Armies of the Silver Mage (40 page)

Steleon saw death coming and was surprisingly calm. Then he noticed a small figure dart in and slash the Troll across the back of the hand. The beast roared back and slapped the soldier hard. Bones crunched and organs burst fro the blow. The soldier landed a few meters away and didn’t move.

“Strad cu grashk!”

The battle cry was echoed by thousands of gravely voices. Steleon and the Troll looked up at the same time in bewilderment. All of the Trolls up and down the line did the same. They knew the cry and felt fear for the first time since entering the battle. They slowly began a disorderly retreat across the river. Many of them slipped and fell into the trench and were impaled. The enemy line broke. Trolls turned and fled as thick, wooden missiles whistled into their ranks and struck them down. The smaller Goblins were crushed and trampled to death without a chance.

Steleon rolled to his feet and readied for a trick. None came. The Trolls were terrified of this new threat and had lost the will to fight. More of the wooden missiles struck home. Steleon’s heart filled with hope. He didn’t know what was happening but wasn’t about to complain. He watched the enemy retreat and finally breathed in relief. A great clamor arose from the center of the burning camp. The sound of steel and boots marching closer echoed across the plain. All around his men cheered. Then the first of the Dwarven army came into view, bloodthirsty axes hungry and restless. The Dwarves marched past the broken lines of defenders and met the enemy. Blood and mayhem raged. The Dwarves fearlessly drove into the Trolls. Axes hewed flesh and cudgels smashed down. The battle was swift and vicious. Trapped against the river, the Trolls fought hard for their lives. Dozens fell from both sides. The Dwarves quickly advanced to the bank.

Steleon regained his senses and immediately ordered his cavalry back across the river. Infantry and reserve units were ordered behind the Dwarves. This was his one chance to end the siege and relieve the pressure on Averon. He looked about for council. Now was not the time to get carried away like his opponent. The battle was far from being decided. Catapults fired as fast s they could be loaded and archers shot arrow after arrow.

A half moon was rising over the peaks of the Gren Mountains, giving many their first views of the developing slaughter. Rank upon rank of the Dwarven army marched past the battered men of Averon. Melgit’s cavalry, strengthened by the riders from Harlegor, wheeled around the battlefield and made ready to drive through the retreating masses. The army of Gren had no defensive positions prepared and they were exposed to the combined fury of Man and Dwarf. Hundreds died in the first moments. Steleon watched the battle develop with interest until he noticed the body of the man who’d saved his life.

Part of him was reluctant to see who it was. He felt a shadow in his soul whispering names and possibilities. Dead bodies weren’t new to him. He’d had a long and storied career in the military. Dying was just another aspect of the job. Steleon knelt down and slowly turned the body over. Sorrow gripped his heart as he looked into the twisted face of his savior. It was Graeme. Steleon wanted to cry. The boy had survived a dragon attack, capture by the Goblins and endured the mental anguish of watching his entire friends die around him. And here he lay. Steleon stopped the two closest soldiers and ordered the body taken back to the command area. There’d be a hero’s burial when this night was done.

Then he noticed a stout Dwarf with sharp eyes approaching.

“You be the one in command?” the Dwarf asked with a rough tone.

“For what it’s worth, I am,” Steleon answered. “High Commander Steleon, at your service.”

The Dwarf bowed slightly. “I am Ordein, brother of Norgen and commander of the Bairn army.”

“You came at the right time. I fear we were about to break,” Steleon replied.

Ordein had a knowing look in his black eyes. “Timing is critical in war against Trolls. If we came sooner they wouldn’t have committed to the fight. A Troll can be formidable, but we’ve had long wars with them and they know us as well. I think they were more surprised than your own folk.”

“How did you come so quickly? The last time I saw your brother he doubted if word even reached your halls.”

The Dwarf lord laughed deep and rich. He explained how his brother sent a carrier pigeon from Alloenis explaining everything. The warning gave the Dwarf army ample time to form and march on Paedwyn. They’d been harried along the way, but avoided any serious engagements. No one was fool enough to attack a force of over two thousand battle thirsty Dwarves, not even a Gnaal. The two commanders quickly conferred, telling each what they knew of the situation. By the time they finished, Steleon figured they’d be able to drive the enemy back into the mountains.

Steleon sent runners to every major command with instructions to get on line and push forward. Surgeons, cooks, and the rest of the support personnel busied with policing up the battlefield and trying to save as many lives as possible. The stacks of corpses continued to grow. The battle edged further and further from the river. Ordein’s Dwarves were pushing the Goblin army back towards Gren.

“By Gru! This is a glorious night,” Ordein howled with delight. Triumph laced his words. “I was beginning to think we’d never cross your lands.”

“Let’s hope the Silver Mage doesn’t have any tricks left to pull while the three armies are strung out like this,” Steleon added. His voice lacked the fire or fervor of his stout counterpart.

“What more can he possibly have? Nothing worse than Trolls.”

Steleon barely whispered, “a dragon.”

Ordein faltered. “Hasn’t been a dragon in the world for centuries.”

They left it at that and continued the battle. Steleon called for his horse while Ordein followed his army on foot. Both were eager to see the night done.

Blood boiled and temperatures ran hot, but the rout was finally brought to a halt just before the dawn. Dwarves and Men shouted curses and taunts at the fleeing Goblins hordes. Hardly an inch of ground was left uncovered with either blood or body parts for nearly half a league back to the Thorn River. Weeks would pass before anyone got an accurate casualty count. For now it was enough. Averon held the field. Picket lines were established and the men formed ranks to await fresh orders. Most of them could barely stand.

The physical toll was almost as great as the emotional one. They all knew what was coming next. The enemy was beaten here, but far from broken. The invasion of Gren was the only logical next step. Steleon and Maelor trooped the line, speaking to as many of the men as possible. Cook fires soon ranged the field and a crude gruel was prepared to warm them some on the cold winter dawn. Steleon almost ordered kegs of mead brought up, but it was too soon for that. They needed rest first.

“This was a good fight,” Ordein announced when they rejoined him. His axe blade was buried deep in the chest of a dead Goblin. “It’s been a long time since my folk were able to whet our appetites like this.”

“This was a costly battle,” Steleon quietly drew out. “We cannot thank you enough. Those ballistae saved the day.”

Maelor readily agreed. “Indeed. We are in your debt Master Ordein. I hope this war ends quickly so that we may begin a new era of trade and peace between our two peoples.”

“Sire, there’s still the small matter of an enemy army on Averonian soil. This war is far from being over,” Melgit said. His left arm was slung in a bloody bandage.

Maelor was about to respond when a loud boom raced across the sky. Everyone looked up, shielding their eyes against the rising sun. a great, dark shape came speeding towards them from the mountains. Steleon felt the color drain from his face. The Silver Mage had finally released his wyrm. Flames spouted from the dragon’s nostrils and mouth and even from a distance the defenders knew it was over.

Ordein tugged on his beard in disbelief and began barking orders. “All right you bloody bastards! Back in ranks and ready to fire!”

* * *

Adrenalin coursed through Jervis Hoole. This was the day he was supposed to become king. He’d spied Maelor’s colors on the field and knew it was over. All it was going to take was his Trolls crushing into the enemy and the battle was his. Hoole howled with glee as his army attacked. Then his world faded. Had he been closer to the front they might have averted the disaster, but he wasn’t. And the army of Gren was quickly turned on its heels. He struggled to see what was happening and why his forces were turning to run. He saw massive Trolls on fire and trampling the smaller Goblins in their fright. The moonlight finally allowed him to noticed the small figures charging recklessly into his ranks. Dwarves! Hoole spat the name. Where did they come from? An aide rushed to his side.

“We must flee now,” he yelled. “Back to Gren Mot where we might have a chance! We cannot hold here anymore, Lord Hoole.”

Jervis Hoole slid the tip of his dagger at his aide’s throat in the blink of an eye.

“Run if you wish. Sound the retreat, though I doubt they’ll listen. See how the enemy cavalry already race to block our exit? We are all of us doomed this night. Go and run. We’ll see how far you get before death comes to claim you. Be gone from my sight before I kill you myself.”

The aide carefully stepped back. A foul look scored his face. “Wait until the Mage learns of this. You’ll pay for leading his army to ruin.”

Hoole crossed the distance between them and ran the dagger deep into the aide’s chest. Snarling, Hoole drew his sword and struck the head from the shoulders. Blood fountained as the body fell.

“You had your chance,” he told the corpse.

Hoole wiped the blood from his sword and went off in search for a horse. He had to flee if there was to be a chance for the future. His future. Jervis Hoole fled for his life.

FIFTY-TWO

The retreating Goblins stopped upon seeing the great dragon fly overhead. Little by little they turned back towards the plain to watch the beast blow his kiss of death. The devastation of Gren Mot was still strong in their memories and out here was a much easier killing ground. A great cheer rose from their haggard ranks. The enemy had nowhere to escape the dragon’s fury. Odors of sulfur and brimstone contaminated the battlefield. Men and Dwarf doubled over and wretched from the smell. Arrows raced up to meet the wyrm and bounced harmlessly away from the heavy scales. Rocks and burning pitch followed and met with the same results. Some swore they heard the dragon laugh. Heavy ballista missiles came next and the dragon barely had to swerve to miss them. Then the beast tucked its wings in and dropped low over the field, sweeping hundred from their feet. Flames spit out and turned man and beast to ash.

Steleon picked himself up and watched as the dragon circled around for another pass. Soldiers ran in fear while others tried to extinguish the flames murdering their friends. Still others tried to form some semblance of defense. Steleon knew it was futile. The dragon wouldn’t even need to try to thoroughly destroy them. He noticed something strange when the dragon turned. The sun caught the flying beast at the right moment and a glint of something shiny sparkled. He didn’t know what the significance might be, but it kept his attention. Steleon grabbed for Ordein.

“Did you see that?”

The Dwarf had a certain wildness in his eyes, as if he knew he was about to die. “Aye, tis a terrible way to die.”

“No. Look at the throat. There’s something different about it,” he insisted.

The dragon swooped in for another pass. This time they both saw the object clearly before jets of flame washed over more of their forces. It was a jade amulet wreathed in silver and clasped on an iron chain.

“It’s the amulet! We need to break the amulet around his neck!”

Ordein scowled, “why?”

“That has to be the source of the Mage’s power. You said it yourself, no dragons have been seen in hundreds of years. Break it and we break the spell,” Steleon said.

Ordein looked at him skeptically. He was afraid the man had lost it. Black smoke curled up from the tips of the flames spreading throughout the army. The dragon attacked again and more died. Steleon didn’t wait for Ordein to make up his mind. He got up and ran to the archers that were left.

“Aim for that jade around his neck!” he shouted to them.

One by one they raised their bows and took shaky aim.

“It’s coming back again!” Ordein shouted before diving to the ground.

The great serpent barrel rolled, spitting flames a hundred feet through the air. Noxious fumes made them swoon. Some dropped unconscious while others were roasted alive. Arrows raced back, striking the wyrm in a hundred places with no effect. Steleon saw the gleam of recognition in the wyrm’s eyes as it rolled over and came straight for them. Steleon looked back into those cold eyes and saw rage and confusion. The dragon landed in front of them and reared back. The wingspan was well over a hundred meters. His body was covered in rust colored scales. Wicked fangs dripped acid and the very air was one of twisted malevolence. The single horn sloping from the top of his head shook with fury. Slowly the dragon drew a deep breath and readied to strike.

A single arrow whistled back Steleon’s head, brushing his hair and kissing his cheek as it went. He watched the tip strike the jade jewel perfectly in the center. The explosion of brilliant green light pulsed from the dragon’s heart and knocked them all to the ground. Steleon slowly tried to pick himself up and looked in time to see the dragon shake off whatever spell once held it. He’d been right. The Mage was controlling the dragon through sorcery. Freed from the curse, the dragon stared down his opponents one last time and took to the skies. It was heading back to Gren. Steleon whistled under his breath. Ancient legends whispered that dragons were among the smartest of all races. If that were the case, woe be to the slave masters in Gren.

“I’ll be damned,” Ordein exclaimed. His axe rested over one shoulder. “A single shot.”

“No one could have done that in one shot,” Steleon said. “Whoever it was deserves our highest praise and award.”