Douglas Niles: The Crown and the Sword

“No, General,” Jaymes replied, holding up his hand to dissuade nearby knights who had turned about to face these new arrivals, their weapons at the ready. “If I have guessed correctly, we’ve just been reinforced.”

“What in the name of the gods are they?” Weaver said.

“I don’t know if we can call them allies, but I do believe they’re the sworn enemies of that thing,” the marshal replied, pointing up at the elemental as the monster took another step closer. One of the cyclone legs kicked into a formation of legionnaires, knocking the men of Palanthas down like stacks of straw. Horses neighed shrilly, rearing and bucking. A volley of arrows flew from a company of archers, vanishing without effect against the great swath of the elemental king’s belly.

The human troops closer to the adamites backed away to make room for the great, swelling block of troops, already numbering several hundred. Swordsmen muttered curses and exclamations, and archers raised their bows-holding their arrows-as more and more of these lifelike, but clearly stone, beings sprouted from the narrow cave. The adamites marched quickly, forming up in single-file ranks in an ever-expanding front around the concealed aperture at the foot of the cliff. There were hundreds of them now gathered and more still marching out of the tunnel. The front was a hundred paces long by now, and every yard of it was preceded by the wicked, spade-shaped spear points.

“They hate that elemental,” Moptop explained, looking curiously up at the looming monster. “I think they want to catch it and take it back where it belongs.”

Already the adamites were marching forward, ignoring the human warriors who scrambled and stumbled to get out of the way. The spears never wavered; the line did not bend, even as the magical warriors flowed around trees and rocks, splashed through the shallow stream that meandered through the valley floor. Moving away from the cliff, spears held level at shoulder height, they tromped steadily toward the massive elemental king.

“How will they… oh, never mind,” Jaymes said. Spinning around, he barked at General Weaver. “Open your line all the way! Let them through without trouble!” he ordered.

The soldiers of the Palanthian Legion pulled back hastily, more than willing to allow these weirdly unnatural warriors to pass without hindrance. The adamites continued their advance in a tightly packed formation bristling with spears, their feet stepping in cadence as they marched smoothly past the Palanthian troops and on toward the horrific giant. Marching with steady, exacting precision, their feet crunched over the ground in an increasingly audible rhythm.

Stony spears extended, the adamites, numbering at least a thousand strong by this time, stretched across the valley floor. Lines from the rear marched to the sides, faced front again, and expanded the ranks with perfect discipline and formation. They continued to march forward, long spears extended, closing rapidly on the king of the elementals.

As yet that awe-inspiring monster showed no fear of the new arrivals. Instead, the twin cyclones of its great legs kicked faster, and the monster waded heavily into the first rank of the adamites, uttering another bellow with enough force to break three or four shelves of rock loose from the overhanging wall of cliff.

“It will crush them there; they can retreat no farther!” gloated Ankhar the half-giant as he and Hoarst hurried around the shoulder of the valley wall. The army commander gazed almost rapturously at the gigantic being as it closed on the trapped Solamnic army. The sheer wall with its lofty overhang formed the perfect trap. The milling humans, trapped against the steep, precipitous barrier, had lost all formation, showed none of the cohesion and discipline he had come to expect from the knights.

“The whole army will die here!” he crowed.

The half-giant and the Thorn Knight had hastened after the monster as it pursued the fleeing Solamnics, the pair moving far ahead of most of the army. Most of Ankhar’s troops were behind them, still reeling from the chaos of the battle, though several hundred of his goblin warg-riders had formed up and escorted the pair in their pursuit. Ankhar had insisted upon rushing ahead of the bulk of his troops, leaving even Laka, so he could see all that was going to transpire and revel in his ultimate triumph.

“Hurry up!” he exhorted the wizard. “We will be witness to a great victory!”

Only then did Ankhar notice that Hoarst, his face oddly impassive, wasn’t looking at the monster. His staring eyes were directed elsewhere.

“What are those things?” asked the Thorn Knight, his voice unusually urgent and concerned.

“What things? What are you talking about?”

Hoarst seemed agitated, and this irritated Ankhar. Why could he not just relish this great moment, this historic success? But the human, ignoring his commander’s frown of displeasure, turned and rushed to climb some rocks that had tumbled to the foot of the nearby valley wall.

“Get up here; we can see better from a higher vantage,” urged the Thorn Knight in a peremptory tone.

Ankhar scowled but followed the irritating man up the loose shelf of rocks. He stumbled and scuffed his hands trying to find solid purchase, and he wrenched his knee when one of the rocks yielded to his weight to tumble loosely down to the ground. Cursing, the half-giant hoisted himself to the ledge where Hoarst stood then turned around to look.

He could clearly see the mass of enemy troops, fractured lines and broken companies huddled against the cliff that barred their progress up the valley. Some of the riders had dismounted and were holding their panic-stricken horses by the reins. It was clear they could find no escape, no route out of the valley save the one they had taken in retreat, and that path was now held by the massive presence of the king of the elementals.

But there was another source of movement down in the valley, something Ankhar had to squint to see. It was like the rocky floor of the valley was slinking forward like a living carpet, a flood of ghostly gray stone spreading out to confront the king of the elementals, to block its path toward its human quarry. Squinting, the half-giant made out an array of spear tips-many hundreds of them-and, with a start, realized these new stone-colored arrivals bore the shapes of men.

“What are they?” he demanded, annoyed by the postponement of slaughter, though still not overly worried about the outcome of the fight.

“I don’t know,” the Thorn Knight replied curtly.

“Strange warriors… and look, they attack the king,” the half giant grunted, amused. This would be good entertainment. He would watch these mysterious newcomers die.

“Whatever they are, they don’t lack for courage,” the man noted.

“Let them die bravely instead of cravenly, then,” snorted Ankhar. But his bravado had an element of bluster to it. After all, what were those things?

He began to feel a little sick to his stomach.

The bizarre newcomers looked somewhat like humans but seemed to be made of stone. and as Ankhar watched with fascination, they swarmed up to the elemental king, surrounding it, thrusting at it with their long spears. The monster advanced right into the midst of that rank, swinging the great columns of its legs, stomping mightily right on top of the stony spear-carriers.

Surprisingly, the new attackers showed an equal enthusiasm for the fray. Holding their spears pointed upward, they marched fearlessly right under the crushing force of the king’s striding legs. The monster pounded downward, burying dozens of the warriors under each foot. But when it tried to move on, the thing lurched unsteadily and remained locked in place.

“Like it stepped into a pit of tar,” Hoarst remarked. “It seems to be stuck.”