Light Of Loreandril (57 page)

Finally, Canvil reached the wall of light. He dragged with him several large, brave clansmen. Together they jeered at the elves, mocking them behind their wall of light, until the captain finally plucked up the courage to tap the light tentatively with his sword. Nothing happened. He let rip an almighty cry of defiance, raising his sword and shield high above his head, commanding the forces to charge. With a clamour of yells and banging drums, the dark enemy surged forward once more, slamming into the light, Canvil at their head.

The allies stepped back in fear, suddenly filled with doubt, flinching as they expected to be hit with a tremendous force. It never happened.

They stared, transfixed, as they saw bodies squirming, still very much alive, suspended in the wall of light. All of a sudden there came a massive, roaring gush of wind that sounded like a tornado touching down. Before their very eyes, the dark armies were flattened, as a surge of light and wind pulsed outwards. Nothing could withstand the power. Everything in its path was thrown backwards. Weapons that flew through the air, carried by the pulsation, impaled troops. Others died when they landed awkwardly, breaking their necks or backs. Those that had been suspended in the wall, including Canvil, were pulverised instantly. There was no remaining evidence of their existence.

The shock wave even radiated up into the sky, hitting the uzgen high above the battlefield. The spirit dragon and eagle were unaffected, but the hideous beasts, conjured from black magic, were killed, the organs in their foul bodies crushed by the impact. They fell from the sky like black bombs, forming huge craters where they landed, killing even more of the Imperial troops. The Earth Spirits circled high above, now free to attack whomever they wished.

A cold silence fell on the battlefield. Govan surveyed the devastation. Had he been a few feet closer, he too would have been caught up in the blast. He was not alone though. Several hundred men remained unscathed, and already he could see movement from the nearest soldiers lying on the ground. He hoped there would be enough of them alive to win this battle.

A deep fear then descended upon him. If he were commanding the Elves, this would be the time he would attack; hit the enemy while they were down.

The startled, awe-struck allies surveyed the flattened sea of armour, weapons and mangled limbs and bodies before them. Even Eilendan was dazed by the sight he had just witness. Gradually, as he came out of it, the burning sensation of renewed hope bubbling in his veins. This was their opportunity to take back the Empire.

“Fonth!” commanded Eilendan.
Charge!
 

Some of the enemy soldiers were just starting to twitch, slowly trying to get to their feet. The two earth spirits bore down upon the remaining enemy lines.

The bright green eagle streaked across the sky, gliding low, snatching up soldiers as they struggled to stand, carrying them high into the air before dropping them to their deaths. The white dragon took several sweeps, its vast wingspan terrifying those who fell under its shadow. It spewed white-hot flames from its mouth as it roared deafeningly, searing flesh from bone instantly, as it passed over.

Many troops never knew what hit them, as the allies surged forward like a wave, swinging axes, swords and daggers. Only a small number of soldiers remained to protect the Aeon elves.

Even with their spirited, courageous charge, the allies were still vastly outnumbered. They had a large distance to cover, clambering over dead bodies before reaching the enemy, giving them plenty of time to prepare for the attack.

Govan ordered the remaining troops to reform into their lines and battalions. They greeted the charge head-on, hitting back hard. Even with the Elvish conjurations soaring above them, picking up handfuls of men, the Imperial troops began circling the remaining allies.

Now, unable to retreat, the small pockets of allied forces fought hard, but their numbers were being eaten away, dwindling. Even with earth spirits decimating vast numbers of the enemy, it looked like the time of the Elves and White Magic was truly over.

Cradon did not join the advance. Instead, he remained with his brother in the protected circle around the Aeon elf.

“Nechan? Please…. Please wake up!” Cradon held his twin in his arms.

As soon as the shock wave pulsed outwards, his brother’s suspended body had been dropped like a stone, hitting the hard, compact mud. Now, Nechan was cold and lifeless, the colour completely drained from him. Cradon was shaking head to toe, unable to hold back the tears, fearing it was too late to save his brother. He called out to the Elves surrounding them, but they had no time to spare. The boy looked dead already, their duty was to protect the Aeon elf.

Upon the hill, the Elders and Dwarves realised they were about to witness the destruction of their races. They began making preparations to leave but they had precious little time to make their escape. Many of the injured or dying were already being carried off into hiding. It was hoped that some would survive to carry on the legacy of their kin.

“Theonil, who will take the Aeonorgal?” Neornil carefully removed it from its decorative sconce, wrapping it in a silver cloth. His wizened, old hands were shaking with emotion.

“You must take it, Neornil.”

The old elf looked at his leader, surprised by the honour bestowed upon him.

“I pray that your daughter is not slain. If she survives she will need the Aeonorgal close to maintain her strength.”

“But my Lord, will we not all remain together?”

Theonil shook his head. “We both know we can only hide if our numbers are few and scattered.” His voice trailed off. Part of him wished they had never set any of this in motion. They should have remained hidden.
How could the Elders have been so wrong? Had the years of isolation really made them arrogant and foolishly confident?
Theonil blamed himself, knowing he would carry the burden of his race’s destruction for the rest of his long life.

“Look! Look!” A young elf, a messenger for the Elders, came running up the hill towards them, shouting as loud as his lungs would allow him. “Look!” He was pointing ahead as he shouted, stumbling over stones and rucks in the mud.

The Elders turned. In the darkness there was a line of fire snaking down the valley, coming towards the battlefield at a great pace. They watched, with bated breath, as the fire began spreading across, filling the valley
. Was this more enemy soldiers coming from behind to finish them all off?

Then they heard the horns ringing, identifying those that approached. The Elders hearts jumped with joy. It was the Gnomes.

Upon the battlefield, the sound of the horns was inaudible, the fierce fighting, clash of weapons and screams of the dying drowning all other sounds out. Somehow, the last few allies remained strong. They were surrounded on all sides by an unabating tide of enemies. Above them, the two earth spirits were doing what they did best, yet there still seemed innumerable foes.

At Govan’s command, two small battalions turned their attention to the remaining Aeon elves.  Foolishly, the allies had only left a handful of soldiers to protect them, making this mission easy to complete. With little standing in their way of victory the enemy continued fighting, blind to the approaching reinforcements.

Gorthel, the gnome king, had not wished to send his army out into the wilderness during winter, he had preferred to wait until the first thawing. However, a survivor from the karzon attack and avalanche had made his way back to the Kingdom. Fearing the safety of the elf and clansman who were carrying the Aeonorgal, Gorthel knew he could not wait. His strong allegiance to the Elves and Dwarves forced him to send his army as soon as everyone was armed.

The King, his trusted advisor Gomel alongside, led the army out in a show of courage, helping their troops brave the strange, open world. By the time they had reached Loreandril, however, it was empty, save for a few females, children and elderly elves. The army had then quick-marched to the battlefield of Andkhuin, praying they were not too late.

Elves ran out to greet the Gnomes, overjoyed at receiving reinforcements. Immediately the King and Gomel were taken to the Elders in the command tent, where they were greeted with warm hugs and tears. Their timing could not have been any better.

The troops extinguished all their torches and under the cover of darkness filtered down onto the battlefield.

Their approach did not go unnoticed to all. Across the other side, the Rjukhan saw the mass of reinforcements. They had not expected the Gnomes to send such a great number and arrive so quickly. Their hope that they would be far too fearful to step outside into the big, wide world after so many years of hiding underground now appeared to be a foolish one.

The Rjukhan sent forward every beast and man they had, all except the small number who remained to protect them. Their plan was falling to pieces. The hope and expectation that the ally armies would be decimated within a day was long gone. Somehow, the Elves had conjured up a new magic, which had won them the upper hand, and they were being joined by reinforcements. The Empire was now fighting on the back foot.

It did not take long for the three Rjukhan to make the decision to retreat from the battlefield. They would return to the safety of Damankhur, and from there would watch the remaining stages of battle unfold on their shadow map. They would not risk being captured. After all, the Elves may win the battle, but they definitely lacked the forces to turn over the entire empire. They hastily left their position, escorted by a small number of elite guards.

The gnomes struck hard, swarming onto the battlefield, targeting the enemy lines at their weakest points. They were ferocious fighters despite their small stature. A gnome could take many hits and lose a lot of blood before he was unable to fight.

Coming from behind, the gnomes circled the dark army, who was still too busy to notice what was approaching. Simultaneously, they attacked from all sides, taking the enemy by surprise. The gnomes fired volleys of arrows, wounding many soldiers in the back. Immediately after, the rest of the gnomes raced forward, burying their axes and short swords into the backs of the remaining soldiers who were stood in a state of confusion.

With the enemy being pummelled from both sides and from above, their numbers were quickly decimated. Govan was swift to beat a retreat, leaving his army to fight the losing battle. He was not going to be defeated by the Elves. He forced his horse to trample through the lines, knocking men and gnomes to either side and broke free, riding into the darkness, away from the danger zone. He would live to see another day, but would not forget his allegiance to the Empire. One day, he would see the Elves and their Allies destroyed.

Within only a few more hours, the dark army was no more. The remaining soldiers and beasts fled for their lives as the dragon and eagle picked off the last few that straggled behind.

A shout of defiant victory echoed around the battlefield as the last khalit was forced to the ground and slain by Eilendan. The allies knew the battle was truly won when the darkness began to break. Shards of morning light began to eat through the inky veil, streaking their golden rays across the blood-strewn plain.

The devastation was revealed by the light of the new dawn. Gnomes, Dwarves, Elves and Clansmen began picking through the remains that littered the battlefield, searching for any survivors; few were found. Most that fell had found
a quick
death, mauled by the demonic khalit or ravenous murzac and wolves. Now, carrion birds spiralled high above them in a vast, murderous cloud. The survivors worked fast, carrying bodies of comrades away from the death field, to spare them the dishonour of be
ing carrion chow
.

“What do you think happened to the two boys?” Gaular grunted, as he slung a dead dwarf effortlessly over his shoulder. He had taken two arrows to the arm and upper back, but still had strength to continue. They were only shallow wounds.

“I dared not think,” sighed Jaidan,
shaking his head,
as he
studied the
hewn bodies
about his feet
. “There are so many dead!” The clansman was also injured, his face a bloody mess with a gash above his left eye and a broken nose. He had been hit square in the face by a sword hilt and knocked to the ground. If Gaular had not been there to stand
over him and kill his assailant, his death would have been certain. It was a sobering thought.
 

Slowly they made their way across the battlefield, weaving between the death pyres others were making for the enemy
's
dead. The sun was already starting to make the carcasses of the gruesome beasts stink, their unearthly bodies rotting unnaturally quickly.
The ground in this valley would surely be polluted and barren for decades to come.
 

At sunset, a ceremony would be held in honour of the allies who had fallen. Their bodies would then be burned,
starting them on their honourable last journey into
the Spirit Realm.

Upon the hill the grass and bushes still
smoulder
, fuelled by the black oil used in the catapult bombs. It made searching for bodies of archers almost impossible,
and inevitably futile
. The fumes were toxic, wafted by the breeze across the battlefield, causing anyone in their path to cough and splutter.

The surviving comrades finally
returned to the main camp
,
where
Gaular,
with great care,
lay
his
dead
passenger
down alongside the other fallen.
He adjusted the dwarf’s clothing, folding his hands upon his armoured breast, an axe beneath them.
 

“I may not have known you in life, but in death I honour you as my brother.”

Jaiden bowed his head respectfully.