lot of eggs in one basket. And one of those baskets was placed in a very bad location, or a very good location as far as Lord Pedar was concerned.

  The great wooden platform was build over a slight gully, a gully that had formed from one of the city's storm drains. While the long underground pipe that emptied out into the gully was less than two feet in diameter and two small for any orc to worm his way through, and indeed so small that a male elf would not be able to make it the three hundred yards from the wall... So a small group of female elves had quietly made the trip. Unlocked the metal grating and excited the drain.

  These half dozen female had spent the night pulling hundreds of jars of kerosene and oil attached to ropes out from the storm drain and stacking them under the Orc mages platform, setting a slowly burning fuse they had returned to the storm pipe.

  On the city walls, Lord Pedar had every magic user in the city, disguised in military capes they appeared like normal soldiers to the Orcs. Each waited with their most powerful spell ready. “And it should not be long now…” Lord Pedar thought grimly.

  Suddenly walls of flames seem to erupt from beneath the Orc platform. The sixty or so Orc mages on top of the platform scrambled to cast water spells and fire resistance spells, but that would if not save the platform, but would it at least save their lives. Unfortunately for them, they had also dropped the magical shields that protected them.

  A storm of magic leapt from the city walls, lightning bolts for the main as the anti fire spells the Orcs had just cast would not affect them, and the water spells of the Orcs, would actually amplify the damage. The wooden platform, the Orc mages and hundreds of Orc troops nearby were obliterated in the maelstrom unleashed as a large concussive blast sent debris flying in all directions.

  The Dictator, Grand Marshal Jaznits watched in cold silence, “Well that is the end of this.” He pounded his Baton of Command into his left palm, “A city too far to take this time..,” But overall it was a win for him, “the disputed lands were firmly his now, and tons of treasure looted from the elves, and thousands of Elven slaves taken for his fighting pits and pleasure halls... And it would be lifetimes before this decimated province could recover, if it ever did.” He had received word a few hours ago of the disaster and retreat of his other army, he would ordered the survivors of that debacle to break off and head for Freeport. They would have the chance to regain their honor by being the vanguard to attack the dwarven city walls…. Just maybe he could combine the forces and take that damn Dwarven city so long a pain in his ass. “Break camp,” he suddenly roared to his commanders, “We make for Freeport!”

  ~

  Night was falling in Surin City, the sky a darkest blue of last twilight, Myst walked the paved street lined with white washed adobe walls and Royal Palm trees, Bougainvillea and Jasmine climbing most of the walls to create a sea of color in the dim light. An ornate iron gate appeared to his right, pale bluish magical lamps shown above the entry and a squad of guards waited behind the gate. They quietly let him into the courtyard of the building, the smell of Frangipani trees heavy in the night made him pause for just a second, one of his favorite scents, he looked over at the sea at night, thirty feet below the rocky cliff behind the lush garden. Then with a rush he headed up a set of blue tiled steps, and into the open door of his father’s study in the family Palazzo, “Greetings father, you sent for me”?
/>
  The tall and slender grey haired elder elf looked up from his papers, “Have you heard yet”?

  “That the Emperor has already relieved you of command of the city, sending the coward Arch Duke Moran Darrs back?”

  “I see that you have then…” Lord Pedar frowned, turning away from his desk, “I formally resigned as soon as the fool was teleported back, such is the gratitude of the Sundragon’s...”

  He paced over to a large hanging wall map, “I have decided to move our operations back home,” he struck the map with a long dagger, “for three generations we have tried to assuage their suspicions of our House by basing our operations on this continent, but no more.”

  Myst joined him at the map, “It’s about time father, they have held this enmity without cause for far too long. Your great-grandfather stole the Emperor's mistress, not his wife or crown, and Guillermo was stripped of our family’s title by a jealous and weak ruler whose descendants keep up this one sided grudge.”

  Lord Pedar walked back to stand behind his finely carved oak desk, looking back to the wall map of Andalis, “I promised my father to follow his path of appeasement, but as always appeasement never works out for the appeasers… Well, we stop hoping things change; we have served loyally and supported them at every turn, but no longer. Bordan, or should I say the ancient city of Oreon, will be the base of our family now, the ancestral capital of Andalis will be the new seat of the Sunstars. I will see that there will be graffiti of golden eagles popping up all over the land, and bards will playing the ‘Tears of Andalis’ from Navar to Tournesol. We will oppose House Sundragon from now on, behind the scene for now, and when necessary publically.”