Chapter 3

                                                                                     

 

            The inn was silent. Everyone began talking at once, getting louder and louder. They were all stunned by the appearance of the guard, but even more so of the appearance of the L’thorians. It seemed impossible that they could have traveled so far south so quickly.

            A loud crash brought everyone’s attention to the door. A massive figure was standing there, the broken door at its feet. It stepped into the inn and it features could be clearly seen. It had large muscles and was stickily built. The creature, which must have been a L’thorian, was close to seven feet tall, about the height of an elf, but looked to be much stronger.

            The L’thorians skin was a light shade of grey, and he had pure black eyes. He wore metal studded leather armor, and a large sword was in his hand. A lizard like tongue slid out between its razor sharp teeth, its eyes sweeping across the room. Twelve more of the creatures flooded into the room behind the leader, making the diner feel very cramped.

            “Kill them all,” hissed the creature, and without hesitation, it leapt forward and buried the sword in its hand into the chest of an elf. A fight quickly broke out, and bodies were everywhere. Arateer, finding himself without a weapon, grabbed a chair and slammed it onto the head of a L’thorian. Some of his friends grabbed furniture too, but most of them had their own weapons. They charged into the fray, meeting their enemies head on.

            The chair broke, but had little effect on the L’thorian, who growled and thrust the sword at Arateer’s heart. One advantage the elves had over the L’thorians was their agility and speed. Arateer sidestepped the thrust and stepped quickly towards the L’thorian to cramp him and limit the use of his sword. The creature swung its elbow at Arateer’s head. Using the momentum of his enemy’s swing, Arateer grabbed the arm, and flipped him over onto its back. The sword clattered out of its hands, and Arateer scooped it up.

            He twirled it around experimentally, testing its weight and balance. It was obviously meant for a stronger and larger man, for it felt slightly clumsy and heavy. The L’thorian started to get up, but Arateer didn’t wait for him. He swung the sword in a deadly arc towards its neck, but it was stopped short the creature’s forearm, which was thrown up to protect himself. It bit down deep into the L’thorians flesh, jarring against the bone.

            It roared in pain, but tugged its arm away hard, jerking the sword out of Arateer’s hand. He tugged the sword out of his arm and Black blood began to pour out of the wound. Arateer turned and saw the fire right behind him. The L’thorian began to move forward, and Arateer charged him again. He tried to dodge the creature’s sword again, but this time it caught him in the arm, slicing it open, throwing him to the side.

            Arateer got up, gritting his teeth from the pain, and charged again, rolling under the blade and coming up face to face with the creature.  He grabbed the leather straps of its armor and pulled it back. Arateer rolled onto his back, and using all his strength, he placed his legs on the L’thorians chest, and pushed as hard as he could, throwing it over his head and into the flames of the fire. The creature screamed, its skin being burned quickly. It tried to get out of the fire, but Arateer turned, grabbed a knife off of a table, and in one fluid motion, hurled the knife straight into one of the creatures eye, killing it instantly.

            Its body toppled into the fire, and soon was burning to a crisp. Arateer turned and saw the fighting was drawing to a close. He saw how the L’thorians had nearly conquered Illeria the last time they had invaded, if the stories were true. Nearly half the elves that had been in the inn when the fighting had started were dead, but thankfully, all his friends were safe.

            An elf stepped in the door. “We’re under attack!” She was going to say more, but a spear impaled her, and she fell to the ground dead. Morgatell, a natural fighter, decide to take action

            “Follow me,” he shouted, and he charged out of the room. Everyone flooded out of the inn after him, wanting to join the fight and defend their homes. Arateer was the last one out, right behind Iraslayne and Erineya. The village was in complete chaos. All around him, elves were engaging L’thorians, some armed, others unarmed. One L’thorian was standing over a child, about to gut him with his sword. Arateer grabbed the spear out of the dead elf’s body and hurled it at the L’thorian.

            His heart sank as he realized the throw had come too late. The L’thorians sword beat the spear, and the child’s dying scream rang out, soon drowned out by the L’thorians roar of agony.  Arateer turned and saw his sister running towards him, a distraught look on her face.

            “Arateer what are we going to do,” she asked, obviously terrified of the numbers of their enemies.

            “We need our weapons. Follow me we’re going home,” he replied. He sprinted off in the direction of his home, choosing the fastest way possible. A L’thorian stepped in his path and Arateer, acting on instinct, jumped and kicked off the creatures head, vaulting himself onto the nearest roof. He turned and his sister landed right beside him. “Keep going,” he said, pushing his sister forward.

They continued on, jumping from rooftop to rooftop, all the while watching the fights going on in the streets. The elves were clearly the better fighters, but when they were unarmed, they were no match for the L’thorians savage ferocity and strength.

They reached their house, but no L’thorians were around it. Arateer dove off the roof and rolled, coming up running. Their house was near the edge of the village. Arateer enjoyed being by himself, which gave him a sense of freedom, so he’d made a small hut beside the house to live in. He sprinted inside, frantically looking for his weapons.

            He quickly slid the sheaths of his swords onto his back. Unlike most elves, he preferred to have his swords on his back. The sheaths were set up so that they crossed each other. He strapped his hunting knives onto his belt and one on his thigh. Panic rose in his chest as he frantically searched for his bow. Realization dawned on him as he remembered it was under his makeshift bed of blankets on the ground. He threw the blankets to the side and slid the large black bow onto his back.

He rushed back outside, but had to stand and wait as Arraley to get her stuff. As he was waiting, he noticed that the sounds of the earlier battle had subsided, and now all he could hear was wind rushing through the trees. Looking up, he saw the sky was filled with dark clouds, signifying an oncoming storm.

Arraley came out of the house with her own weapons, which included a sword and diamond shaped elven shield, knives and her own bow. They were about to set out when a young voice behind them stopped them.

“Wait for me I’m coming too.” The voice belonged to their younger brother, Loraden. He was carrying his smaller sword with him, and he also had his bow. Arateer smiled, enjoying his brother’s enthusiasm.

“I know you want to fight, but you’re too young and your training is incomplete,” he told Loraden. “Besides, dad would kill me if I let you fight.” He got down on a knee and gave him a hug. “I’ll come get you when the fighting is done and we’ll play hide and seek. Would you like?”

His brother’s face lit up. “Yes I would love that. Just kill a few of them for me.” Arateer laughed and ruffled his brother’s hair. He turned and ran off with Arraley, sprinting to the front of the village. Along the way, they saw the carnage and the bodies strewn throughout the village. There seemed to be an even number of elven and L’thorian bodies littering the streets.

A few children were peering out of the houses, watching them run, but the village felt mostly deserted. They reached the edge of the village, and saw what was left of the elves amassed, all armed, and ready to fight. Arateer ran to the front, trying to find his father.

The field in front of them leading to the woods was empty, but they could hear the deep boom of a war drum and the deep growls of the L’thorians. All the warriors had their weapons at ready, standing in a ragged line in front of the village. Arateer called out quick greetings to a few of his friends and they nodded back, all dreading the attack they knew was coming.

Arateer’s father, Laramoss, was in front, directing the warriors, and strategizing with the elders of the village on how they should proceed. He and Arraley ran up to him right as he finished talking, and the elders moved off, dispersing into the line.

“Father, where are we needed,” asked Arraley.

He frowned. “I don’t want you to fight. You’re too young and inexperienced.” Arateer’s cheeks flushed slightly with anger, but he controlled it. “Dad, you know we’re skilled fighters and that we can handle ourselves. Besides, this is our village too and we have the right to defend it.”

Laramoss looked into his son’s eyes and saw his determination. He knew he wouldn’t be able to stop his son or daughter from fighting. He sighed. “Fine, you may fight, but watch over your sister Arateer. And stay safe. I don’t want to lose you like I did your mother.” His voice cracked and he turned away quickly.

Arateer embraced his father quickly and moved off down the line, searching for his friends, Arraley right behind him. He found some of them, and slid between Toreal and Erineya in the line. Morgatell and Theramon were right behind them, and Arraley took her spot beside Theramon. He gave her a quick smile and turned, facing the cliffs. Iraslayne, Oriadne and Filear were nowhere to be seen. Arateer loosened his swords in their sheaths, and beside him, Toreal did likewise.

            The field in front of the village was normally beautiful sight, but today, it held no beauty to any of them. On a warm summers day, the long grass would blow in the breeze, making it appear as if a sea of grass was rippling across the field, but today, with the snow cover, it seemed to be a desolate lifeless field. The wind was picking up, and the sky grew darker.  Along with this, the war drums and chanting began to become louder, and everyone began to shift uneasily.

 

            Masborne, the leader of the L’thorian forces, gazed down upon the elven village with utter contempt, smiling. The elves were gathered in front of the village, ready to defend it from his troops.  He was standing at the edge of the cliffs that loomed in front of the village, just inside the tree line, hiding him from view. He had over three thousand men waiting in the forests, ready to storm in and wipe the village out at his command.

            The force he had sent into the village earlier had only been a distraction, to test the elves strength. Now, he was ready to fight with his full force and decimate the elves.  He looked to his second in command and nodded. It was time to begin the assault.

            “Send in the eight hundred men,” he rasped. “Once they have engaged the elves, send the remaining forces to surround the enemy and annihilate them. Am I clear?” The lieutenant nodded and ran off to alert the troops it was time for battle.

Masborne turned and watched, ready to witness the decimation of the elves. A worm of doubt gnawed at the back of his mind. These elves were renowned for their prowess, and his men had only been able to inflict so much damage because so many of the elves had been unarmed. Now that they were armed and prepared, would his men be able to win?

            He growled, pushing the fearful thoughts aside. It was time to begin this fight. The drums began to increase their tempo, and his men picked up the cadence, chanting faster to the beat of the drums. Masborne threw his head back and roared, a deep throaty noise that filled the air. He held it for as long as he could, turned, and sprinted to lead his troops to battle.

            The elves had no idea how much danger they were in.

 

            As Arateer stood, waiting for the enemy to appear, a horrifying sound filled the air, causing him to shiver. It was an unearthly roar, and he felt terror begin to build inside of him. Elves around him were also unnerved by the sound, shifting uncomfortably, but stayed put.

            His shins were becoming numb, so Arateer shoved the snow that was around his shins away. The snow would make the fighting very difficult, limiting his speed. He looked to his left and met Toreal’s eyes. He knew they were thinking the same thing. Stick together. That had been their strategy for years. They knew how each other fought and always had the other’s back.

            “There!” the voice came out of the line. Arateer peered at the woods, and saw a horde of black shapes moving through the woods. The deep booming and the growling from the L’thorians continued, getting louder as their enemy approached. They emerged from the woods, large hulking creatures, and chanting in rhythm. They spread out and formed a line across from the elves.

            Arateer’s heart began to pound in his chest, adrenaline coursing through his veins. Goosebumps sprouted up on his arms, and a shiver ran down his spine. Despite the cold, a drop of sweat ran down his forehead. A L’thorian stepped forward with a horn and blew, drowning out all sounds with its deep mournful ring. The L’thorians raised their voices up into a loud cry and charged, plowing through the snow as if it weren’t there.

            Arateer, without thinking, screamed and charged, followed by the line of elves. Everything all of a sudden slowed down and seemed to move in slow motion. He looked to his right and saw Erineya, beautiful as ever, hair flowing behind her, and Toreal to his left, a determined look on his face. Arateer faced forward and ran through moves in his head quickly before the two foes met head on.

            Time sped up again, and he jumped with all of his might, flying over the frontlines of the L’thorians, stabbing both of his swords into the chest of the next one in line. He drew them out quickly and got in a ready stance, quickly taking in the situation. He was outnumbered at least ten to one. His jump over the lines had given him a second to rest, surprising the L’thorians with his sudden appearance.

            He felt something brush his back and he turned, and his spirits lifted. Toreal was right behind him, covering his back. The dark creatures surged forward, forcing their surprise to the backs of their minds and replacing it with ferocity. Arateer and Toreal moved quickly, fighting against the L’thorians, holding them at bay. They seemed to be spinning in a graceful dance, twirling around each other, swords flashing quickly with deadly force and precision. Metal clashed on metal, swords jarred against bones, blood mixed with sweat, and screams of pain replaced screams of anger.

            Arateer turned and met a L’thorian’s blade on his own, feeling the jarring impact, grunting. He thrust his sword at his enemy’s chest, but it was flicked aside with contempt. His enemy glared at him with dark intelligent eyes, and thrust his sword straight at Arateer’s head. Using his enemy’s momentum, Arateer dodged the sword stroke, stepped in quickly, and heaved his enemy over his back, over Toreal, and into the monster he was dueling with.

Only two remaining creatures were left of the ten that Arateer and Toreal took on, showing how deadly the two were together. An arrow slammed right through the eye of one, piercing through its head and barely protruding from the back of it’s head. The last one, having been trained and forced through its years to show no fear, stepped forward, having no qualms about fighting the two deadly warriors.

Before he could charge, a loud cry was heard of the sounds of battle and a massive war hammer sliced through the air, making contact with the L’thorians chest. Morgatell, the owner of the hammer, heaved with all his might and sent the creature flying. A wide smile covered his face.

“We should do this more often,” he shouted, and he ran off again, swinging the hammer in deadly arcs, crushing the L’thorians. Arateer grinned, unable to help it. He looked around and saw that the battle had been going well for the elves, but not as well as it had been for he and Toreal. Many L’thorians were dead, about half of the original force, but many elves were dead as well.

Arateer pulled out his bow and quickly loosed three arrows before charging back into the fray, flicking his swords out of their sheathes with ease. He slid on his knees, cruising through the snow and blood mixture, right under the swinging blade of a L’thorian. As he was passing it, he slashed ones of his swords through its legs, and jumped up, spinning in a circle, swinging his blades as hard as he could, snapping the L’thorian’s blade thrown up the block the massive blow, and cleaved the owners body in two.

Arateer screamed his lungs out, a mixture of adrenaline and anger. He sprinted forward, dodging in and out of the L’thorians lines, cleaving a path through and leaving a trail of bodies in his wake. Erineya darted past him, taking down an enemy to his left. Morgatell plowed his way though a few L’thorians, making his way to Arateer’s side.

Toreal, as always was at his back. Arateer gazed around the battlefield, feeling a surge of fierce satisfaction, seeing that his enemy was almost beaten. All around, elves were slaying the last few groups of L’thorians, but the biggest group was facing him. Toreal came from behind his back and stood beside his friend, and Erineya and Morgatell joined them. Arateer laughed inside, knowing the L’thorians stood no chance.

He was about to charge when he noticed movement off to his left. He turned and saw hundreds of L’thorians were standing at the edge of the woods, bows drawn. Arateer looked to his right, and his blood turned cold. L’thorians were on that side too, and they were effectively trapped between the two forces. The last of the L’thorians on the field were grouped with the force facing Arateer, and the elves were bunching around them, and only a few noticed the archers in the woods.

Arateer heard the hundreds of bowstrings being drawn back, and all of the elves took notice, and fear showed on all of their faces. Arateer dove forward onto his stomach, and just in time too. The bows all hummed, and arrows flew over his head, and his heart sank as he heard the dying screams of his companions.

Toreal and Erineya were beside him, but Arateer couldn’t see Morgatell. The arrows stopped flying, and Arateer leapt to his feet. Many elves were dead, lying around him with arrows sticking out in all angles from their bodies. Only about a hundred of them were left, all scattered across the battlefield. The L’thorians had dropped their bows, and were slowly marching towards them, knowing their enemies were beaten and had nowhere to go.

“To the middle! We must stand together!” The voice came from across the battlefield and Arateer saw his father running towards the middle of the battlefield. Arateer ran to join him, and the remaining elves streamed across the field with them. Soon they were amassed in the middle of the bloody, snow covered field. Bodies were strewn everywhere, and the elves were standing a tight, rough circle. Arateer sheathed his swords and drew his bow. The elves around him that had a bow followed suit.

            The L’thorians were continuing their slow march across the field, and Arateer decided it was time to even the odds a little. He raised his bow and cracked his neck. He breathed in deeply, narrowing his eyes slightly, mentally picturing his arrow’s path. He breathed again, closed his eyes, and relaxed his muscles.

            Calm and ready, he opened his eyes and his first arrow was on its way, soon followed by five more. The elves began to fire with him, and their arrows began to take their toll. L’thorians were falling quickly, screaming out in pain or eerily silent. Arateer’s arms were flying, and his bow was spewing arrow after arrow at the monsters that were invading his home.

            They were getting closer and closer, the stream of arrows barely slowing their march. Arateer fired his last arrow, watching with grim satisfaction as it slammed through the throat of a L’thorian, spewing blood across the ground. Arateer slid his bow back onto his back, and drew his swords calmly. Blood was dripping off of their tips, so Arateer flicked them quickly, scattering the droplets.

            A loud horn sounded and the L’thorians charged. Arateer waited this time, deciding to stay with the group. A soldier was a few meters from him when Arateer’s blade began its deadly cycle again, swinging and hacking, killing anything in its path. The L’thorian toppled down, head rolling, and Arateer spun forward, blocking a L’thorians blade on his and shoving his other sword in his foe’s stomach, feeling a jolt as it hit the spine.

             A sword swung down straight for his head, but right as it was about to kill him, it stopped in midair, Toreal’s sword saving his life. Toreal stepped forward, but was unprepared for this L’thorians speed. He smacked Toreal’s sword away with his fist and stabbed him through the arm. Toreal cried out, jerking away from the sword, and it tore out of his arm, bringing forth a quick and steady flow of blood.

            Toreal clutched his arm, Gritting his teeth in pain but still moving quickly on his feet, prepared to dodge his enemy’s sword. With incredible speed, the creature swung its sword at the elf in a downward arc. Toreal dodged sideways and it thudded into the ground, biting into the snow and dirt. Arateer lunged with both of his swords, plunging them through the L’thorian’s armor, killing him.

            Toreal fell to his knees, trying to ignore the pain but it was too great. Morgatell and Erineya stepped forward, protecting him. Morgatell’s giant hammer swung through the air, thudding every time it made contact with a L’thorian. Arateer dropped beside his friend, and he clasped his hand on his friend’s wound, trying to stop the steady flow of blood.

It had already soaked his shirt, and was starting to form a small pool around his legs. Arateer ripped off his shirt and tore it into strips, quickly winding them tightly around his friend’s arm into a makeshift bandage. He grimaced when Arateer pulled it tight, but did not complain. Arateer looked around and saw that they were nearly surrounded and many of the remaining elves were falling.

“Can you still walk,” he asked his friends. Toreal nodded, unable to speak. “We have to go now!” he said urgently to those around him. If they were surrounded completely, they would all die. Better to retreat and live to fight another day. “Retreat,” he screamed, “Morgatell lead the way. Back to the village. Retreat.” The elves around him began to slowly make their way back to the village, and Morgatell ran to the front, quickly opening a hole in the L’thorians lines.

The elves streamed through the hole, running back to the village, and all the while, L’thorians poured out of the surrounding woods in front of the village. Arateer sprinted through the gap quickly, followed by Toreal and Erineya. Arraley was just in front of him. He cut down two L’thorians trying to stop him. Arateer heard a cry behind him, and he turned. A large L’thorian had forced his way into the gap, knocking down and killing an elf trying escape. About half of them were now trapped in the middle of the L’thorian forces, and Arateer realized there was nothing he could do.

Morgatell looked distraught. “We have to help them! Come on,” he screamed.  He tried to charge them, but Arateer forced him back.

“There’s nothing we can do for them. We have to leave now,” he shouted in his friend’s face. He pushed Morgatell back towards the village, a tear running down his cheek. It broke his heart to abandon his friends out in the field, hearing their cries as they were cut down, but he knew it would be suicide to try to help them. He ran off, knowing he had to disappear before the majority of the L’thorians began to ransack the village.

Toreal was beside him, pale from his wound. His face showed determination, which made Arateer happy. Footsteps boomed from behind him, and Arateer turned. Seeing a L’thorian, he sidestepped and swung his blade, running it straight across its stomach. The L’thorian ran a few more steps, slowed, and toppled to ground, his torso sliding off of the now lifeless legs.

Arateer turned to his friend. “Go to my spot now! We have to escape. Grab anyone you can find and do it quickly.” Toreal nodded, and ran off, knowing what was at stake. Arateer sprinted off through the village, rushing to his house. He had to get his brother before the L’thorians did.

A loud horn sounded, and Arateer turned, trying to see what it was. A loud roar followed the horn, and Arateer’s heart froze. A loud beating sound filled the air, and two more roars followed the first, and out of the clouds came three black dragon-like creatures, spewing fire out of their mouths, signaling doom for Arateer and his village.