The Cleric Quintet: In Sylvan Shadows (The Cleric Quintet #2)
Page 2By Surprise
Twilight.
Fifty elven archers lay concealed across the first ridge; fifty more waited behind them, atop the second in this rolling, up-and-down region of Shilmista known as the Dells.
The flicker of torches came into view far away through the trees.
"That is not the leading edge," the elf maiden Shayleigh warned, and indeed, lines of goblins were soon spotted much closer than the torches, traveling swiftly and silently through the darkness. Shayleigh's violet eyes glittered eagerly in the starlight; she kept the cowl of her cloak up high, fearing that the luster of her golden hair, undiminished by the quiet colors of night, would betray her position.
The advancing goblins came on. Great long bows bent back; long arrows poised to strike.
The skilled elves held their bows steady, not one of them trembling under the great pull of their powerful weapons. They looked around somewhat nervously, though, awaiting Shayleigh's command, their discipline severely tested as orcs and goblins and larger, more ominous forms came almost to the base of the ridge.
Shayleigh moved down the line quickly. "Two arrows away and retreat," she instructed, using a silent code of hand signals and hushed whispers. "On my call."
Orcs were on the hillock, climbing steadily toward the ridge. Still Shayleigh held the elven volley, trusting in the erupting chaos to keep her enemies at bay.
A large orc, just ten paces from the ridge, stopped suddenly and sniffed the air. Those in line behind the beast similarly stopped, glancing about in an effort to discern what their companion had sensed. The pig-faced creature tilted its head back, trying to bring some focus to the unusual form tying just a few feet ahead of it.
"Now!" came Shayleigh's cry.
The lead orc never managed to squeal a warning before the arrow dove into its face, the force of the blow lifting the creature from the ground and sending it tumbling back down the slope. All across the northern face of the hillock, the invading monsters screamed out and fell, some hit by two or three arrows in just a split second.
Then the ground shook under the monstrous charge as the invading army's second rank learned of the enemy concealed atop the ridge. Almost every arrow of the elves' ensuing volley hit the mark, but it hardly slowed the sudden press of drooling, monstrous forms.
According to plan, Shayleigh and her troops took flight, with goblins, orcs, and many ogres on their heels.
Galladel, the elf king of Shilmista, commanding the second line, turned his archers loose as soon as the monsters appeared over the lip of the first ridge. Arrow after arrow hit home; four elves together concentrated their fire on single targets huge ogres and the great monsters were brought crashing down.
Shayleigh's group crossed the second ridge and fell into place beside their elven companions, then turned their long bows and joined in the massacre. With horrifying speed, the valley between the ridges filled with corpses and blood.
One ogre slipped through the throng and nearly got to the elven line even had its club raised high for a strike but a dozen arrows burrowed into its chest, staggering it. Shayleigh, fearless and grim, leaped over the closest archer and drove her fine sword into the stunned monster's heart.
As soon as he heard the fighting in the Dells, the wizard Tintagel knew that he and his three magic-using associates would soon be hard-pressed by monstrous invaders. Only a dozen archers had been spared to go with the wizards, and these, Tintagel knew, would spend more time scouting to the east and keeping communication open with the main host in the west than in fighting. The four elven magic-users had mapped out their defenses carefully, and they trusted in their craft. If the ambush at the Dells was to succeed, then Tintagel and his companions would have to hold the line in the east. They could not fail.
A scout rushed by Tintagel, and the wizard brushed aside his thick, dark locks and squinted with blue eyes toward the north.
Tintagel rubbed his hands together and motioned to his three wizard comrades. All four began their spells at about the same time and soon the air north of their position became filled with sticky filaments, drifting down to form thick webs between the trees. The scout's warning had come at the last moment, for even as the webs began to take shape, several goblins rushed into them, becoming helplessly stuck.
Cries went up from several areas to the north. The press of goblins and orcs, though considerable, could not break through the wizard's spells and many monsters were crushed into the webs, to gag on the sticky substance and die slowly of suffocation. The few archers accompanying the wizards picked their shots carefully, protecting their precious few arrows, firing only if it appeared that a monster was about to break loose of the sticky bonds.
Many more fiends were still free beyond the webbing, Tintagel knew. Many, many more, but at least the spells had bought the elves in the Dells some time.
The second ridge was given up, but not before scores of dead invaders lay piled across the small valley. The elven retreat was swift, down one hill, over the piled leaves at its base, and up another hill, then falling into familiar positions atop the third ridge.
Screams to the east told Shayleigh that many monsters had approached from that way, and hundreds of torches had sprung up in the night far to the north.
"How many are you?" the elf maiden whispered breathlessly.
As if in answer, the black tide rolled down the southern side of the second ridge.
The invaders found a surprise waiting for them at the bottom of the small valley. The elves had leaped over the piled leaves, for they knew of the spike-filled pits hidden beneath.
With the charge stalled, showers of arrows had even more devastating effects. Goblin after goblin died; tough ogres growled away a dozen arrow hits, only to be hit a dozen more times.
The elves cried out in savage fury, raining death on the evil intruders, but no smile found Shayleigh's face. She knew that the main host, coming in steadily behind these advance lines of fodder, would be more organized and more controlled.
"Death to enemies of Shilmista!" one exuberant elf screamed, leaping to his feet and hurling his fist into the air. In answer, a huge rock sailed through the darkness and caught the foolish young elf squarely in the face, nearly decapitating him.
"Giant!" came the cry from several positions all at once.
Another rock whipped past, narrowly missing Shayleigh's cowled head.
The wizards couldn't possibly conjure enough webbing to block the entire eastern region. They had known that from the beginning and had selected specific trees on which to anchor their webs, creating a maze to slow the enemy's approach. Tintagel and his three cohorts nodded grimly to each other, took up predetermined positions at the mouths of the web tunnels, and prepared their next spells.
"They have entered the second channel!" called a scout.
Tintagel mentally counted to five, then clapped his hands. At the sound of the signal, the four wizards began their identical chants. They saw the forms, shadowy and blurred by the web veils, slipping through the maze, apparently having solved the riddle. On came the charging goblins, hungry for elven blood. The wizards kept their composure, though, concentrating on their spells and trusting that they had timed the approach through the maze correctly.
Groups of goblins came straight at each of them, all in a line between the channeling webs.
One after another, the elven wizards pointed out to the enemy and uttered final, triggering syllables. Bolts of lightning split the darkness, shot down each of the channels with killing fury.
"It is time to leave," Galladel told Shayleigh, and the maiden, for once, didn't argue. The woods beyond the second ridge were lit by so many torches that it seemed as though the sun had come up and still more were coming in.
Shayleigh couldn't tell how many giants had taken positions beyond the ridge, but judging from the numbers of boulders sailing the elves' way, there were several at least.
"Five more arrows!" the fiery elf maiden cried to her troops.
But many of the elves couldn't follow that command. They had to drop their bows suddenly and take up swords, for a host of bugbears, stealthy despite their great size, had slipped in from the west.
Shayleigh raced over to join the melee; if the bugbears delayed the retreat even for a short while, the elves would be overwhelmed. By the time she got there, though, the competent elves had dispatched most of the bugbears, with only a single loss. Three elves had one of the remaining monsters surrounded; another group was in pursuit of two bugbears, heading back to the west. To the side, though, another bugbear appeared, and only one elf, a young maiden, stood before it.
Shayleigh veered straight in, recognizing the elf as Cellanie and knowing that she was too inexperienced to handle the likes of a bugbear.
The young elf fell before Shayleigh got there, her skull crushed by the bugbear's heavy club. The seven-foot, hairy goblinoid stood there, grinning evilly with its yellow teeth.
Shayleigh dipped her head and growled loudly, as though to charge. The bugbear braced itself and clenched its wicked club tightly, but the elf maiden stopped suddenly and used her forward momentum to hurl her sword.
The bugbear stood dumbfounded. Swords were not designed for such attacks! But if the creature doubted Shayleigh's intelligence in throwing the weapon, or her prowess with such a trick, all it had to do was look to its chest, to the elf's sword hilt, vibrating horribly just five inches out of the bugbear's hairy ribs. The creature's blood spurted across the sword hilt and stained the ground.
The bugbear looked down, glanced up at Shayleigh, then it fell dead.
"To the west!" Shayleigh cried, rushing over to retrieve her sword. "As we planned! To the west!" She grabbed the bloodied hilt and tugged, but the weapon would not slip free. Shayleigh remained more concerned with the progress of her troops than her own vulnerable position. Still looking back to oversee the retreat, she braced her foot on the dead bugbear's chest and gripped her sword hilt tightly in both hands.
When she heard the snort above her, she knew her folly. Both her hands were on a weapon she could not use, either to strike or to parry.
Defenseless, Shayleigh looked up to see another bugbear and its huge, spiked club.
The wizards, coming in to join their allies, concentrated their magical attacks on the torches of the enemy host beyond the second ridge. Enchanted flames roared to life under the pyrotechnical magic. Sparks flew wildly, burning into any monsters standing too close. Other torches poured heavy smoke, filling the area, blinding and choking, forcing the monsters to drop back or fall to the ground.
With that magical cover holding back their foes, the elves soon cleared the third ridge.
A flash emanated from beside Shayleigh's face, burned her and blinded her. At first, she thought it was the impact from the bugbear's club, but when the elf maiden's wits and vision returned, she still stood over the bugbear she had killed, clutching her impaled sword.
She finally sorted out the other bugbear, its back against a tree, a smoldering hole burned right through its belly. The creature's hair danced wildly, charged, Shayleigh realized, from a wizard's lightning bolt.
Tintagel was beside her.
Shayleigh tried to respond, but found that her jaw would not easily move.
The wizard looked to the two archers covering his rear. "Gather up poor Cellanie," he said grimly. "We must leave no dead for our cruel enemies to toy with!" Tintagel took Shayleigh's arm and led her off after the rest of the fleeing elven host.
Cries and monstrous shouts erupted from all about them, but the elves did not panic. They stayed with their carefully designed plan and executed it to perfection. They met pockets of resistance in the west, but the broken ground worked in their favor against the slower, less agile monsters, especially since the elves could shoot their bows with deadly accuracy, even on the run. Every group of monsters was overwhelmed and the elves continued on their way without taking another loss.
The eastern sky had become pink with the budding dawn before they regrouped and found some rest. Shayleigh had seen no more fighting during the night, fortunately, for her head ached so badly that she could not even keep her bearings without Tintagel's aid. The wizard stayed beside her through it all, would have willingly died beside her if the enemy had caught them.
"I must beg your pardon," Tintagel said to her after the new camp had been set, south of the Dells. "The bugbear was too close had to begin the bolt too near you."
"You apologize for saving my life?" Shayleigh asked. Every word she spoke pained the valiant maiden.
"Your face shines with the redness of a burn," Tintagel said, touching her glowing cheek lightly and wincing with sympathy as he did.
"It will heal," Shayleigh replied, managing a weak smile. "Better than would my head if that bugbear had clubbed me!" She couldn't even manage a smile at her statement, though, and not for the pain, but for the memory of Cellanie, falling dead to the ground.
"How many did we lose?" Shayleigh asked somberly.
"Three," replied Tintagel in equally grim tones.
"Only three," came the voice of King Galladel, moving to them from the side. "Only three! And the blood of hundreds of goblins and their allies stains the ground. By some accounts, even a giant was felled last night." Galladel winced when he noticed Shayleigh's red face.
"It is nothing," the elf maiden said into his wide-eyed stare, waving her hand his way.
Galladel broke his concentrated stare, embarrassed. "We are in your debt," he said, his smile returning. "Because of your fine planning, we scored a great victory this night." The elf king nodded, patted Shayleigh on the shoulder, and took his leave, having many other matters to which to attend.
Shayleigh's grimace told Tintagel that she did not share Galladel's good feelings for the battle.
"We did win," the wizard reminded her. "The outcome could have been much, much worse."
From his somber tone, Shayleigh knew that she did not have to explain her fears. They had hit their enemy by surprise, on a battlefield that they had prepared and that their enemy had not seen before. They had lost only three, it was true, but it seemed to Shayleigh that those three dead elves held more value for the elven cause than the hundreds of dead goblinoids held for the seemingly countless masses invading Shilmista's northern border.
And for all their surprise and all the slaughter, it was the elves and not the invaders who had been forced into flight.