Chapter 9

Battle of the Blackwood

The glade was utterly silent after the interloper's proclamation, save for the steady pattering of the rain against the ground. The Paravant continued to smile calmly up at the armor-clad warrior as he stood over her, still displaying his weapons. Atkynd's eyes darted back and forth between the pair, unsure of what to do, or even how to react. Then, suddenly, the figure lowered their weapons and dropped to one knee in front of the Paravant.

"I have been sent by the Divines to lend aid to your rebellion," the figure proclaimed in a deep, harsh, gravelly voice. "I hereby swear an oath of fealty to you. Until such time as you choose to release me, I shall serve faithfully as your champion… if you will have me."

The Paravant nodded and put her hand on his shoulder, still smiling warmly down at him. "If the gods have indeed sent you, then I am glad to have you," she replied. "Please, rise. Tell me, what is your name?"

The figure climbed to his feet, though he still bowed his head, partially to look down at the Parvant, whom he towered over. "I am Pelin-al, the Star-Made Knight," he answered.

"Pelinal," the Paravant repeated, though she didn't pause while speaking the last syllable the way the knight had. "You are most welcome to our camp, meager as it is. I apologize for my inhospitality, but I must request your aid immediately."

"Think nothing of it, my lady. I am at your disposal," the knight growled.

"As you can see, we find ourselves in a dire situation," the Paravant said, pointing towards the opening to the glade. "If you slew the Ayleid kings, then your martial prowess far outstrips my finest warriors. Will you stand with us in this battle?"

"I shall," Pelinal agreed brusquely. "However, if you intend to discuss strategy, I would recommend that you confer not with me, but with my nephew."

"Your nephew?" the Paravant repeated, her smile finally faltering as a confused frown creased her features.

Pelinal didn't answer, instead turning his gaze upward. The Paravant did the same, as did Atkynd, Tari, and some of the other humans. Above them, they saw a massive shadow looming in the sky, briefly illuminated by a lightning bolt streaking through the black clouds. The enormous body descended rapidly, landing heavily on the soft, wet ground. Atkynd's mouth fell open as the newcomer straightened up and exhaled slowly.

Atkynd guessed that the creature stood over seven feet tall, as it towered over every other human gathered in the clearing. A massive bull's head swiveled back and forth, surveying the area with deep, wise brown eyes, as it let out another soft snort past a golden nose ring. Its head was capped by wicked, forward-facing black horns as long as Atkynd's forearm. Enormous muscles bulged along its humanoid body, covered by a layer of coarse brown fur. Its feet ended in black, cloven hooves more than twice as big around as Emero's. In its right hand, it gripped a crude, dark club at least five feet long, and its torso was protected by a jet-black breastplate that extended into a short skirt of black strips supported by red cloth. Huge, golden wings extended from its back through narrow gaps in the breastplate, which it flexed and shook in a futile attempt to dry them. The beast then turned its large eyes on the Paravant, whose own blue eyes widened with delight. She immediately rushed over to him, beaming.

"Morihaus!" she exclaimed, pressing a hand against his chest as she gazed up at him. "I had feared that you would be unable to find us!"

"I almost did not," the bull replied in a deep bass voice, inclining his head in what Atkynd interpreted as shame. "Forgive me for not returning sooner, Paravant. I heard a breath on the wind instructing me to seek out Pelinal and bring him to your camp. However, when I arrived, I saw that it had already been demolished. I confess… I feared for the worst. Only when I saw that there were no bodies inside did I think to find you at this glade. I am pleased, however, that you heeded my words. Still, I regret that I was not there to aid you earlier."

"You have nothing to apologize for, Morihaus," the Paravant assured him softly, reaching up and squeezing his upper arms gently. "Your instructions saved our lives, and I am grateful. I must also thank you for leading Pelinal to us. I fear that without his aid, we would not last the night."

"In truth, Paravant, the situation is still dire," Morihaus admitted in a softer voice, standing a little ways away from the rest of the men, though Atkynd was still close enough to overhear. "Though Pelinal is a peerless warrior, he cannot win this battle alone. And this army is ill-prepared for a battle so soon…."

"Oh? Have you no faith in your own training, then?" the Paravant asked, her tone almost playful. "Have you been leading me astray? Are your assurances that you would turn my fellow humans into soldiers that could defeat any Ayleid army actually falsehoods?"

"Of… of course not!" Morihaus stammered in protest. "I merely wished to impress upon you that even with Pelinal, victory is not assured!"

"But is it within our grasp?" the Paravant insisted.

"…I believe so, if your warriors are positioned properly…." Morihaus murmured.

"Then I trust you shall position them properly," the Paravant said firmly.

The man-bull snorted softly, then inclined his head once again. "As you say, Paravant. With your permission, I shall take command."

"Do so, general," the Paravant ordered him.

The bull nodded as he raised his head. As he did, the silver knight approached him, folding his arms over his chest.

"So! This is the army you've assembled, nephew?" Pelinal asked rhetorically. He began pacing back and forth, inspecting them from the back. "They don't lack for courage. I can see that much. What of their skill? Do you believe them equal to the task of holding this glade?"

"…They must be," the beast snorted after a moment's hesitation. When Pelinal turned to stare at him, Morihaus added more confidently, "I believe we can emerge victorious. The elves will underestimate us. They believe they are facing an uncoordinated rabble, and their arms and armor are indeed far superior to ours. Yet while they are better equipped and have more battlefield experience, I feel our tactics, our training, and most importantly, our need to win are superior to theirs. Though if they have the advantage of magic…."

"Bah! Don't fret," Pelinal grunted. "I slew both of their sorcerer-kings."

"…Both?" Morihaus repeated slowly, turning to face the knight. "I was under the impression that there are three kings in this region."

"Indeed?" Pelinal asked absently, before shrugging. "No matter. Rest assured, if any sorcerer among the elves dares to cast spells, I shall dispose of them the same as those kings."

"Hm. Let us hope that we do not need to," Morihaus muttered quietly. Then he turned back around. "The terrain here also provides us with another excellent advantage. The lake and the slope leading into the glade shall slow their warriors and make them easy targets for the phalanx we've assembled. The enemy army cannot easily pass through the trees – if they try, any formation they assemble will be scattered. I recommend that you and I remain on the flanks, as we are more than a match for any individual elf, and if we position ourselves carefully, we can engage them in duels rather than being forced to fight large groups." He glanced over his shoulder, adding, "We also have about thirty or so archers that I shall position behind the phalanx. They can provide cover for the infantry and dispatch any skirmishers that slip behind us. So long as the phalanx is not out-flanked, our chances of achieving victory are quite good."

"Naturally. I am here now, after all," Pelinal said haughtily. Morihaus chuckled as the knight added, "So, would you prefer the left flank, or the right?"

"I shall remain on the left," Morihaus said, to which Pelinal nodded. Then, suddenly, the bull stamped his hooves and shook his head, letting out a deep lowing sound. Pelinal paused, tilting his head and staring the minotaur. Though Atkynd couldn't see his face, he suspected that the knight was regarding him with a look of amusement. Noticing this, Morihaus settled down, almost seeming sheepish. "Forgive me, uncle," he rumbled. "I can hardly contain my excitement. I have waited so long to fight alongside you, to fulfill the destinies that the gods have set before us."

"Destiny is fickle, Mor," Pelinal replied, reaching out to put his hand on the bull's shoulder. "We were assigned our tasks, but even we cannot see where our paths lead. Only the gods know how this shall end. We can only heed their missives and fulfill our roles as best we can." Then he began chuckling again. "But I too am eager to begin. Shall we make a sport of it?"

Morihaus frowned, shaking his huge head. "I must not, else the soldiers might follow that example. This is my duty, not a sport."

"Pity. Very well!" Pelinal replied airily as he sheathed his sword and unslung his shield, gripping his mace in his right hand. "Let us attend to our duty, then."

The bull nodded as he raised his head as Pelinal trudged off to the right side of the formation. Then, a moment later, Morihaus seemed to realize he was being watched. His enormous brown eyes fell on Atkynd, who had been watching the exchange quietly some distance away. The beast's eyes narrowed slightly as he snorted, "What are you doing?"

Atkynd hesitated. "What? I…!" His voice caught in his throat, unable to formulate a proper response as the massive beast stomped over to him. A pitiful, high-pitched sound squeaked out of his throat as the man-beast towered over him.

"You should be in formation," the bull cut him off. A large, hairy hand reached out and grabbed Atkynd by the shoulder, pushing him inexorably towards the cluster of warriors. Atkynd was dragged several feet across the grass before he managed to regain his composure enough to respond properly.

"Wait, wait! I'm not one of your warriors!" Atkynd insisted.

"No?" Morihaus asked, pausing for a moment to appraise him. "Hm… come to think of it, I don't believe I've seen you before. Did you arrive today?" When Atkynd nodded quickly, the bull snorted again, "Even if you are a new member of the rebellion, you are not exempt from this battle. I realize that there is no time to train you, and for that, you have my apologies. You needn't fear, however. The instructions I shall provide are simple. If you are confused by my commands, simply observe what the others are doing."

"No, I mean… I wasn't meant to fight!" Atkynd insisted. "I'm an emissary from-!"

"That matters little," Morihaus interrupted. "We have no use for emissaries right now. What we require are warriors, and if you can wield a weapon, you can serve as a warrior." The bull gave him a disdainful look, then added, "What's more, you hardly look like an emissary to me."

Atkynd winced as he looked down at himself. He was still wearing only his trousers, which were coated in mud like all the other slaves, and the tie keeping his pale blond hair in a ponytail had come loose, so that his pale blond hair hung in a bedraggled mess around his shoulders, covering his pointed ears. He realized that he must indeed look just like any other slave.

"He's being honest, though! He's a Manmer from Malabal!" Tari piped up suddenly beside Atkynd. Both he and Morihaus turned to glance at her, and Atkynd smiled at her gratefully.

"Truly? How curious," Morihaus remarked, though it was clear from his tone that he was still unmoved. His brown eyes fell on the bronze shortsword still hanging from Atkynd's hip. "Tell me… is that weapon a mere decoration?"

Atkynd looked down at his sword, frowning slightly. "I've… been trained to use it," he admitted slowly. "Though I'm no warrior-!"

"If you've been taught to wield a blade, then you are already better trained than most of these men," Morihaus interrupted again. "And while I see that you are wounded, your injuries must not be particularly severe if you have energy enough to protest. Garius!" he called suddenly, addressing one of the centurions. "We have spare shields and spears available, yes?"

"Yes, general. We brought spares with us in case they break during the battle, as you instructed," the centurion replied. He pointed to one of the warriors in the back row. "Fetch an additional weapon for the general."

Atkynd's heart began pounding in his chest as he dazedly watched the warrior sprint across the clearing to the bundle of spears lying on the ground near the baggage. He turned back to Morihaus, pleading, "But I've never fought in a battle before…!"

"Neither have most of these men," Morihaus countered. "Now, your role as part of the phalanx will be simple. I will position you near the back. If an enemy draws near, you should attempt to stab them, but if you do nothing else, maintain your position. I doubt maneuvering will be necessary, so this will likely be your only task. Do you understand?"

Atkynd continued to balk as the young human approached him, holding the spear and shield out for him. Once again, Atkynd's voice caught in his throat, and he stammered, "I… I…!"

The bull narrowed its large eyes, but then, surprisingly, its expression relaxed. That large, heavy hand squeezed Atkynd's slender shoulder surprisingly gently, and his deep voice became softer. "I understand your fear, your hesitation," he said quietly. "However, you have only two options before you. If you will not fight, I must ask that you depart this clearing and surrender to the Ayleids, as one who will not fight shall only be in our way. I must warn you, however, that doing so will assuredly result in your death – the Ayleids will not take prisoners. On the other hand, if you wish to live, you must earn your right to do so through force of arms. We need every body we can spare standing in the phalanx. Our numbers are so few that any additional warrior may well turn the tide of battle in our favor. Those are your options, boy: Leave and die, or fight for your right to live. So… I shall ask you one last time: Will you stand with us?"

Atkynd's heart pounded in his ears, and his muscles froze with indecision. Obviously, he had no choice, but his mind still screamed for him to find some way out of this. He knew better than anyone that he was no fighter. He was thin, even for the notoriously frail Manmer, and though he had been trained in swordsmanship, he knew very well that there was a stark difference between dueling with wooden blades for points and trying to kill another being.

Yet, despite his protests, he knew he had no other choice. Morihaus was right – the Ayleids wouldn't care about his status as an emissary, nor that he wanted no part in this rebellion. They would kill him all the same before he had the chance to explain himself. His only avenue of escape was through the Ayleid armies. And while he was fully aware that these humans had almost no chance of victory, he would rather grasp at that infinitesimally small chance than surrender completely to an assured death. Something within him wouldn't let him die without at least fighting.

Atkynd sighed, his shoulders slumping, as he reached out and reluctantly took the spear and shield from the human. The bull drew himself up slightly, his eyes widening with what Atkynd assumed was pride and approval, and he snorted before nudging Atkynd towards the assembled ranks of humans. As he began reluctantly trudging towards the lines, the bull moved past him, his gaze falling on Tari.

"What of you, girl?" the general asked in a low voice. "Will you take up arms as well and aid us in defending this glade?"

"I would… but I am an alchemist," Tari explained slowly. "If you order it, I will gladly join the line, but-"

"Ah. There is no need for you to join the line, then," Morihaus nodded. "To send you into battle would be risking a skill far more valuable than merely adding another spear to our shieldwall. Instead, I would ask that you remain within the safety of the glade and tend to the wounds of any who are required to fall back." The man-bull raised his head, gazing around the clearing. "You will find that many of these plants have healing properties, which is part of the reason why this area is sacred to my mother, Kyne. While our warriors fight, please spend your time collecting and preparing them so that we may treat the wounded."

"As you wish," Tari nodded. She immediately crouched down and began inspecting the flowers intently, muttering to herself, before delicately plucking the stalks of a few brilliant red buds. Atkynd scowled at the bull as he began tramping reluctantly towards the phalanx. He caught the Paravant's eye out of the corner of his, and when she noticed him glancing at her, she winced when she saw the weapons in his hands, and she mouthed an apology to him. Atkynd sighed to himself, then shook his head and picked up the pace, hurrying to the open spot in the formation. While he would have given anything to avoid taking part in this battle, he begrudgingly admitted that he didn't have a skill like Tari's that was valuable enough to exempt him from fighting. Unless the Ayleids spontaneously decided to negotiate mid-battle, the only useful thing he could do right now was try to help repel the invaders.

As he approached the rear of the second century, he noticed a few of the warriors in the back ranks gazing at him. To his surprise, they were regarding him with expressions of respect and camaraderie, which he hadn't expected. The men parted silently to allow him to stand beside them, whereupon he slipped quietly into the center of the line.

"Welcome," a stocky, ruddy-skinned man to his left said. Atkynd gazed down at the warrior, who was a head shorter than him, and he noticed the man was smiling warmly up at him. Atkynd nodded mutely in reply, not trusting himself to open his mouth right then. At his silent response, the man asked gently, "Are you afraid?"

Atkynd swallowed as he turned his gaze towards the weapons in his hands. He realized that his arms were shaking, and his stomach had twisted itself up in knots. He felt like vomiting. Still, he managed to suppress his nausea enough to admit weakly, "Terrified."

The man nodded, his smile turning sympathetic. "You are not alone," he replied quietly. "The general says that there is no shame in feeling fear when facing death, however, so long as you do not run from it."

"Well… it's not as though there's anywhere else we can run," Atkynd pointed out, glancing over his shoulder at the thick trees behind them. The man blinked up at him, then burst out laughing.

"No, I suppose there isn't!" the man agreed, grinning. "So we have nothing left to fear, eh?"

"I'd say we have plenty left to fear," Atkynd muttered. Then he raised his voice, adding, "I… have not received the combat instruction that you all have. Do you have any advice?"

The former slave nodded. "The most important advice that I can impart is that you mind your shield," he replied. "Your weapon is far less vital. A spear may be broken, but even then, it can still be used. And I see that you also have a blade, so you needn't fear being disarmed. You also have a hundred comrades who will also be attacking alongside you, so there is little point in seeking the individual glory of a kill. However, only you can adequately defend yourself, and if your shield is broken, you will find surviving this battle far more difficult. If you must decide between maintaining your grip on your spear or your shield, always choose your shield. Here… you're not holding it properly. Let me help you."

Atkynd nodded silently as he drove the butt of his spear into the mud, then began sliding his shield over his arm. Now that he saw it from the back, he realized that it was more complex than he had first realized. The large, flat, rectangular piece of wood consisted of a few smooth planks glued together, with a large leather strap running down the center, and a bronze handle near the edge of the shield. The man helped him slide the strap over his shoulder, and Atkynd inhaled sharply as the weight pulled on his wounded arm. He grit his teeth as he lifted it up, clenching the handle tightly to help him ignore the pain.

"There you are," the man said, nodding with satisfaction. "Now keep that up and thrust your spear through the gaps in the formation. And mind that you don't jab any of your brothers in the back. They won't like that." The man chuckled as he began sliding his own shield back over his shoulder. He struggled with it for a few moments, using his right hand to jam it over his left arm, while Atkynd watched in confusion. Then, he suddenly realized that the man's left hand was missing, and that he was sliding the stump of his wrist through a slightly larger handle that had apparently been crafted just for him. Atkynd spontaneously decided that his shoulder didn't hurt that much.

"Why aren't those damned elves attacking?" Atkynd heard someone whisper. He frowned to himself, suddenly realizing that the speaker was right – he could see the lights flickering just outside the glade, but none of the elves were moving.

"They're probably waiting for orders," a feminine voice replied. "Didn't that… warrior kill their kings? They likely don't know what to do now."

"And are you really complaining that we get to rest?" another voice asked. "I've been running since we had to abandon the advance camp!"

"Good! You should run more anyways. I've seen you stealing extra rations of porridge, Flamino," another voice piped up. Nervous laughter rippled through the ranks, until the centurion at the front of the formation wheeled around to glare at the warriors, whereupon they immediately quieted down. Atkynd was left baffled and amazed by their ability to laugh at all in such a grim situation.

Evidently, the soldier wasn't the only one who was wondering why they weren't being attacked. Moments later, a new, loud voice echoed from outside the glade.

"What is this?!" the familiar voice demanded. Atkynd immediately recognized the haughty tone that belonged to Glinferen, the King of Atatar. "When I arrived, I expected to see a mound of freshly-slaughtered corpses, a hill of dead slaves! Instead, I see two entire armies milling about as though awaiting invitation into a temple! Why have you not attacked those rebels?!"

"Your Majesty… our kings have been slain!" a mer warrior cried.

"Your kings have…?" Glinferen echoed incredulously.

"A strange warrior clad in silver emerged from the shadows, wielding a sword and mace wreathed in fire!" another trembling voice exclaimed. "He… he slew them so easily! When they struck him, their blades did nothing! Their spells were turned away before they touched him! Then he… he…!" The voice trailed off, then added moments later, "He has joined the slaves. We… we don't dare…!"

Atkynd noticed some of the men trading grins out of the corner of his eye when they heard the elf's testimony. To his right, Atkynd thought he heard a raspy baritone voice chortling.

"Sniveling cowards!" Glinferen roared, cutting off the voice. "You fear a mere assassin?! A shadow in the night?! Your kings lie dead, unavenged, and their killer is not a thousand feet away, yet you dishonor their memory by refusing to take vengeance?! You dare call yourselves warriors of Arpenia and Veyond?!" Ashamed silence followed Glinferen's accusation, broken only by the splashing of the rain on the mud. "You require a king to give you orders?" he added in a softer, more dangerous tone. "Very well. There! There on that hill are your kings' killers! Fetid animals armed with sticks! Livestock, unworthy of the mud they wallow in! If you fear them, you may as well throw yourselves on your swords now, else I shall do it for you! Face forward and attack them, elves of Veyond and Arpenia! Bring me the head of this assassin and avenge the deaths of your kings!"

A furious roar erupted from the ranks of the elves. Atkynd glanced to his left and right, grimly noting that none of the humans were laughing now. Privately, he had to admit that Glinferen's own speech was at least as effective as the Paravant's had been. Pelinal's assault on the Ayleids had clearly damaged their spirit, yet now he saw the lights of the Ayleids advancing towards them once more. What's more, the fact that Glinferen had only ordered the armies of Veyond and Arpenia forward hadn't escaped his notice. He suspected that he was keeping the army of Atatar in reserve, using Arpenia and Veyond's armies as auxiliaries, fodder to avoid taking unnecessary casualties. He figured that Glinferen intended to use the armies both to bolster his own prestige by taking command, and to weaken his rivals by expending as many of their forces as possible. Once this battle ended, if the two other armies were sufficiently weakened, he would be presented with a ripe opportunity to move south and potentially conquer them. Shrewd, he thought to himself.

The frenzied screams of the Ayleids grew louder as the horde of elves poured out of the trees, rushing towards the glade with their weapons drawn. They wielded bronze swords, axes, spears, and daggers, and most carried large, circular bronze shields painted green or white, depending on their home city. As they approached, a booming voice resounded from Atkynd's left.

"They come! Hold steady, men of Cyrod! Stand your ground!" Morihaus bellowed. "Slay any that draw near!"

Even though he was at the rear of the formation, Atkynd could hear the frenzied screams of the elves growing louder as they closed in. His hand trembled as it gripped the spear so tightly that his knuckles turned white. His eyes were wide with terror, yet he couldn't look away from the frenzied mob tearing across the field towards them.

The Ayleids charged into the pond of slurry and mud just before the clearing, heedless of the danger it presented, though they seemed to immediately regret their mistake. Their fury abated somewhat as they lost their footing in the water, and their wild charge was slowed to a crawl. One or two of the Ayleids in the lead hesitated, turning back towards their comrades to warn them of the hazard, but before they could call out, the other elves began pushing them forward, urging them on as they shouted for human blood. With no other option, no way to make themselves heard over the battle-cries of their comrades, the lead Ayleids reluctantly waded forward into the deep water. Those behind them realized their mistake too late as they too were pushed forward by the elves who were further back, until dozens of elves were forced into the dirty water by their own impatience and rage. The men on the slope above watched silently, spears lowered and shields raised.

Eventually, the first line of Ayleids managed to crawl out of the mud, but it was clear to Atkynd – who was tall enough to see over the first few ranks of men – that they were already exhausted. Crossing the pool of water had been tiring for him in just a pair of trousers; he was amazed that the Ayleids had managed to get across it at all while wearing heavy bronze armor. They were weighed down by their soaked gear, with the slurry of mud caking their joints and slowing their advance even more. When they finally got within range of the humans, they could barely lift their arms to defend themselves. The former slaves showed them no pity.

Dozens of spearpoints rained down on the weary Ayleids, jabbing them repeatedly as the humans let out screams of unbridled rage. Many of the attacks were deflected by the bronze helmets and breastplates that the elves wore, and some were even able to bring their shields up to better protect themselves. Eventually, however, the sustained attacks found gaps in their armor, especially in their faces, necks, and arms. Though the spearpoints were only made of fire-hardened wood, they were more than adequate to pierce flesh and muscle.

The pained screams of the Ayleids began echoing through the night above the splashing of the water, the pattering of the rain, and the occasional rumbles of thunder above them. Some of the elves still wallowing in the pond realized how quickly the first wave had been demolished and tried to halt their advance and form some sort of line so that they could counter the organized human phalanx. However, the warriors behind them continued to shove them forward before they could achieve any sort of cohesion, and the zeal of the elves that hadn't reached the pond yet continued to push those in front inexorably towards the wall of spears waiting above them. With no other option, the Ayleids were forced to advance individually, where, exhausted, they were easy prey for the spearmen.

This cycle continued for several minutes, and soon scores of elves lay dead at the bank of the deep pond. Their blood mixed with the tan water, turning it the sickening, dark shade of rust. Atkynd watched with horrified fascination as the bodies began to pile up, and to his amazement, not a single human casualty had yet been sustained. Morihaus' plan was working flawlessly.

Glinferen seemed to recognize this as well. Over the roar of battle cries, screams, and weapons clashing, Atkynd heard the elf shout, "Archers!" Atkynd could vaguely make out shapes moving in the shadows beyond the pond, their bodies illuminated by the crystal orbs they dropped on the ground. In the dim light, he saw them stringing bows and drawing arrows from leather quivers at their hips.

Beside him, Atkynd heard the one-handed man gasp, "He cannot truly expect his archers to shoot now! He'd risk attacking his own warriors!"

"Those aren't his warriors," Atkynd pointed out quietly. The one-handed man's eyes widened as he realized Atkynd was right – Glinferen still hadn't sent his own men into the fray. The only ones who would sustain casualties were the elves of Veyond and Arpenia.

"Shields high!" one of the centurions yelled, recognizing the impending danger. The order was repeated down the lines, and the human warriors raised their shields at an angle. Atkynd did the same, wincing as his shoulder seared from the pain of its weight pressing down on him. He ducked his head under the wood, reasoning that if raindrops weren't falling on him, the arrows wouldn't be able to either.

"Loose!" Glinferen shouted. Atkynd was vaguely aware of a distant twanging and the sound of wood clacking. For a few long, tense seconds, nothing happened. Then a distant, high-pitched whistling sound reached his ears, which quickly became louder. All at once, the din of several bronze arrowheads burying themselves into wood echoed in his ears, followed by the yells and screams of those unlucky enough to have been struck. A heavy weight slammed into his shield, and Atkynd grunted, his knees buckling slightly as he braced himself against the impact. Looking up, he noticed that a couple small holes had appeared in the rear of his shield. Gingerly, he pulled it down and inspected it. Two arrows had lodged themselves deep in the wood, one of which would have struck him in the forehead if his shield hadn't been in the way. Atkynd took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, just as Glinferen shouted again, "Loose!"

Atkynd quickly snapped his shield up again, though this time he bent his knees slightly. He let out a gasp as the shield again shuddered under the impact of the arrows, but once again, he was thankfully unharmed. Behind him, he heard a feminine voice shout, "Archers! Aim at their back lines!"

Atkynd glanced over his shoulder to see a line of about thirty human bowmen take up a position behind the phalanx. Pasare was among them, and when she caught his eye, she winked at him before nocking an arrow. Behind her, he saw Tari still rooting around in the flowers, seemingly oblivious to the battle raging in front of her. She was furiously grinding petals into her stone mortar, muttering under her breath as rainwater dripped from her gaunt body.

"Loose!" the Paravant shouted. The human archers aimed upward and released a cloud of their own arrows, though Atkynd had no idea how they were aiming in the sheer darkness. Nevertheless, at least some of them seemed to be on target, as seconds later, he heard the wounded cries of the Ayleids in the distance. Though he wasn't sure how deadly the return fire was, it did disrupt the rain of bolts long enough for him to turn his attention back to the phalanx and assess the damage.

Unfortunately, it seemed that the Ayleid volleys had done their job of disrupting the shield wall. He saw a few humans with arrows sticking out of their shoulders or legs, trying to shrug off the pain. There were also gaps in the phalanx that he suspected were downed humans, though he couldn't tell whether they had been killed or were merely incapacitated. Worse, however, was the fact that in the chaos, a few of the Ayleids had managed to work their way past the phalanx's foremost spearpoints and were attacking the first rank. At close quarters, the humans were at a disadvantage, as they were only armed with crude stone knives that were little help against the bronze swords and axes of the half-dozen Ayleids that had managed to get close enough to use them. It was all the men could do to keep their shields up and deflect the furious assault from the elves. Atkynd held his breath as he watched one of the men in the front rank hide behind his shield as the sneering Ayleid rained furious blows down on him. Though the men in the second and third rank were jabbing at the elf with their own spears, they weren't scoring anything more than glancing blows off his armor, and the fourth and fifth ranks – Atkynd included – were too far back to be of any help. Atkynd could only watch in horror, wondering if the man was about to be killed.

"Advance!" Morihaus bellowed suddenly from the left. "Push them back!"

An arm nudged him, and Atkynd glanced at his one-handed companion, who was nodding encouragingly as he raised his shield. Atkynd did the same, and they both began pushing at the backs of the men in front of them. All along the phalanx, the men in the back ranks began doing the same, bracing their comrades and urging them forward. The second and third ranks of men continued stabbing at the Ayleids as they advanced, trying to dislodge the mer and throw them off balance as they moved forward. Slowly, the inexorable weight of the human lines began to force the scattered elves back, their heavy boots slipping on the slick mud of the bank. The humans' combined mass was too much for them, and moments later, they were pushed back into the water. Atkynd noticed the man who had been under attack moments before had pressed his shield against the chest of his opponent, and with a final grunt, shoved him backwards. The elf flailed, his arms windmilling, as he fell into the dark water. He began yelling and choking, holding an arm out pleadingly as he sank into the murky depths, his armor dragging him beneath the surface.

The sudden surge from the humans caught the Ayleid attackers off-guard, and as their footing was already unsteady, more were forced beneath the surface of the water. Their heavy boots caught in the muck, leaving them unable to pull themselves out of the mire, until all that could be seen of them were their hands desperately clawing above the surface, trying to find something to cling to, to pull themselves out. The water in the pond grew choppy as the elves struggled, and it became increasingly difficult for them to wade across it. This provided a brief reprieve for the human phalanx, which managed to reset its position. Once more, the men stood solidly in the entrance to the glade, their spears bristling as they warily watched the elves struggling in the dirty water.

Morihaus must have noticed the lull in combat, as he bellowed a new order that resounded through the clearing: "Rotate!" At once, the first two lines began wheeling to the back, as the next two lines moved forward to take their place. Atkynd found himself being pushed forward, towards the front lines, as the warriors that had made up the first ranks filed in behind him. Suddenly, he found himself being pressed in on all sides. The sickening stench of sweat, blood, and the swamp enveloped him, and he struggled not to gag. Between the smell and the horrors he'd been witness to all night, he knew that if he retched, he wouldn't be able to prevent himself from emptying his stomach.

"Healer!" Morihaus shouted again, keeping a wary eye on the elves still struggling in the water. "Tend to the wounded!"

Out of the corner of his eye, Atkynd saw Tari dart across the glade. In her hands she carried several bundles of ground flowers, which she immediately began pressing into the warriors' wounds. She had managed to find several lengths of cloth – likely strips torn from spare clothing that the slaves had in their tents, Atkynd reasoned – which she began using to bind the worst of the wounds.

"Thank you for healing us, sister," Atkynd heard a warrior mutter.

"This will do little to actually heal you," Tari responded quietly. "It will, however, relieve the pain. Try not to strain too much, if you can."

"I'm afraid that's impossible," the man replied, chuckling darkly. "Go now, my leg is fine. Tend to Cela, she's suffered far more deadly wounds than I."

Before Atkynd could watch more, he felt a nudge in his arm. The one-armed soldier nodded towards the front of the formation, silently telling Atkynd to focus. Atkynd reluctantly did as he was ordered, lowering his spear and swallowing heavily. Now that he was in the middle rank, he would be expected to help repel the next assault, he realized. Bile rose in his throat, but he quickly swallowed, trying not to think about it.

A distant twanging sound made his ear twitch, and Atkynd instinctively raised his shield again. The wood narrowly protected his head as more arrows rained down on them, and he winced as he heard one or two more screams of pain. However, he also noted that the hail of arrows pelting them didn't seem quite as thick. Whether that was because their own archers were effectively holding the Ayleid bowmen at bay, or the worsening storm was making shooting more difficult, he wasn't sure. Nor did he particularly care, so long as he remained uninjured.

As the last of the arrows fell, the Ayleids pushing against the shield wall suddenly surged forward again, pressing against the bulwark of spears and shields holding the entrance to the glade. Atkynd felt his bare feet slip several inches across the mud until a strong shield pushed into his back, steadying him. He grunted and dug his toes in, shoving back against the Ayleids' advance, as the men in the first row resumed ruthlessly jabbing their spears forward, driving the elves back a bit more. Atkynd tentatively thrusted his own spear forward, feeling the tip push against the solid bronze breastplate of an Ayleid he couldn't see. Still, it must have done something, as when he thrusted again, his spear's tip only hit air. Atkynd exhaled deeply, once again trying not to consider the implications, as he felt the phalanx push forward again, resuming its position at the entrance to the glade.

In the distance, he heard Glinferen let out a growl of frustration. "Fools!" he shouted, his voice momentarily drowned out by a thunderclap. "If you cannot assault them from the front, take to the trees! Surround them!"

"Yes! Take to the trees!" Atkynd heard Pelinal cackle to his right, banging his mace against his shield. "Come, mer! Here stands your assassin, your kingslayer! Come, take my head if you dare!"

Abruptly, the mass of bodies pushing against the phalanx diminished somewhat. Atkynd became vaguely aware that maintaining his footing was no longer quite so difficult. He dared peek over the shoulders of the men in front of him, and he noticed that some of the elves on the flanks were surging around the sides of the phalanx, heading into the trees instead. Atkynd hesitated, wondering if they should be concerned, but when he instinctively shifted left, he felt a strong hand grab his shoulder. Glancing behind him, he saw a brawny woman shake her head.

"Hold the line," she said firmly. "Our brothers and sisters will attend to the enemy around us. Focus on those before you."

Atkynd nodded, slowly relaxing, but he couldn't help but watch as small bands of elves scrambled along the steep, slick bank of the forest, struggling up it to try and flank the phalanx. As soon as they made their way into the trees, though, they were immediately met with terrors that Atkynd suspected must have made hundreds of spears seem tame by comparison.

To his right, Pelinal let out a gleeful, bloodthirsty laugh as a half dozen elves charged towards him. They tried to stay in a line, but the thick trees made maintaining a formation impossible, and they were forced to split up. The silver knight met them as soon as they began breaking into smaller groups, positioning himself to face two of them at a time. A young female elf tried to stab at him, but he almost lazily brought his shield up and knocked the blow aside. As he did, he stepped past that elf and focused on her comrade, raising his mace over his shoulder and bringing it down in a short, overhand blow. The heavy, silver head slammed into his collarbone, shattering it, and the force of Pelinal's attack drove the hapless elf into the ground. The mer coughed up a mouthful of blood and lay still. Before his companion could react, Pelinal slammed the face of his shield into the Ayleid's body, knocking her off-balance, whereupon he swung the mace into her ribs. The bronze breastplate dented under the force of the blow, and the Ayleid was knocked sprawling. Atkynd's eyes widened as he noticed a bright orange glow in the center of the dent the mace had left, as though the metal had been heated.

A third elf charged towards Pelinal from behind, swinging his sword over his head with a furious cry. The edge of the sword struck the knight's mail cleanly, but was harmlessly deflected upwards, as though the elf had struck a rock. Pelinal glanced over his shoulder, then swung his mace around in a short, vicious arc, which caught the Ayleid in the jaw. Atkynd winced as a sickening crack resounded through the glade, and the elf was sent tumbling for several feet before colliding with the base of a tree, where they crumpled and lay motionless.

Before Atkynd could witness what happened to the other three elves that were attacking Pelinal, a deep bellow to his left stole his attention. On the left flank, Morihaus was engaged with a trio of Ayleids as well, though unlike with Pelinal, his sheer presence was enough to make the elves pause. Not that Atkynd could blame them – facing down a seven-foot tall, winged, bull-human monstrosity was not something they could have ever anticipated, much less trained for. Still, one of the Ayleids overcame her fear and charged at the bull wildly, screaming as she raised her axe over her head. Morihaus didn't let her get close enough to use it, however. He swung his massive club around with both hands, and the thick, heavy wood caught the woman in the side. She was literally sent flying several feet, crashing somewhere out of sight in the black woods beyond the glade. The other two elves froze, quaking in fear, as Morihaus turned his bloodshot brown eyes towards them and snorted. They traded looks, then one tentatively stepped forward. Morihaus roared at the elf as he halfheartedly jabbed the bull with a bronze-tipped spear. The weapon slid off the black breastplate Morihaus wore, not even scratching it, and before the elf could do more than whimper, the bull grabbed him around the middle and threw him back into the woods. The other elf turned to flee as Morihaus lowered his horns, bellowing as he charged after the screaming Ayleid, who dropped his weapons and sprinted for the treeline in a desperate attempt to escape the raging monster.

A renewed push at the front of the phalanx tore Atkynd's gaze away from the skirmishes on the flanks and returned it to the wave of Ayleids struggling to push past the shieldwall. However, the attempts were becoming noticeably weaker as fatigue and lowered morale set in. Once again, Atkynd braced his shield and jabbed with his spear, and once more the elven warriors were pushed back into the frothing brown water below. To his relief, this time, many of the elves assaulting them seemed to have had enough. When their attack was repelled, they began turning around and running, fleeing towards Glinferen's lines.

As they drew near, however, Glinferen coldly raised his hand and motioned to the retreating elves. Immediately, a wall of arrows struck the broken elves, cutting them down. Their screams and cries filled the air, and Atkynd's eyes widened at the senseless brutality. Glinferen sighed and looked over his shoulder at his own forces.

"Pathetic," he spat. "I had hoped that they might have at least cut down a hundred of them. Well… no matter. Elves of Atatar! Let us put an end to this farce."

Atkynd's heart sank as the red-cloaked forces of Atatar drew their weapons and began advancing slowly in orderly rows. His spear-arm began shaking, and his left shoulder abruptly began throbbing again. These elves were fresh, rested, and had been watching how the humans fought throughout the entire battle. On the other hand, while the phalanx had thus far suffered few casualties, the men were exhausted and nearly everyone had sustained at least minor wounds. What's more, Atkynd did a quick count of the elves he could see, and guessed that they were facing about two thousand warriors. Even after all the lives they had taken, they were still outnumbered about five to one. Could they even hope to outlast this latest assault?

"Mor!" Pelinal shouted from Atkynd's left, pausing to kick an Ayleid down the slope near the entrance to the glade. "I intend to put an end to this battle, but I require some time. Can you ensure that we are not outflanked?"

Atkynd looked to his left and saw Morihaus hesitate, seeming unsure of himself. "You intend to use…?"

"Yes. These men have fought hard, and they needn't outlast this coward who waits until his enemy has exhausted itself before he fights," Pelinal replied. Then he chuckled grimly. "I shall to disavow him of the notion that he may claim victory at his leisure once his enemies have expended themselves. However, I ask that you to ensure their safety until then."

"…Very well, uncle," Morihaus agreed. Then he turned to the men, just as the first of the Atatar forces walked into the pond, seemingly unperturbed by the deep water. "Men of Cyrod! You have more than proven your courage, strength, and valor this day!" he shouted. "Look there! Two armies lay dead at your feet, and one more marches willingly to its death! I must ask you, one last time… hold the line! Do not let this enemy past you! Fight until your limbs give out, and then gnaw the enemy's throats if you must! But do not yield! Victory is at hand!"

None of the warriors had the strength to reply to Morihaus with a cheer, but a grim resolve settled over the ranks as the men lowered their spears again. As they prepared themselves, however, the centurion in charge of Atkynd's platoon glanced them over, seeming to consider something. Then came a command that made Atkynd's heart stop. "First two ranks, rotate!"

Atkynd watched in terror as the two rows in front of him quickly peeled away and headed to the back to get their wounds treated, leaving Atkynd's line in the first rank, staring down the slowly advancing lines of elves. He suddenly felt very exposed. He realized then just how thin his shield was, and how sharp the Ayleid weapons were. He began breathing rapidly, trembling, as the elves reached the edge of the slope leading into the glade. He was so numb that he almost didn't feel the nudge from the one-handed slave beside him. Atkynd glanced at him, though he felt as though he almost couldn't see the slave.

"Keep your shield up," the slave said, his voice echoing as though from far away. "We will survive this."

Atkynd nodded silently and almost automatically raised his shield. As the first elf in front of him began climbing out of the muck, he jabbed his spear at the warrior's body, but the Ayleid almost negligently brushed the weak attack aside and charged in. Before he could get close, however, two more spears on either side of Atkynd struck the elf in the sides, one of which caught him under the armpit, where there was no armor. The mer coughed and slipped, sinking to the ground before lying still, blood dripping out of his mouth.

Oddly, the sight of the dead elf seemed to snap Atkynd out of his daze, and he once more became aware of his companions on either side of him. Another Ayleid charged for the man to his right, and almost before he realized it, Atkynd's spear lashed out, catching her in the side. The attack didn't pierce her armor, but it did make her stagger, whereupon another spear further down the line caught her in the throat.

Despite himself, Atkynd let out a little laugh, though he thought it sounded deranged. Yet another elf approached him, swinging his sword wildly. Atkynd flinched, raising his shield, and the blade sank deep into the soaked wood, catching on it. The elf grunted, trying to pull the blade free, but before he could, the one-handed slave beside Atkynd jabbed the Ayleid in his unprotected shoulder. The elf shouted in pain and stumbled backward, falling into the water, as two more elves surged up the slope towards them.

"Push!" a voice roared behind the ranks of elves. "They cannot hold their line forever! As one, force them back!"

Atkynd raised his shield as the duo of elves attacked him at the same time. Their initial attacks struck his shield at the same time, but unlike the previous attackers, they continued swinging, not allowing Atkynd to reset his position or counterattack. He grit his teeth and ducked behind his shield, bracing it against his shoulder. Each blow felt like he was being struck with a red-hot hammer in his shoulder as the attacks rattled his arrow wound, but he tightened his grip on his shield. Pain was good, he reasoned. Pain meant that he wasn't dead yet.

One of his attackers suddenly let out a sharp cry and staggered back. Atkynd peeked to his left to see the one-handed man grinning at him. Atkynd smiled back, but his smile immediately dropped as another elf suddenly appeared in the man's blind spot. He tried to get his spear around to help his companion, but it was pinned against his side.

"Behind you!" Atkynd shouted, trying desperately to get the man's attention. The man's grin faded, and he turned in time to see his attacker bring his sword up and slash downward. Before he could raise his shield, the blade cut deep into his shoulder. Blood splashed over Atkynd as the human warrior screamed, whereupon the Ayleid unceremoniously rammed the point of his blade through the one-handed slave's throat. The lifeless body crumpled to the ground, twitching.

Horror, terror, and fury all gripped Atkynd at the same time as his eyes lingered on the body of the man who had helped him so much that evening. The Ayleid, meanwhile, pressed in, raising his blade to attack Atkynd as well. Instinctively, Atkynd dropped his spear and slid his hand to his belt, drawing his shortsword. He brought the blade across his body, his left hand still holding his shield up in front of him, and he just barely managed to deflect the Ayleid's attack to the side. The elf seemed surprised as Atkynd shifted to his left, covering the gap left by the fallen warrior, and with a quick movement, he thrusted his blade at the Ayleid's face. The mer managed to sway to the side, but the second Atkynd had bought was enough for a woman further down the line to notice the attacker and jab the Ayleid in the temple. Though the helmet protected the Ayleid from a fatal blow, it did send him reeling back down the slope.

Atkynd turned back to his right in time for three more Ayleids to charge into him, lowering their shoulders as they rammed into his shield. Atkynd somehow managed to keep his balance as the shields behind him braced against his back, and he flailed his sword around over the top of his shield while trying to dodge the thrusts of the Ayleid weapons around him. Part of him was suddenly very grateful for how lean he was, as he felt the blades nick his sides, but none did more than superficial damage. However, he could feel the rest of the phalanx being pushed back under their weight, and even with the men at his back supporting him, he wasn't strong enough to hold the line. He could feel his feet slipping as the elves stormed up the bank and finally found their footing on solid ground.

"Hold! Just a few more moments!" a gravelly voice shouted. Atkynd couldn't be sure if it was Pelinal, Morihaus, or the centurion, nor did he care. Gritting his teeth, he lowered his shoulder and pushed back against the elves. They didn't budge, of course, but it was enough for him to regain his balance. He could feel hands at his back, shields pushing against him, spears jabbing around his sides. Then a blade cut into the side of his left calf, making him gasp in pain, and his leg buckled. The line continued to cave inwards as the Ayleids desperately pushed against them. Their sheer mass was overwhelming them, the line was breaking…!

Atkynd suddenly noticed a bright light in the corner of his eye, like ray of the sun tickling the edges of his vision. At the same time, he also became aware of a vague humming sound, a vibration in the air unlike anything he had heard before. After a moment, he realized that it was coming from Pelinal's flank. Despite the danger in front of him, Atkynd stole a glance to his right.

Pelinal was standing stock-still, surrounded by bodies, with Morihaus raging around him, roaring and batting aside Ayleids with his massive club. The silver knight was holding his left arm up, and a brilliant white light was consuming his hand. Atkynd squinted as the light grew even brighter and the humming became louder. The other combatants began to notice as well, and the battle stalled for a few moments as most of the warriors paused and turned stare curiously at the glowing light as it grew ever more brilliant. Finally, the radiance became too much to bear, and Atkynd was forced to turn away.

A moment later, a flash of white consumed the area, like a lightning bolt, and a thunderclap followed. Atkynd closed his eyes as rainbow spots erupted in front of his vision, and all at once, the weight pushing against him dissipated. Desperately, he shoved against the line until he no longer felt anything pressing against his shield. Then, he held still, holding his shield high to protect himself until he could once again see. It was a few moments before he could open his eyes again, and when he finally did, he had to blink rapidly to clear the colorful spots exploding behind his eyelids. As his vision slowly returned, his mouth fell open as he stared, stunned, at the scene before him.

Where once there had been a horde of Ayleid soldiers pushing through the lake, there were now hundreds of lifeless bodies sinking into the murky water or lying still on the muddy ground. Strangely, their bodies almost seemed untouched, almost as though they had all simultaneously suffered heart attacks, though the scent of ozone lingered in the air. Not all of the army had been slain – it seemed as though only those that had been in or near the pond had died. Some of Glinferen's reserve forces had escaped unscathed, and the king himself was unharmed, though he was staring in utter shock at the lifeless corpses that had once been his army. From what Atkynd could see, perhaps only two hundred Ayleids remained.

The stupefied expression on Glinferen's face slowly gave way to abject terror as he raised his eyes towards the remaining human forces still holding the entrance to the glade. His gaze slowly turned towards Pelinal, who let out a low chuckle and turned his left hand towards the Ayleid king. Immediately, Glinferen screamed, "Retreat! Retreat!" Before his forces could react, he wheeled his horse around and sprinted as quickly as possible away from the battlefield, leaving his warriors behind. The remaining Ayleids stared after him for a moment, then took off after him, fleeing blindly into the woods. Pelinal let out a dark chuckle as he lowered his hand and dropped heavily to one knee.

Atkynd silently stared after the retreating army, still hardly able to believe what had happened. His sword slipped from his fingers and lay flat the ground, while his shield hung loosely from his arm. His eyes slowly raked across the dead bodies strewn across the ground and sinking into the depths of the small lake before him, still trying to understand what exactly had happened. Had the light Pelinal had been holding caused this? Was it some sort of spell? If so, it was unlike any spell Atkynd had ever seen.

The other men likewise stared in complete silence as the rain continued to pelt them. Then, suddenly, someone let out an exultant, triumphant roar that swept through the ranks. The men and women raised their arms into the air, screaming, jabbing the air with their spears, and hugging each other.

A strong pair of arms wrapped around Atkynd, and he was suddenly caught in the wild embrace of a bearded man he didn't recognize. The man screamed joyously in his face before letting him go to hug the woman beside him. Despite himself, Atkynd let out a soft chuckle, rolling his pained shoulder. Then his gaze drifted down to the ground again.

His eyes once again fell on the lifeless body of the one-handed man who had helped him so much through the battle. A pang of regret shot through him as he suddenly realized he didn't even know the man's name… if he'd even had one. As the other warriors cheered and danced around him, he knelt down and closed the man's eyes. He then whispered quietly, "Thank you. And… I'm sorry…."

Atkynd shook his head as he stood up again. Then, slowly, he took a deep breath and let a smile cross his face. This had been one of the worst nights of his life, he mused wryly. He was cold, wet, exhausted, and injured. Every part of his body ached, whether it was from muscle strain, fatigue, or open wounds that he knew he needed to have treated soon. There were dozens dead, and scores more injured with wounds far more grievous than his. He doubted these rebels could withstand another attack. The fact that they had survived at all was a miracle.

Yet, somehow, they had survived. And what's more… they had won.

A/N: For anyone who was wondering, the site of Alessia's forward camp is roughly where Fort Doublecross would later be built, while the location of her wooden fort is roughly where Fort Bulwark is.