Eros

Breath in the Smoke - 66

"The elven forces are retreating from us, Lord Raul." Said the runner from the front, catching his breath.

"Press on, double speed." Raul said. "Do not break formation."

"Yes, my lord!" The runner called, and raced to spread his orders. Their force marched through the woods, gleaming red and gold in the last shreds of the day's sunlight. An army of two thousand could not be hidden from the elves anyhow, so he let the soldiers polish their armor and present Veramor with pride.

At the army's center, right behind Raul, strode two dozen magi. Coats of chain-mail set with gilded plates covered them from toe to noggin, and the Mageguards kept to their sides, holding up spears and shields that were larger than their torsos. Roughly one to thousand is born a magus. After headhunting them from the masses of peasants, and training them to his military use, Julian spared no expense to keep them alive.

Usually, Raul felt fresh before a battle. Now he was irritated. The survivor of the scouting party to see the elves yesterday said they numbered in hundreds, if not more. Now however, according to frontline reports, they were chasing after less than a hundred. Both his instincts, and experience with these primitives told him a trap awaits them. Even so, there was nowhere worth going but forward. Let the elves use their home field advantage. What are their trees to his army?

Then they stopped.

"What's going on?" Raul called.

"Lord Raul!" A runner made his way through the soldiers, sprinting back from the front. "There is a barricade along the trees ahead, we cannot pass!"

Before the High Magus could answer, a runner came up from the army's left flank. "We are blocked on the north!"

"Blocked from the south!" The runner from the opposite flank showed right after.

"Behind us!"

Raul turned around as shouts started behind him. The trees along the backline of his armies shifted. Their branches bent down, and their roots thrust up from the earth, knotting together and weaving a living barrier between the columns of the trunks.

"Sa'var!" A yell came from above. More yells echoed it all around the perimeter they were trapped in. Raul knew little of the elven language, but he learnt what Sa'var meant.

Volley.

"Wind magi, prepare!" Raul bellowed as arrows arced from the trees to the skies. For a moment, the volley hung above them, a black cloud in red of twilight, glinting with hundreds over hundreds of razored arrowheads. Then the volley fell.

"Release!" In perfect unison with his nine wind magi, Raul pushed his palms skywards. Ten blasts of the air above them took off like a gale of a hurricane, blowing the descending arrows in every direction but the earth's. A grin bent the claw marks of Raul's scar as he watched them scatter.

After the initial volley, the archers picked their targets from the trees. Soldiers hid beneath their shields, and cries echoed through the ranks as the stricken men crumpled. The wind magi ran kept currents of air flowing over their vicinity, fending off the arrows rained upon them.

Yes, the elves exploited their home field advantage cunningly. A shame it was all so... flammable.

"Fire magi!" Raul yelled, not even the chaos of war able to drown out his commanding voice. "I want to see these trees alight!"

Flames gushed in his hands. He swung them through the air, and pushed them as one. A billow of fire came forth, swirling into a torrent and sizzling over the heads of the Veramorian soldiers towards one of the giant red trees. The High Magus threw his arms apart upon the collision. A fiery explosion roared in response, spreading out across the tree in its bursting.