The Dwarf Kingdoms (Book 5) (25 page)

Because the changelings were not present in their usual overwhelming numbers, the bestial forms leaping from the dike into the Dwarf ranks gradually lessened. Greatly outnumbered now, those that made it over the earthen barrier were quickly overcome by the Dwarves who surrounded them as soon as their paws touched ground.

“The last of the wagons will cross the bridge soon, and the Goblin commander has already spent his most potent weapon,” said Ascilius elatedly to Elerian during a lull in the fighting. “We have taken losses, but we still have strength enough to resist the Mordi, for even at night, they are less fearsome opponents in the open than the mutare. Let them come at us and we will teach them a lesson they will not soon forget before we retreat to the far bank of the river.”

Before Elerian could reply, a sudden bellowing that might have come from the throat of one of the great bulls of the plains rent the air. Looking over the top of the dike, Elerian saw that the ranks of Mordi foot soldiers standing just out of crossbow range had parted before two huge figures striding through their midst. Protected from throat to knees by heavy, steel tunics made of blackened, overlapping steel scales, they carried huge hammers in their right hands and great black shields on their left arms.

“They have brought Trolls with them,” groaned Ascilius to Elerian, his jubilation turning at once to dismay. “These monsters will be at the height of their powers in the dark.

“Perhaps I can remedy that,” replied Elerian. “Light has served me well in the past. Let me try it again.”

Raising his right hand, he watched with his third eye as a golden orb flew from his fingertips, blossoming into a bright mage light high in the sky above the Goblin army. His hope of turning the tide of the battle with magic abruptly faded, however, as a red orb flew up from behind the advancing Trolls, first engulfing and then extinguishing his mage light. When Elerian looked for the source of the counter spell, he saw that one of the mounted Urucs was just lowering his upraised right hand.

“He is a mage, too,” said Ascilius who had also observed the Uruc who had cast the counter spell. “Magic will not help us while he lives.”

“Then strength of arms must suffice,” replied Elerian resolutely. “After all, there are only two Trolls, one for each of us. Let us down these creatures and show the Goblin captain the power of the weapons that we now wield.”

“Stand ready then,” replied Ascilius, fiercely tightening his grip on Fulmen with his right hand as the Trolls ran toward the dike, surprisingly agile for creatures of such enormous bulk. Following close behind them, through the gap that had opened in the ranks of the Mordi, came the Goblin cavalry, led by Zaleuc and Agar.

THE BATTLE OF THE MEADOW

On either side of him, Elerian saw more than one sturdy Dwarf stiffen in fear, but no one broke and ran as the Trolls thundered toward them. Elerian now saw how clever Zaleuc had been to use his mutare first. Still preoccupied with the remaining changelings, the Dwarves were only able to launch a few crossbow bolts at the Trolls and the Goblin cavalry which followed close behind them. Most of the darts were aimed at the Trolls, rebounding harmlessly from their thick armor or heavy shields. The few quarrels that struck some exposed part of their greenish white flesh inflicted only shallow wounds in their stony hides. A few quarrels missed entirely, for the hands of some of the defenders shook as they aimed their crossbows at the terrifying monsters bearing down on them.

By fate or design, the two Trolls arrived at the dike at exactly the point defended by Ascilius and Elerian. In unison, they leaped over the moat that fronted the earthen barrier, their powerful legs carrying them over the trench to the top of the dike. As their huge, clawed feet sank deeply into the soft dirt of the barrier in front of him, Elerian risked a quick sidelong glance at Ascilius on his left. Barely waist high to the monster towering over him, the Dwarf waited with Fulmen held high, no tremor of fear evident in his grim face or sturdy frame.

“I could not ask for a more fearless or resolute companion,” thought Elerian warmly as he turned his attention to the Troll in front of him. The enormous creature loomed up against the night sky like a small hillock as it momentarily paused on the summit of the dike, unhurriedly considering its next move as a hail of crossbow darts rattled harmlessly against its armor or lightly scored the exposed portions of its flinty flesh.

With a quick, fluid thrust, Elerian stabbed at the Troll’s massive left thigh with Acris, but with equal speed, the creature swept its great shield down, its rounded edge deflecting Acris toward the ground, the argentum inlaid in the sword’s blade flashing briefly silver-white at the contact. Barely in time, Elerian leaped back, the Troll’s heavy hammer whistling past his face and chest as it cut through the air in a great arc. His heart lurched when, out of the left corners of his eyes, he saw Ascilius lifted off his feet by a blow to his shield from the second Troll.

Elerian’s attention returned to his own adversary as, contemptuously ignoring his smaller opponent, the Troll in front of him leaped off the dike, landing well past him, its large feet and enormous weight crushing the Dwarves who were unlucky enough to be standing where it landed. The Troll was quickly joined by its companion. Standing shoulder to shoulder as they swung their hammers and shields in broad irresistible sweeps, they began clearing a path through the Dwarves who stood between them and the bridge, leaving a trail of broken bodies behind them as they advanced inexorably toward the bridgehead where the last of the wagons had begun to cross over the Caldus. Running close behind them were Eonis and his two sons.

“There is nothing wrong with the old fellow’s courage,” thought Elerian admiringly to himself as the pounding of hundreds of clawed feet on the ground brought him back around to face the dike and the Goblin cavalry, which had now reached the brink of the moat. Zaleuc, who had guided his atrior toward the midpoint of the dike, was now only a few feet away from Elerian, whom he recognized at once by his height, for he stood head and shoulders above the Dwarves around him. Bunching the steely muscles in its sleek hindquarters, Zaleuc’s atrior cleared the moat and the dike in a long, sinuous leap, touching down on Elerian’s left, its hooked claws digging deeply into the damp, turf covered ground.

As the Goblin’s mount reared and twisted to its left in an effort to strike him down with its clawed front feet, Elerian locked eyes with its rider, recognizing the cruel visage of Zaleuc immediately, even though the Uruc wore an iron helm with a nosepiece. A surge of hatred flowed through his veins as he leaped back, the razor sharp, hooked claws of the atrior barely missing his face and chest. Immediately, the goblin steed dropped to all fours, darting its narrow black head at Elerian with the blinding speed of a striking serpent as it attempted to close its fanged mouth on his throat. Bracing himself, Elerian swiftly brought up his shield with his left arm to fend off the creature’s deadly mouth. Taking a long step back and to his right, he raised Acris high and struck off the atrior’s extended head clean off midway down its long neck. Cursing loudly as his headless mount collapsed under him, Zaleuc swung his right leg up over his saddle, leaping lightly to the ground in front of Elerian. Dark shield held for defense on his left arm, he attacked Elerian at once with the black sword that he carried in his long right hand.

 “If I cannot slay you with magic then steel will suffice,” the Uruc shouted viciously. Veteran of hundreds of successful contests, uncommonly supple and strong, Zaleuc expected Elerian to quickly fall before his dark steel, but each of his strong, cunning strokes was deftly countered by his opponent whose clear gray eyes coolly watched for an opportunity to strike back.

Frustrated by the skill and strength of his opponent, Zaleuc suddenly stepped back, a cunning look in his dark eyes. With his magical eye, Elerian saw a spell spring from his lips, the small red orb enveloping a leather sack hanging from the Uruc’s wide belt. Carrying something from the bag, the spell took a chest high position between Elerian and the Goblin. Closing his third eye in order to see what was contained in the crimson globe, Elerian beheld the severed head of the lytling he had failed to save hanging in the air in front of him, its eyes open and the childish features frozen into an expression of pain and horror.

“Her flesh was sweet and tender, made even tastier by terror,” Zaleuc taunted in a voice filled with fathomless wickedness, expecting the horrible relic that he had exposed would startle Elerian, breaking his concentration and making him an easy target for his dark sword. Instead, red rage worthy of a Dwarf swept through Elerian like a rain-swollen torrent. Slipping his shield from his left arm, he threw it at Zaleuc. As the Uruc flinched, Elerian leapt into the air, raising Acris high above his head in a two handed grip. A look of surprise flashed across the Zaleuc’s pale face as he raised his shield against the sudden attack. A flash like a lightning strike illuminated the night and raised stark shadows all around Elerian as his magical blade clove through Zaleuc’s upraised shield before continuing unresisting at an angle through his left arm, shoulder, and chest, cleaving him in two near his slender waist. Momentarily drained by the mighty stroke, Elerian stood helpless as his enemy fell lifeless to the ground before him, his dark eyes filled with the horror of his impending death. The lytling’s head, no longer supported by the Uruc’s spell, fell near his face, her staring eyes now turned in his direction. Of its own accord, Elerian’s third eye opened, revealing Zaleuc’s shade rising from his ruined body like a red mist.

“Go to the abyss that has been prepared to you,” Elerian said coldly to the Uruc, casting the thought at the Goblin even as he extended thick golden tendrils from his own shade, wrapping them tightly around Zaleuc’s shade. Screams and curses rang in his mind as the Uruc shade struggled to break free. As he expended his limited life force, Zaleuc’ shade became more and more transparent until, with a last despairing scream, it faded away entirely.

Closing his third eye, Elerian saw that he was surrounded by mounted Urucs and that the first of the Mordi were leaping agilely over the water-filled moat onto the dike. All of the Goblins, both mounted and on foot, were avoiding him for the moment, giving him a wide berth him lest they fall victim to the same power that had destroyed Zaleuc.

“He is an Elf,” Elerian heard more than one of them shout in dismay. He realized then that the illusion that normally disguised him had faded, revealing his true form and buying him a few more moments to renew his strength.

“Will it be enough time?” wondered Elerian bleakly to himself as he watched the Goblins battle the Dwarves around him. He still felt so weak from the stroke that had slain Zaleuc that he could barely keep his grip on Acris’s hilt. Already he could see that the mounted Urucs around him were directing questioning glances his way as they fought the Dwarves, no doubt wondering why he held back from attacking them.

“Any moment now, they will guess at my weakness,” thought Elerian bleakly to himself, feeling no fear at his impending death, only frustration that he must stand passively, unable to strike a single blow, while the Urucs slaughtered him.

One of the Goblins, braver than the rest or perhaps hungry for the renown that would come to him for slaying an Elf, suddenly urged his atrior warily toward Elerian. Raising his right hand, he cast a killing spell which Elerian gladly accepted into his silver ring of power. Disappointed at the failure of his spell, the Uruc urged his atrior forward.

“Tear the flesh from his bones Angorth,” he urged in the soft, wicked voice of his kind.

Bunching powerful muscles under its sleek hide like a great cat, his mount tensed to spring on Elerian who was now desperately drawing on the newly stored power in his ring, seeking to rebuild his strength. Before the atrior could leave the ground, however, a Dwarf suddenly leapt into view on Elerian’s right. A bright flash of silver white light lit the night as the warrior’s hammer crushed the atrior’s skull. As his mount collapsed beneath him, the Uruc struck with his sword, but the Dwarf deftly caught the black blade on his shield, the hammer worked in argentum on its surface gleaming brightly it rendered the Goblin’s stroke useless. Wielding his mighty hammer as if it was light as a feather in his right hand, Ascilius swung it a second time in an overhand stroke, crushing first the Uruc’s iron helm and then his cruel visage.

“Well struck,” Ascilius,” Elerian called out, relived to see that the Dwarf was apparently unharmed by the blow that he had sustained from the Troll. His magical shield, which showed not even a small dent, must have protected him from the creature’s massive hammer.

After a quick look to make sure that Elerian was safe, Ascilius leaped fiercely on the Goblins around him. Made breathless by his fall, he had watched helplessly as Elerian slew Zaleuc. Now, his wind recovered, he made sure that a Goblin or an atrior fell with each stroke of Fulmen, helms and skulls crushed and broken. With a wail of despair, the survivors fled before his wrath, breaking the impetus of the attack on the dike before him, but on either side of him, the Goblins continued their assault on the dike, like a dark flood lapping at the crest of a dam.

“Abandon the dike and fall back to the bridge! The last of the wagons has crossed over!” Ascilius shouted to the Dwarves around him. Dwarf horns began to sound above the din of the battlefield, their long, mellow notes carrying his orders to retreat the length of the battlefield. For the first time, Elerian noticed that the rumble of iron-shod wheels on wood had faded away.

“At least the rest of the lytlings are safe,” he thought to himself as he drained the last bit of power from his ring. New strength flowed through him and he felt more like his old self again. Unbeknownst to him, his illusion spell gradually reasserted itself, masking his Elven features once more, so that he seemed a human warrior again, hair grayed and face lined from hardship and privation.

“Can you fight now or must I carry you?” Ascilius asked Elerian. “We must cross to the far bank of the river.”

“I have recovered enough to walk,” Elerian assured Ascilius as he turned to look toward the bridge, his height allowing him to see over the heads of the Dwarves and Goblins who were locked in combat around him. Up and down the earthworks, Dwarves hard pressed by the Mordi foot soldiers and the Uruc cavalry had linked shields and were slowly retreating toward the bridgehead. Jeopardizing their flight to safety, however, were the Trolls who had fought their way past Elerian and Ascilius. Standing broad back to back, they now blocked the entrance to the bridge. 

The Troll facing the west bank was under attack from Durio, who, with Tonare at his side, had led a company of Dwarves armed with pikes across the bridge. At the risk of their lives, his Dwarves were threatening the monster’s eyes with the steel points of their weapons. As Elerian watched, Durio suddenly rushed in, striking a mighty blow on the Troll’s knee with his hammer that caused it to howl in pain. Rushing to support his master, Tonare leaped and seized the Troll’s right wrist with his powerful jaws, but to no avail. Ignoring the pain in his knee, the Troll suddenly struck Durio full on with the face of his shield, sending the Dwarf flying backwards into the crowd of warriors behind him. Strongly swinging its right arm, the Troll sent Tonare flying through the air after his master, his teeth slipping from their hold on the Troll’s stony flesh. To Elerian’s dismay, with the unexpected speed and agility of its race, the Troll pounced then, its great hammer rising and falling twice as it struck first Durio and then Tonare.

With a great cry of rage, Eonis now rushed at the Troll facing his side of the bridge with his two sons beside him. Wielding his ax like a young warrior, he struck at the Troll’s exposed legs with his weapon, hoping to hamstring it, but his ax blade left only shallow cuts in the Troll’s stony flesh. His sons were likewise unable to seriously injure the mighty creature who opposed them.

“The Troll’s are holding the bridge, blocking our retreat,” Elerian shouted to Ascilius who, because of his shorter stature, was unable to see what was taking place at the bridgehead.

“Let us deal with them together, then,” replied Ascilius fiercely. Before he could rush off, however, Elerian spoke again.

“Give me a moment first,” Ascilius,” said Elerian in a somber voice. Frowning, Ascilius watched impatiently as, pointing Acris at the ground by Zaleuc’s body, Elerian called forth a small mage fire which quickly consumed the remains of the lytling.