Douglas Niles: Goddess Worldweaver

“Then we need to get there first, to stand in their way,” declared the Prussian. “Perhaps we can hold them back from the shore.” He didn’t sound as if he believed the last part of his statement, but neither did he sound at all reluctant about making the attempt.

“Our best hope is to destroy a great part of their fleet and insure that the rest of them land in confusion,” Natac confirmed. “Tamarwind’s elves, ten thousand strong, are already arrayed along the shore, and Rawknuckle Barefist is making a forced march with almost as many giants. They have a full regiment of rolling batteries in support, nearly a thousand centaurs hauling them. The whole force will fall upon the first wave to land… or try to hold the line if too many of them reach shore.”

“You really think they’ll make it to the beaches?” Richard asked. “This is a mighty fleet we send against them!”

Natac nodded. “As mighty as any fleet on any of the seas of Earth, I agree. But you have not seen these death ships from the air, the way they cover the seas for miles in every direction. No matter how much damage you inflict-and I know that all of you will do brave deeds-you must be prepared to fall back before you can be enveloped.”

The normally jovial Englishman looked at him seriously, his expression grim. “Aye, then, General, we’ll do as you ask. What are your orders?”

“Fritzi, your wing is closest to the mouth of the harbor?”

“Already on the way, yes,” replied the Prussian. He indicated a strapping druid, wrapped in the traditional turban of Earth’s Persia. “Reza will have to cast a gale just so that I can catch up to them.”

“He can do that, I know.” Natac smiled at the dour windcaster, who had spent nearly a thousand years in Nayve. “So you will go first. Get in front of the death ships, use your weapons to hit from a distance, to scatter as many as you can. Stand and fight while you can, but then pull back. Richard, you bring your wing right behind. Engage as you close in, but also keep an escape route open for Fritzi’s ships-I don’t want them trapped against the shore.”

“Aye, General… we’ll char a few of those black hulls, you can bet.”

“Crazy Horse,” Natac continued, turning to the Sioux. “You’ll come behind, in reserve. Give the battle time to develop. Regillix and I will be overhead, keeping an eye on things. When we give you the sign, you should sweep around their left with all of your strength.”

“It shall be my honor, General Natac, to strike a blow for Nayve,” replied the valiant warrior with a stiff bow.

Minutes later they were all headed back to the boats. Natac, from the top of the low bluff, watched the procession of sails exiting the harbor and allowed himself a glimmer of hope-hope that was quickly quashed by the memory of the numberless enemy they faced. Even so, he could only admire the bravery and dedication of these warriors, each of whom had been brought to Nayve for just this purpose, and who had accepted the grim task with a sense of honor and duty.

Nevertheless, the reality lingered in his mind as he mounted the dragon, and Regillix Avatar’s broad wings carried them both into the air: honor and duty, bravery and dedication, these were great things.

But they would not be enough.

Janitha reined in her pony at the brink of Riven Deep and looked across the wide canyon. She was just metalward of Sharnhome, where once the great bridge had stood. This was one of the narrowest places in the chasm that stretched for most of the way across Nayve, and she could just barely make out the monolithic shapes of the golems, the giants of iron that accompanied the Delver invasion of her homeland. Countless thousands of the eyeless dwarves were over there, too, she knew, even though they were too small to see at this distance.

The rest of her riders, the fierce cavalry of the Hyaccan elves, were nearby but remained out of sight behind a low rise just back from the rim of the canyon. She knew several were lying on the ground atop the elevation, worriedly watching their leader as she stood in mute challenge at the edge of Riven Deep. All of the elves were armed, and many would be mounted.

A dozen or so of the Hyac busied themselves making final adjustments to the intricate device that was the reason for Janitha’s bold posing. That mechanism had been prepared by Karkald, Seer dwarf and master engineer; if all went well, it would be put to its first test, here today. Janitha knew that Karkald, exiled from his native First Circle for the last fifty years, was a renowned weapon smith. Even so, she would not have termed his most recent invention a weapon. More of a trap, she mused… one that would allow the elves to wield their existing weapons with greater lethality than ever before.

At least, that was the idea. Growing impatient, she prodded her pony into a prancing trot along the precipitous rim of Riven Deep. The vast gulf of space was purpled by mist and shadow, fading into a featureless murk that, as always, gave no indication of a bottom. On the other side of the canyon, her enemy waited and watched. She raised her feathered lance high, waving it back and forth in a rhythmic taunt, a gesture that would be visible for miles.

At last she was rewarded by the keening shrieks, outrage building among the keen-eyed harpies who spotted her impertinent promenade. Some of the winged creatures were circling over the deep, but she soon discerned a great cloud of them rising like angry smoke above the opposite edge of the canyon. Like the mist in the chasm, they were visible as a background shade-in this case murky gray. But she knew the cloud was made up of thousands of individual and savage creatures.

“Good,” she murmured, her hand tightening around the smooth horn she wore at her side. “Come to me… and die!”

She tugged the reins, and her pony halted, alert and quivering, anticipating the next command. After half a century of battling harpies, however, Janitha had come to know their ways, particularly the reckless impatience that propelled them when their quarry was in sight and apparently helpless. She watched and waited as they swarmed closer, and gradually the cloud of darkness resolved itself into individual, dark-winged flyers. The outraged cawing grew to a cacophony, like a field full of insanely chattering cicadas, and she brandished her lance and cried her own challenge, a shout that somehow carried into the mass of noise.

The harpies dived close, black and gray feathered wings shiny in the full sunlight. Janitha waited until she could discern the grotesque expression upon the skeletal, leering face of the leader. Talons reached toward the elfwoman, while a few of the flyers-impatient in the extreme-spat their fiery bile, only to have the smoldering gobbets tumble into the deep, trailing plumes of black smoke.

Only then did Janitha move, nudging her pony with her knees. The animal spun about and immediately burst into a full gallop toward the notched boulders atop the ridge that she had earlier marked as her destination. The elfwoman ducked low on her mount’s neck, lance leveled beside her. She did not look back: she had planned her escape well, or she had waited too long; in either case, a glimpse of her approaching enemy was not going to affect her success one way or the other.

The ridge sloped upward, and the pony lowered his head, surging with steady acceleration up the hill, then bursting through the narrow gap between the two rocks. Janitha smelled the stench of bile and smoke as the ringing of harpy cries seemed to compress her ears, and she silently urged the steed into a last burst of speed, the shouts of her warriors a welcome embrace. Arrows sliced through the air as a score of archers shot down the closest of her pursuers. She saw the flare of torches, then the brighter flash of light as Karkald’s invention came into play.