Douglas Niles - The Puppet King

Soon the bold company was moving on, charging toward a block of burning buildings. Cheers and battle cries rose from all the ranks as the hope of victory sank in. These elves were ready to fight, and believed that they could win. Once Gilthas noticed that Rashas, apparently frightened of being left behind, was accompanying them, though he stayed in the middle of the group, well back from any actual fighting. Quaralan, in contrast, led a band of young swordsmen who alertly guarded the rear of the formation.

Finally they saw the knights, the pennant of the Dark Queen rising above a small knot of men embattled in the center of a wide intersection. The elves advanced with more cries, but then shadows came forward from the buildings on both sides. Looming daemon warriors led them, and dragons of fire howled in exultant fury as they swarmed toward the elven company. The attackers came from before and behind and closed in quickly from both sides.

It was then that Gilthas realized that he had led his elves, including his mother and his lover, into a deadly trap.

“It was a simple matter to mount all the elves on the griffons,” Samar said, while Aeren nodded at the memory. “You were carried by your mother, and Porthios, on Stallyar, took the lead.”

“And we flew to the place where the battle raged,” the dragon added. “I remember Toxyria in the lead, proud and beautiful and brave.”

“To the city, then? To Qualinost?” asked the young elf.

“It was where the matter would be decided,” agreed Samar.

“Stand fast, there!” Gilthas shouted as the elves on the left flank of his impromptu line started to back away in the face of the charging fire dragons. “Quaralan, look to the left!” he called, drawing the attention of the young senator.

Immediately Quaralan led his swordsmen to stabilize that part of the line, drawing the two elves bearing dragonlances with him. The first fire dragon roared forward in a blaze of flame and sparks, but the lancers stood with admirable courage, planting the butts of their weapons on the road and allowing the monster to impale itself on the silvery heads. With an unworldly howl, the serpent disintegrated into a cloud of smoldering ash.

Coughing and choking, slashing at the fires that scorched their faces and arms, the elves fell back, but the following fire dragons veered up and away, apparently daunted by the fate met by their comrade.

Gilthas looked to the front, where the street was black with the deadly shadow wights, the creatures milling and surging in the gap between the elf company and the Dark Knights. The monsters slithered closer, and though several were slashed and destroyed by the magic weapons of the elven company, others reached forward with their lethal tendrils, sucking vitality, even flesh itself, from any victim in reach. The line was quickly fragmented, and Gilthas was horrified at the prospect of the shadows slipping into the mass of elves, striking and killing in every direction.

He wanted to shout a warning, but his tongue, even his mind, seemed frozen by indecision. What could he say that wouldn’t add even more to the confusion?

It was his mother who came to the rescue.

“There!” Laurana called, tugging at his arm, pointing to a walled courtyard at the side of the road. “We should take cover there—bring the dragonlances around to cover against attack from the skies.”

“Yes—go!” shouted Gilthas, immediately seizing on the plan. He raised his voice to a shout that penetrated above the din of battle. “Fall back to the right, behind the wall. Quickly!”

Instinct compelling the move toward safety, the elves instantly obeyed. Gilthas felt a flush of pride as he saw that even under this horrifying scourge they did not yield to panic. Many of them poured through the gates, while others scrambled over the shoulder-high wall.

Gilthas, Kerian, Quaralan, and the two lancers were the last to fall back, and they stood at the open gates for several moments, slashing at a couple of shadows that came close, stabbing the lances to drive back a fire dragon that padded across the street. Only after the dragon once again took to the air did the Speaker and his companions enter the courtyard, allowing the gates to be slammed behind them.

Gilthas quickly saw that they had found a fairly effective defensive position. The courtyard was attached to several other gardens and yards, and the elves had rapidly spread out to garrison all these interconnected areas. He wasted no time in scrambling up to a small tower that overlooked the street. Many shadows, eerie and silent, swirled about at the base of the wall. Apparently immune to the effects of gravity, some of the swaths of darkness slipped up the wall and reared over the top. Elven blades slashed, and most of these fell back or gurgled into dissolution.

The Speaker of the Sun looked across the avenue of chaos and saw that the company of Dark Knights had formed into a hollow square for defense, but that formation was sorely besieged. Shadows sucked at the fringes of the unit, draining away man after man in lethal attacks. Apparently a few of the knights were armed with weapons that were effective against the chaos creatures, but many of the others seemed utterly vulnerable. Gilthas saw Lord Salladac wielding a massive two-handed sword, standing at one corner of the square and chopping a huge daemon warrior in two with a single slash of the weapon.

“Salladac—over here!” cried the elven leader, his voice once again booming over the ground. He saw the human meet his gaze. With a gesture to the nearby gate, Gilthas urged the lord to bring his company into the makeshift fortress.

With a grim nod, Salladac shouted at his standard-bearer, raised his sword, and led his men into the mass of shadows. The banner of the Dark Queen surged forward, and the knights came after, a hoarse cry bellowing over the field.

Gilthas jumped down from the tower and raced to the gates. “Open them!” he shouted. “Elves of Qualinost, charge with me!”

“No!” cried Rashas, who had been cowering behind the wall nearby. “You’re mad! You’ll let those shadows in here—they’ll kill us all!”

“Get out of the way,” growled the Speaker. “We’ve got to get the knights in here. Together, we have a chance!”

“Don’t listen to him!” cried Rashas, throwing himself against the elves who were beginning to unbar the gate.

Gilthas roughly pushed the senator out of the way, and the gates swung open. A surge of willing elves charged with the Speaker into the street, and the wailing Rashas was borne along in the front of the rank.

“Stop!” he screamed. “Let me go!” Desperately Rashas squirmed to the side, finally tumbling free from the press of attacking elves. Almost immediately a shadow loomed right behind him, dark tendrils extended.

“Look out!” cried Gilthas, horrified at the soulless, fleshless apparition that seemed to rise higher than the gibbering senator’s head.

Rashas stared at the horrifying image but seemed unable to move his feet. Gilthas reached out and grabbed the senator by the shoulder, pulling him away from the shadow. Another elf, one of those armed with a dragonlance, stabbed with his weapon, and the black shape dissolved into tattered remnants of darkness.

Stumbling away from the rank of attacking elves, Rashas looked at Gilthas with wide, staring eyes. Abruptly he turned and raced away, running along the wall of the courtyard— outside the barrier that was protecting the rest of the elves.

The fire dragon had been circling overhead, and this lone elf created a tempting target. With a shriek of triumph, the creature tucked its wings and dived, leaving a cloud of sparks trailing through the air.