The battle had commenced.
Powerful spells were loosed by the combat wizards on both sides, throwing both magical attacks and defenses. Great shimmering shields interposed themselves between ranks of troops and incoming arrow volleys. Powerful explosions rent into massed ranks and shredded the palisade wall in places by turns. Through the ensuing smoking roil ran screaming footmen, their spears glinting in the newborn firelight.
Harlen ducked back as a fireball screamed skyward from below the command platform. It trailed blue and white sparks behind it as it accelerated into the air overhead. It reached its zenith and exploded, a great orange-yellow ball of roiling flame. A half a heartbeat later an impressive thud reached the ground.
Scattered folk all over the field of battle glanced up, wondering what this might be. Soon, it was obvious that it had no effect on one side or the other, and eyes turned back to the urgent task of killing one's opponents.
The bowmen upon the left palisade were a touch confused, however. Their opposites on the traitor side did not charge forward to bring themselves into range to fire upon the wall. They paused a short moment before their captain ordered them to turn and fire at the main mass of Isolationist troops.
It was a few moments later that Cendiolor noted the lack of movement to his right and cast his sight that way. "What are those idiots waiting for?" He yelled to his lieutenant.
Just then, suddenly, there were three great muffled whumps from the ranks of the unmoving archers. Three white columns of fire lanced into the heavens over the battle. As eyes tracked the movement upward, again wondering what was afoot, the three columns stopped and were replaced by a trio of suns.
Two seconds later, Cendiolor yelled at his lieutenant. "Find out what those fools are doing!" There was no answer. He turned to see arrows raining down on his massed troops from their right. His lieutenant was pierced several times and lay dying upon the earth.
Screaming a curse, he wheeled his horse about as the second volley of arrow fire fell amid the massed formation and around the wall-like force barriers the wizards had constructed.
"Turn about!" He screamed to his captains. "We are flanked!"
The elven forces were quick-witted compared to human troops, but they still wheeled slowly. Cendiolor winced as he watched the foremost ranks of the right-side company detach themselves from the main body and charge into the flank of his main mass. Swords appeared in the hands of the archers, who rightly would only carry hyandai, typically. As the foremost of these attackers smashed into the side of the formation, he noted a disparity of size that caused his heart to quail.
The rightmost company was not elven! Light gray cloaks were being ripped aside now, and revealed humans in green tabards and silver mail. Rangers! How had the Windy Islanders sent so many so far?
The commands of the leaders of the rangers could now be heard; they were speaking Westron, not the dialect of Syrisian spoken on the Windy Isles. Cendiolor's forces were now turned about and facing their attackers, but the humans had already decimated them badly, cutting a huge notch into their ranks. Arrows still rained down upon them from the walls, as well.
He prepared to call down the archers from the left flank, turning to see their situation. Just as the massed cavalry of the village smashed into them at some phenomenal speed. The cavalrymen were not even bothering to attack; they simply plowed through the ranks on magically accelerated mounts. Elven archers were crushed, trampled, and flung about like rag dolls.
The attack was beginning to route. Some of the rearmost were already fleeing into the woods. He turned to a trio of wizards nearby, who were busily shielding the command section from incoming arrows.
"Give me fog!" He screamed. "Give me a LOT of fog!"
The leader of the wizards nodded and they changed their incantation. Soon, roiling up from the ground came a dense fog, spreading quickly.
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Harlen watched with pride as the huntsmen of Morrovale turned upon the attackers. The nobles with stunned, gaping mouths, and Hyandai with obvious and open glee. Even Harlen was startled when she whooped loudly as the first ranks of the huntsmen plowed into the flank of the elven forces, tearing aside their cloaks of concealment.
"Release the cavalry!" She screamed to her aides. "Take down their archers." Two aides took off south at a sprint.
Turning she yelled at the captain of the left wall. "Get your spearmen to the gate, sally forth and assist the humans!" The captain nodded, and relayed the yell, spearmen began leaping from the wall and running toward the gates.
"What, what is happening?" Lord Ircandann asked, his eyes wide. "Where did those rangers come from?"
Harlen smiled broadly. "My lands." He said. "They are my colleagues, other huntsmen. From the look of it, damn near all of them." He appraised the number. "Perhaps even some others from my homelands."
"We sent not for aid from the human lands." Lady Melewen said, dismayed. "How did they know to come?"
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Tammer looked over the field as the charge commenced. "Come on boy, give us a sign." He muttered.
As the spells started flying and elves started dying, a fireball shot up from behind the fortifications of the village. It screamed to height, then detonated.
"Good enough!" Tammer hissed, then turned toward the apprentices manning the mortars. "Fire those damn things!"
The report from the launch of the flares was deafening. A moment later, the dark field was lit brightly by the flying alchemical flares. "Take down their wizards!" Tammer yelled, lifting his bow and firing. The sound of arrows flying overhead was like the whistling winds.
The first volley hardly was noticed in the confusion, but upon the second, the elven army began to wheel about, realizing they had foes upon their own field.
"First and second rank. Engage!" Tammer screamed. The first two rows of huntsmen dropped their bows and drew sword, charging forward.
The shock alone counted for much. As the stolen cloaks were cast aside, the elves were dismayed, then overborne by the massive human warriors, wielding heavy-bladed broadswords.
For sixty years, Tammer had kept the arsenal and the uniforms in his cellar. He also kept the oath.
All those whom the original forty had trained, and their apprentice's apprentices had taken the oath, though they thought it just idle speech, a relic of bygone days.
'To defend the lands of Morrovale and uphold the ways of the Windirii.' Most simply thought it was just an homage to the elven philosophy on game management and conservation. They were reminded of that oath, and a few shirked it, most did not.
Perhaps more for Harlen, one of their own, than for the elves, they had come. They marched into this foreign land and they were doing battle for people they did not know. This was the legacy that the elves had wrought so many years before. Morrovale enjoyed prosperity in part from that legacy, and now Morrovale was repaying the debt.
He pulled his own gray cloak off, and those about him were doing the same. They had acquired these fine garments from that wayward company of traitorous elves. It had been sheer luck that Tammer and the huntsmen had stumbled upon the slumbering encampment in broad daylight. The elves had been resting up for this night's sortie.
There had not even been many deaths. They had so surprised the elves in their forest fastness that they were taken alive, for the most part. He had to leave fifty men behind to guard them. This was much debated, and thought was given to putting the traitors to the sword and moving on with all forces.
The three elder rangers had vetoed that very idea. They could hardly be upholding the ways of the Windiri and then commit such a heinous crime.