Douglas Niles - The Puppet King

“I am called Aerensianic, lady elf.”

Another green dragon, slightly smaller and more graceful than this huge serpent, came to rest beside the first. “And this is Toxyria.”

“We are grateful for your timely assistance. As you saw, we were on the brink of complete disaster,” Porthios said, bowing formally to the female dragon.

“These attackers are strange,” said the second serpent, nodding her head politely. “We breathe on them and they retreat, but they do not die.”

Indeed, the shadows still seemed thick at the base of the mountain, though at least they made no pretense of attacking. They lurked among the trees, occasionally creeping onto the jumbled rocks at the foot of the mountain, but then falling back as soon as one of the dragons soared near.

But the shadows did not vanish entirely. Instead, they skulked through the forests, still completely encircling the mountain. Their presence would block any attempt by the elves to climb down, to make an escape on foot.

For several hours, the elves and their ancient enemies rested together on the mountaintop, exchanging tales of the chaos storm, warily watching the shadows that lurked below. Porthios learned that Aerensianic was in fact the dragon he had battled in Silvanesti. He wanted to ask the serpent more about that campaign and about his reasons for coming to the western realm of the elves, but his thoughts were interrupted by a cry from across the mountaintop.

“Look, it must be Samar!” shouted a sentry, pointing into the distant sky.

The elves rushed to see what at first looked like a massive flock of geese, hundreds of dark specks in the sky winging closer to Splintered Rock. But as the forms got bigger and bigger, the feline legs trailing to the rear became visible, and finally it was clear that one of the griffons—a silver feathered male in the lead—was bearing a rider who carried a long, slender lance.

And then the skies were full of griffons, led by Stallyar and Samar. They were startled and cautious when they spotted the dragons and circled warily until the shouts and cheers of the elves coaxed them down. Finally they came to rest among the others on the mountaintop. Many griffons settled among the rocks on the high slopes, while others remained circling overhead, cawing and screeching.

“The griffons knew about the Chaos storms,” Samar explained. “They were willing to come, especially when I explained that it was you who called for help.”

Porthios was touched. “I thank you,” he said to Stallyar. The proud eagle’s head dipped in a polite response.

“Now we can get away from here,” said the prince, gesturing to the thousand or more griffons around them.

“But it is not enough to flee,” said Toxyria as Aeren nodded his head sagely in agreement.

“No,” Alhana chimed in. “We know that the whole world is imperiled. We have to do what we can to save it.”

“Lord Salladac is coming. He attacks across the east bridge, bringing a company toward the center of the city.”

The report came from an exhausted sentry, who had obviously run all the way to the Speaker’s house. Alerted by the elf’s shouts, Gilthas met him in the front garden.

“When will he get here?” The Speaker felt a momentary flash of hope, until the sentry continued.

“He can’t come any closer. His company was surrounded as soon as he got into the streets. There are more of those daemon warriors, and now the fire dragons are moving in that direction.”

Gilthas shook his head, wanting to deny the report, to curse the messenger. All around him, the city was dying, fires and destruction spreading as far as he could see. A few minutes earlier he’d heard reports of a new threat, vile shadows that slipped silently through the streets and sucked the life from anyone they touched. More daemon warriors, too, had emerged from the forests to smash and destroy. Knowing that one of the monsters had been enough to rout his entire legion, he couldn’t face the thought of fighting a multitude of the beings.

“By the gods, we’re doomed,” he whispered, his voice a groan that barely reached his own ears.

“Be strong, my son.”

He heard Laurana speaking behind him, and somehow her voice gave him strength. He straightened and raised his voice to address the elves, several hundred in number by now, who had gathered before his house. Many of these were warriors who had been training in the legion, while others included nobles and slaves, merchants and laborers. All were armed in some fashion or another, and all looked to him for guidance, for leadership.

“We have to take the city back,” Gilthas declared, hoping that he looked stronger and more confidant than he felt. “First we’ll need to arm as many of us as possible with weapons that will do some good against these forces of Chaos.”

“I have three swords here, ancient relics of Kith-Kanan that have been held in my family for generations,” declared one elf, a male the Speaker recognized as the young senator Quaralan. He had been exiled from the city upon the Dark Knights’ arrival, but now he had obviously returned to fight for his homeland.

“I’m grateful to see you here,” Gilthas said. “Use one blade yourself, and give the others to warriors who know how to use them.”

Quaralan quickly found a pair of willing volunteers, while Gilthas led many of the warriors into the house. There he proceeded to hand out the hallowed artifacts that decorated the wall of the formal gathering room. Some of the fine blades he gave to veteran elves, while the larger weapons, such as the axes and halberds, he bestowed upon the brawniest of his warriors. There were two dragonlances as well, and these he gave to a pair of warriors who had served under Laurana during the War of the Lance.

“You cannot do this—you have no right!” Rashas insisted, whispering to him from the shadows near the fireplace. “These are sacred relics of our people.”

“And I will give them to the fighters who have the greatest chance of returning our city to elven control,” Gilthas snapped. He wanted to say more, but Rashas bit his tongue and backed away, so the Speaker contented himself with this minor victory.

At the same time, he resolved that he would have more to say to the elder senator—much, much more. He was through answering to the commands of this craven elf, a creature whom he realized was as much a servant of the Dark Queen as any red dragon or any Knight of Takhisis. But the time for that accounting would come later.

Finally he led the force of elves out of the house, moving them along the street at a trot. Laurana had been remarkably aided by Kerian’s potions, and she came along at his side, bearing a slender blade of shimmering steel. The wild elf maid, similarly armed, advanced at his other side.

“We’ll go down the main avenue,” Gilthas decided, “and try to fight our way to Lord Salladac.” He thought for a moment about the irony—now the elves were advancing to the rescue of their conquerors—but then his mind quickly focused on more practical concerns.

In line they advanced, those bearing the enchanted weapons in the front rank. They jogged past smoking buildings, stepping over rubble and even bodies that were scattered through the street. Almost immediately they encountered a swath of the seething shadows, and the defenders of Qualinost charged into the battle. Gilthas led the way, chopping to his right and left, exulting at the feel of his sword cutting through the dark harbingers of Chaos. With each slashing cut, one of the shadows disappeared, dissolving in a gurgle of surreal agony.

Laurana and Kerian used their weapons with unfailing courage to strike at the supernatural shadows that now began to melt away before the advancing elves and humans. Everywhere the chaos creatures swept backward, recoiling from the startling assault until finally they retreated to either side. The road once again lay unobstructed before Gilthas and his elves.