CERIDWEN, SAT QUIETLY IN THE KITCHEN of her little cottage. On the table in front of her lay the Moonblade. The gem glowed softly in the light from the stove. She had occupied the time since the others left tidying up the rooms as best she could. The encounter with the Wizard had left her wounded and tired. She knew she should rest, but could not bring herself to do so. She worried about the others, especially the children. She hoped they had all made it to their destinations without mishap. Everything hinged on all four gemstones being activated, should even one part fail, then the whole plan would fall apart and Ravengaard would have won. She must not think like that, she told herself. They would all succeed, even the children.
The White Witch pulled herself closer to the table. She lifted the Blade, feeling it come alive beneath her touch. She stood and slowly walked out into the cool night air. Ceridwen shivered slightly and pulled her shawl tightly around herself. She moved through the garden and out into the centre of the forest glade. Kneeling in the rain-drenched grass she grasped the sword and thrust the blade into the soft earth. As the rain swept across the clearing, she began to chant the words of magic that would activate its power.
She hoped the others were ready.
Moving swiftly through the forest, to the south of Ceridwen's cottage. Eldon and his party of Gnome warriors stumbled upon a group of Goblyns blocking the pathway. Worse still, two Trolls leading a chained Wyvern charged out of the murk and hurled themselves at the warriors. It was getting late, and with no time to turn and flee they threw themselves straight at the enemy. The sheer ferocity of their attack allowed them to dispatch a number of the Goblyns before they could recover. But gradually the larger force of Goblyns began to tell, and with several Gnomes cut down, they nearly broke in panic. But Eldon rallied them, they regrouped and pushed forward once more. With the Giant leading the charge and his mighty axe cutting a swath through the Goblyns; they began to drive back the enemy. Eldon engaged one of the Trolls tasked with restraining the chained Wyvern. The Troll lumbered forward and lunged at Eldon with the energy prod, sparks flew as he parried the strike with his axe blade. He ducked beneath another swing and struck out with his axe catching the Troll on the side. Dark blood spurted and with a grunt, it collapsed to the floor and did not move. The other Troll turned to face the Giant. Releasing the chain it was holding, it jabbed the prod into the creature's side. Enraged the Wyvern sprang forward, straight at Eldon. Fortunately, the beast was young, inexperienced in battle. Its fiery breath washed over him as rows of pointed teeth snapped shut inches from Eldon's face. He thrust his axe out in front of him. Placing the blade between himself and the beast's jaws, he waited for the Wyvern to strike. It circled him, looking for an opening. Head held low, its muscles bunched, the Wyvern suddenly came straight at Eldon. The Giant barely had time to dodge to the side, only just escaping the grinding teeth. The dragon-thing swung its neck, catching Eldon's shoulder and sending him crashing to the floor. He lay there, for several seconds, the breath knocked out of him. The Wyvern turned and reached for him with its razor-sharp talons.
Get up! Get up! You have work to do, he whispered to himself.
He rolled away, springing to his feet. In the same movement, he swung the great battle-axe. It sliced the air, cutting through the heavy red scales and biting deep into the Wyvern's neck muscles. The creature hissed loudly at him, pulling back in readiness to strike anew. But before it could fully recover, Eldon was on it again. The battle-axe flashed down once more, slashing at the creature, driving it back. Axe in one hand, Eldon reach over his shoulder and withdrew his broadsword from its sheath. As the Wyvern reared back under the onslaught, he used all his strength to plunge the sword deep into its exposed chest. Inky blood spurted from the wound and with a final shriek of rage, the monster collapsed and lay still.
Driven by his rage, Eldon spun to face the enemy. But the Goblyns had been routed. The survivors turned and ran, fading away into the forest.
Eldon checked he still had the Daybringer strapped across his back and gathered the remaining Gnomes to him. Exhausted and bloodied he knew they could not afford to rest. The time was near. He glanced up through the trees. The sky appeared to be growing lighter, they needed to be in position very soon. Throwing caution to the wind they set off through the forest once again, hoping no more enemy troops came their way.
Time was swiftly running out.
To the west of the Dark Tower, on a small hillock that formed one of the arms of the Warlocks Chair. Bredock Holt and a small party of Gnome warriors rested briefly within a tangled copse of oak trees. All around them in the rain-soaked night, Goblyns waited for the order to attack once more. To reach there, they had used the Amulet to travel the mystical pathways that lay hidden from all but the bearer of the crystal. On route, they sought out the Elves and quickly informed them of the plans to defeat Ravengaard and urged them to stand ready at the allotted time.
That time drew near.
Fighting off the tiredness that threatened to overwhelm him, he pulled the Amulet from its bag and placed it on the ground in from of him. He readied himself. Ceridwen had warned about using the gemstones, of how every time you used it, it consumed a part of your soul.
He cackled softly to himself. It must have most of mine by now, he thought.
He called upon Vamar, the Gnome God of Battle to protect them one last time. Just long enough for him to carry out his part of the ritual.
Around him in the darkness, the remaining Gnome warriors crouched in readiness. His last line of defence against the pending Goblyn attack.
Something was happening in the tower. In the storm wrapped darkness, Danielle saw the black cloud spewing from its summit, shudder and cease its flow. From inside the stone edifice, a deep forbidding rumble could be heard.
Was it George and the Elves doing?
Danielle gripped the Starheart tightly. The gemstone seemed to squirm between her fingers as if trying to escape her clutches. There was a sudden tingling in her head, a shadowed whispering that reached deep inside her mind, filled with promises of things to come, of riches that could be hers, if only she choose to do its bidding. Recalling Ceridwen's warning, she willed it to be quiet, clearing her mind of all but the task she needed to carry out. Her brother and the others had not returned from the Dark Tower, and the time to awaken the power of the Arcs of Heaven grew closer. She crouched in the darkness, watching for any sign of them, uncertain of what she would do should they did not reappear soon.
The Goblyn army renewed its assault. Barely discernable through the thick churning storm clouds and the darkness that spouted from the tower, the first faint light of the new day began to push above the surrounding hills. Overnight, the drizzle had turned into a raging downpour. It had cut visibility to a few metres and turned the battlefield and the banks of the river into a sea of thick clinging mud. Through it came the giant war machines, dragged forward by monstrous beasts of burden and their Troll masters. Bridges, bigger and stronger than the hastily constructed ones used the previous evening, pushed out across the river. Then came the Goblyns, a huge rolling mass of bodies that moved as one across the land. This time, Troll's tasked with bearing impenetrable wooden shields, studded with metal rivets and iron spikes, marched ahead of the front ranks, sheltering them from the unerring aim of the Elven archers. They reached the bridges and began to cross. The Elves once again targeted them with fire arrows, trying to set alight the shields and bridges. But this time, the wood appeared to be warded against fire and flames and on they came. Hunters rushed to confront them, trying to force them back. But it was no use. Thousands upon thousands pressed forward, using the heavy shields to drive a wedge deep into the Elven lines. Without cover, of their longbows, striking from afar, the Elves had to engage them in vicious hand to hand fighting.
The Elves were being forced to give ground. But they were making them pay dearly. For every piece of land the Goblyns won, hundreds fell. But the sheer weight of numbers was beginning to tell. A phalanx of armoured Trolls charged forward. The massive attackers smashed into the Elves, hacking and slashing at the defenders who had no answer to the attack. The centre of the line buckled and broke asunder under the vicious onslaught. Halmar Quynn noting they would be unable to hold back the tide, signalled for them to fall back to their secondary defensive positions. Slowly, under the relentless assault, they began withdrawing. The Goblyn forces, seeing the enemy begin to break, burst through the defensive walls. In several places, pockets of retreating Elves became cut off and quickly overrun.
Word of what was happening reached the surviving members of the Dwarves that had arrived from Annwn Deep. They had used the cover of night to slip through the Goblyn lines and join the Elven army. Halmar Quynn welcomed their arrival, but the news that the main body of reinforcements had still not made an appearance did not receive such elation. Rallying on Captain Strotordar the Dwarves valiantly rushed to try and plug the gaps. But the floodgates had opened and the Goblyn army poured into the breach. The Dwarves fought on courageously, their superior armour and weapons more than a match for the Goblyns collection of old and rusted armaments. The wooden shields splintered, hewn apart by Dwarf axes. Those that struggled to carry the heavy barricades found themselves thrust aside and crushed under the fury of the Dwarves charge. For a moment, it looked like they might have managed to force the attackers back. But their success was short-lived. Moments later the Dwarf captain, staggered, struck in the shoulder by a crossbow bolt. He nearly fell, but he fought against the pain, drew himself up and tried to carry on. Swinging his greatsword one-handed, he called for one last push. But tiredness and weak from loss of blood he began to weaken. A glancing blow from a Troll's battle-axe felled him, and before he could regain his feet Goblyns swarmed over him stabbing and hacking at his body. The Dwarves tried bravely to reach Strotordar, but Goblyns came at them from all sides now and there was nothing they could do to save their stricken Captain.
Beneath a stand of tall trees that crested the Wiccanhyll, Halmar Quynn watched in horror as the Dwarf captain fell. He surveyed what remained of his army, wondering how much longer they would be able to hold back the unending tide of the Warlock's army. With the river now bridged, there was no longer a barrier to hinder Ravengaard's advance. Nothing to stop them pouring forward towards the Elven lines.
The Dwarves fought on, allowing the Elven Guard time to fall back to safety. But with the death of Strotordar, Halmar could see the heart had gone out of them. Gradually they were being pushed back, their numbers cut down by the unyielding advance of the enemy.
They fight well, he thought, but it will not be enough to hold back the Warlock's vast army. Where was the rest of the Dwarf army that was supposed to come to their assistance?
Had they failed the Elves once again?
Halmar looked out across the valley. Through the darkness and driving rain, he could see the oppressive bulk of the stygian tower jutting skywards. Holt had informed him of Ceridwen's plan to stop Ravengaard. It would happen very soon and involved the use of counter-magic. The Gnome informed him that until then, the Elven army, no matter what the cost, would need to fight on.
Something was about to happen; he could almost sense it.
The time was almost upon them.
The Grand Commander signalled to the Elven Hunters to regroup; fight as best they could to stem the tide. As a last resort, the steep sides of the Wiccanhyll would provide some protection against the attack. A barrier that would hopefully slow the advance of the Goblyn army should they seek to destroy the Elves, and not just bypass them and press on into the valley. To stand and fight would undoubtedly mean certain death for them all. But it was the only way to prevent Ravengaard's forces from spreading out of the valley and into the wider world. They needed to hold them here; give whatever plan the Witch and her friends had come up with, a chance to work. Earlier he sent word back to Ellyonia, requesting reinforcements and more armament. But he did not expect his call to be answered. It had been many generations since the Elves had fought a war on this scale, in that time the once mighty Elven army had fallen victim of the Council's cutbacks.
He cursed silently to himself.
Halmar Quynn had spoken out frequently about the dangers of such cuts. But the Council argued that in these times of relative peace, resources could be better used elsewhere. Unfortunately, the King had agreed with the Council's argument. Now, too late, they would see the error of their judgements.
The remaining Captains had their orders. Most of their archers and any Spellcasters they could spare were to be deployed on both sides of the valley. They were to concentrate their fire and magic on the ends of the Goblyn lines. Attempt to funnel them into the centre of the valley. With luck, the enemy would seek the easy way out and not realise they were being forced along that route. All remaining forces were to withdraw to the Wiccanhyll, remain hidden at the forest edge and await orders.
There, they would make their last stand.
Halmar Quynn spread two lines of bowmen out across the side of the Wiccanhyll. They could use the hillside to fire down upon the Goblyns as they tried fighting their way out of the valley. Behind them, he placed several ranks of Hunters armed with sword and spear. It would be their job to prevent the escape of any enemy that survived the Elven arrows. The remainder of Wyne Myran's Wolf Riders were split and sent to the ends of the line with orders to create as much carnage as possible.
It was not much of a plan but would hopefully buy them some time. Time enough for the Witch to work whatever magic she intended using.
He hoped it would be soon.
Time was quickly running out.