Seregor came to a
halt. Raising a fist into the air, he
brought the soldiers behind him to a stop as well. His eyes narrowed in the twilight air,
focusing on the huge encampment in the distance. Canvas tents filled the area, reaching all the
way back to the thick line of trees that marked the start of the forest. The cover of night had allowed them to get so close as they had hoped, the cloudy weather adding to
it. The sky was pitch black, the moon
and stars completely blocked from view by a roof of clouds. Surveying the area, he began to think up a
particular strategy from atop the low hill.
Waving his troops down, they crouched, and he turned to Dauth.
“What do you think?” he asked
his friend.
Dauth’s
single eye scanned the area quietly.
There was almost complete silence, save the songs of crickets from
unknown places. Dauth
took a step forward, crouching and pressing his hands on the grass. He turned back to face Seregor after a few
moments. “Same thing you’re thinking.”
Seregor nodded. Archers would be moved up to the hill where
they could fire down on enemies from higher ground. The arrows would confuse the enemy, and after
several waves the infantry would charge into the camp. Seregor looked to the soldiers behind him,
still fairly amazed that he had gotten a force of seven thousand so close to
this massive enemy position without being slaughtered. Holding out his hand parallel to the ground,
he waved it down, signaling to stick close to the ground.
He wasn’t pleased that they had
to ambush the enemy like this. The only
combat he truly approved of was that in an open field, both sides ready. But to go against a force so large with so
few soldiers was absolute madness.
Anylia suddenly flashed in his mind, her face bringing a smile to
his. Shaking his head sharply, he
returned his focus to the task at hand.
“Do you think the others are
ready?” asked a voice. Seregor turned to
see Aertha crouched beside him. With a
slight frown, he turned his gaze ahead once more.
“I hope they are.”
Zefrenilx and Orthynx had
separated from the rest to lead their soldiers through the forest and into
position behind the camp. For an army of
seven thousand soldiers, however, forest could prove quite difficult terrain to
move through. Seregor had faith in
Zefrenilx though, knowing that the sorcerer would pull through. Or, at least, he hoped as much.
Breathing deeply, he stroked his
chin. It had been a tiring journey. He had led his forces to the enemy encampment
in five days, where all reports said it was at least seven. The pace had been too much for some, but he
ensured that no soldier would be left behind.
Every troop was needed. Seregor
knew what was going through the minds of his soldiers. The weariness they were certainly feeling
from traveling was blocked out now.
The veterans too were scared, as
no mortal can face impending doom and not feel anxiety in its stomach. But the difference between the veterans and
the green soldiers, between the experienced and the inexperienced, was
simple. Those who had seen battle many a
time previous to this one knew how to control their fear. They let it drive them rather than hold them
back. It would be the rookies that
hesitated because they were scared. They
would be the ones to die because of fear.
“Aertha, get your archers ready
to rain down the fury of the heavens upon the enemy,” commanded Seregor, his
eyes still fixed on the canvas tents of the camp. “In the cover of night, their archers will
have a much more difficult time returning fire.
And we will have moved in before they get the chance.”
Beside him, Aertha too was
surveying their target. “They have
sentries posted in watch.”
“I know,” Seregor replied. “But not many. Can your sharpshooters eliminate them from
here?” He turned once more to face
her.
Nodding without hesitation, she
answered him. “Of
course. Without
a problem.”
“Good. I want their watchmen eliminated, then three
waves of arrows fired into the camp.
After the second we will begin our advance. After the third we charge into the place.”
“How are we going to get past
that wall?” Dauth asked.
The camp was encircled by a wall
constructed of logs, freshly cut and standing about seven feet high. Every so often there was a portion cut away,
where an enemy lookout stood. Seregor
had noticed it immediately, and heard of the thing in the intelligence
reports.
Seregor sighed softly in
thought. “It can’t be too strong. They built it for the sake of feeling comfortable, I doubt it is properly constructed.” His eyes ran along the structure, catching
sight of the large gates. The doors were
probably rickety and weak, and had likely seen a great deal of use. Huge amounts of materials entered and exited
the camp. “It depends on what happens
when we get there. If we can’t open the
gates with our own strength, we send some soldiers over it to open them from
within. We should have enough time. I doubt the enemy is on any sort of alert.”
“I suppose it could work,” Dauth remarked in his pained voice.
Seregor continued to think to
himself. No, forcing the gates open
would not work. He was even beginning to
doubt that firing arrows at the camp before the main attack was a good
idea. It would only serve to wake up the
few enemy soldiers that would be needed to rouse the entire camp.
“New plan,” he began, “because I
don’t think I thought the last through.”
Aertha arched a brow. “We don’t have time to waste like this,
Seregor.”
Seregor turned his head towards
her. “I am well aware. But if we are going to do this, we need to do
it right. We’re forgetting the three
waves of arrows. That’s not going to
help us at all. I feel it will do quite
the opposite. While the enemy is inside
their tents, the chances of hitting many are slim. Our new course of action: your archers
eliminate their watchmen, and only their watchmen. That will allow Dauth
and myself to get to the wall with a small party, go
up and over it, and open the gates. Once
those gates open, the rest of the soldiers are to move in.”
“So the leader of the Imperial
Army and his second in command are going to enter an enemy encampment filled
with twenty thousand soldiers.” Aertha’s
look was skeptical. Seregor knew she
still doubted him.
He sighed. “Aye, that’s what I just said we’re going to
do, and I intend to do it. You will be
placed in charge of the remaining soldiers.
Once you see that gate open, you order them to advance. But be sure they make as little noise as
possible. I’d like to have them within
the camp before the enemy is called to arms.
Dauth, get together a party to accompany
us. Ten or so should be fine, and we
should only need to send a handful over the wall.”
Dauth
nodded. Before Seregor could say another
word, his friend had vanished into the night like a shadow to do as
ordered.
“Aertha, your
finest archers. I want the
watchmen all taken out at once. If one
sees another fall, all it would take is a shout to bring their full force
against us.”
“You’d better hope this works,
Seregor,” was all she said before she was off.
Of course he hoped it would
work. He could not be certain,
however. One could never be certain when
it came to battle, there were too many things that
could go wrong. He knew that his
soldiers were tired, but if they could pull through and snatch a victory,
they’d be able to rest. Still, it was
not the initial attack on the camp that concerned him. It was not the important part. What mattered was Zefrenilx pulling
through. If the sorcerer’s forces did
not come in time, the battle could quite rapidly become a slaughter. Should all four generals fall in one battle,
along with fourteen thousand troops, the war would be lost for the drow.
“We are ready to move, Seregor.”
He turned to look over his shoulder,
spotting Dauth and several other drow creeping up the
hill towards him. Nodding, he looked
back to the target, scanning the wall.
“Once the guards are killed, we
move in. Stick close to the ground. Move as quickly and quietly as you can. When we get there, we will send two over the
wall to open the gate. Remember, stealth
is key here.”
Arrows shot through the air,
vanishing in the darkness of night.
Seregor watched silently as the guards fell, black missiles ending their
lives swiftly. “Now we move. Stay close!”
He began over the hill, hunched
over in a crouching run. Behind him,
moved Dauth and the drow he had gathered to assist in
the task of gaining entry to the encampment.
Seregor’s attire was now more suited to his needs. Padding muffled any rattling the breastplate
might have done, and the metal was dulled to gray, no longer shining. The sheathes of his
swords were strapped both to his belt and his thighs, mainly to keep them from
moving too much and creating noise and discomfort. Dauth already had
shed what was given to him, preferring leather armor over metal. The black leather vest he wore fit snugly,
reaching just below his waist line and secured with a belt. Shoulder padding had been attached to it,
small spikes of metal added in not only to enhance his intimidating appearance,
but to provide a last resort weapon.
Smashing a shoulder lined with spikes into an enemy could prove
devastating.
Like ghosts of the night they reached the
wall, unseen and unheard. Immediately
they got to work helping a few of the soldiers over the fortifications. Pressed up against the wall, they
waited. Seregor’s mind began to clear. The fog created by planning a strategy was
lifting. Soon he would be entirely
focused on the battle at hand. His body
would become one with his swords, he would be a weapon
without thought or remorse.
Just as he heard the faint sound
of feet hitting the ground, he waved his arms in signal to the army at the
hill. A black tide oozed over it in the
night, pouring down towards the camp. To
any that was not a drow, it would seem only as a wave of shadow stretching
across the land. The doors dragged open. There was movement within the walls. It was followed by shouting. The call went out. “To arms, to arms! We are under attack!”
Seregor’s blades leaped forth
from their sheaths, the metallic scrape ripping through the air. Without a word, the party readied their
weapons and led the charge into the enemy encampment. The darkness surged forward. The battle had begun. Seregor crossed both arms and swords before
him. They would not be stopped. They would hold on until Zefrenilx arrived.
******
Chaos had been more powerful a
presence in this battle than any in the war before it. Elven soldiers
struggled to reach their weapons as the drow tore through their tents, cutting
down many before they could react. As
they advanced through the place, the drow left behind them tattered and bloody
canvas, in their wake was death and destruction. The initial surprise of the attack had
rendered the enemy helpless. At least
that was what Seregor had thought. As
his steel sliced through victim after victim, he realized that their progress
was slowing. It had begun bit by bit,
but now they advanced at a snail-like pace.
Flames sprouted here and there
from knocked over torches and tipped braziers, and everywhere were the
dead. Seregor could feel the blood on
his face, he could see the blood on his swords. At the moment, it did not occur to him that
he was killing. One blade came up to
block an enemy’s attack. The other
sliced through the enemy’s gut, sending him to the ground. He had not killed a person. He had killed a thing. For now, that was what they were. They were the enemy, an object that had to be
destroyed.
The flow of battle had
encompassed him. His movements were
fluid, like a dance. Though his twin
blades were separate, they acted in unison.
With them he created a deadly trio, acting as their master. He’d not spent decades mastering the use of
swords to die in battle. All of his
spins and slashes had purpose, and all was carried out with brutal
precision.
How many had fallen by his hand,
he did not know. He was never one to
keep track of such things. It had seemed
illogical in the heat of combat.
Distractions did not help one fight to their maximum ability. All that he truly noticed was that the
enemies he was facing were becoming more and more prepared as he continued to
hack a bloody swath through their ranks.
Whereas at first they had been confused and unarmed, they were now
focused and appearing with more and more equipment. Several he had spotted decked out in full
battle attire.
As one of his swords swiped up
across an opponent’s chin, he noticed the crimson upon it. There it was, inches before his eyes. All remorse that he’d once possessed now
vanished temporarily, his tongue darted out, a dull purple, and lifted a bit of
blood from the blade. He tasted victory.
Glancing for a moment to his
left, he took note of Dauth battling fiercely. His friend plunged his spear into an enemy’s
stomach, blood spilling from the poor elf’s mouth. The head had gone in deep. With a burst of speed, Dauth
jumped slightly, slamming a razor lined shoulder into a chin, sending the body
off the spear and to the ground. As the
head reared back from the impact, blood trailed out through the air. Spinning the weapon, Dauth
brought it down across another’s chest, adding another body to the count. The fighting continued.
As he continued to fight,
Seregor slowly became aware that their current situation was not what it had
first seemed. Himself,
along with the drow fighting around him, had halted. They no longer moved forward. Instead, they were actually being pushed
back. The enemy was increasing in number
drastically. He found himself being
swarmed. Cream skinned soldiers stood
all over. The tide had turned. The enemy was awake, and they were now out in
full force.
It had all been so sudden. Their advance had been strong and swift, and
now the same was true of the enemy’s.
His fight was no longer offensive.
He was forced to defend against a flurry of blows, moving back
simultaneously to avoid being entirely overwhelmed.
Something hopped into his
brain. Zefrenilx. He should have arrived long before then to
come into the camp from behind. That
would have made it much easier to battle.
They’d have met in the middle, the bodies of their enemies strewn all
about. But no. No such thing had happened. Zefrenilx and Orthynx were nowhere to be
seen. And the situation was becoming
worse with each passing moment.
The typical sounds of battle
rose up into the air. Metal smashed into
metal, soldiers let out cries of war.
Flesh was sliced, blood was spilt.
Seregor was aware of everything.
He was alert, sensitive to all that went on. In addition to his eyes, he used his ears to
keep his bearings. Every minute sight
and sound was picked up and dissected with immediate care. Threats were quickly summed up. And all the while he was moving back. The shadows were being pushed out of the
camp.
He hoped that the enemy hadn’t
gotten behind them. They had advanced
quite a way into the place, and to be engulfed now would mean certain
defeat.
Determination rose once
more. He could easily recall the plan, that he’d not forget.
Zefrenilx was supposed to come.
Zefrenilx had to come. That was
their only chance. For a brief period,
his body was filled with weariness. They
had been fighting long. He had grown
tired. As the blood of another felled
enemy splattered softly onto his cheek, he was refreshed. There would be no giving in. Not to the enemy, not to fatigue. They would win. The drow would be victorious.
Energy shot through his
body. The drow cause was enough to fight
for. It was enough to win for. But so much more seemed to
drive him on. He couldn’t quite
tell what it was, but he could feel it. A familiar warmth.
This victory would be for his
people. It would be for everything they
had to put up with in the past, for everything that stood against them back
then, that stood against them now, and would stand against them in the
future. They would win this battle. They would win this war.
That is what he told
himself. He lied to himself as things
looked their worst, as he lost ground faster and faster. Even if Zefrenilx arrived, it would be too
late. They were already being
overrun. The truth was a small chance at
victory murdered by a brutal defeat.
He doubted that they had afflicted very heavy
losses upon the enemy forces.
He was fairly certain that his soldiers would be
all but annihilated.