Book 1: Before The Begining

Chapter 3

"We are here to prepare," finished Father, and his shaking speech came to an abrupt end. Then he rode out from the thick of the congregation and ahead, to the fore of his army, where he stayed mounted intensely. Waiting. 'Kill them all', he whispered to himself quietly that no one heard.

He turned his shoulders and faced south, taking in his surroundings. His unicorn bent down and licked fresh dew off the misty grass and Father looked back to the forest ahead of him. Behind him were the three days spent pressing forward through the White Mountains that protected his kingdom. In a matter of hours, he and his forces would have to go back over them to help finish setting up defenses to the oncoming Bartlebies raids that Father himself was about to trigger.

At the foot of the mountains were small boulders and pits that stretched and faded to where the grass disappeared and was replaced by bland weeds and small stones. Tucked int the terrain here was an army of four hundred Elves facing the threat from the South, where the Blue Mountains, met with The Hallowed Crypts, the Bartlebies Ranges. Evil had been brewing there for some time while Elven eyes had been idle and unwatchful.

East and west were fields of unkempt grass slowly fading from solid green to a dull, inconsistent yellow as they sloped westward away from the mountains toward the forest. Flanking the grassy plane were the Blue Mountains of the Elves, surrounding the king and his company on three sides. To fully surround them, miles ahead, the infinite trees towered dark and bear. Their huge branches struck upward like black lightning from the earth, clawing at the sky and tearing the silky clouds into shreds. Behind them, the tips of the Bartlebies range's highest mountains could be seen grinning at the sinister trees, a sense of turning from bad to worse lingering about their presence.

Compared to the opposition four hundred strong was not many; there was an overwhelming horde of Bartlebies coming, and its mind was set on destroying the Elven countries beyond the mountains. But they were elite Elven soldiers, and their abilities compensated for their lack in numbers. And Father knew how to manage an army in any terrain.

"Kill them all." Louder this time. He looked to the South again where an evil dark swirl could be seen like a flock of black eagles gathering speed as it swooped in on its prey. It was congregating from the western slopes of the Div Golas. Father wondered if he had taken enough soldiers. He could not yet see the horde that was pouring over the hills in its entirety; there might have been thousands more going yet unseen. 

He waited with growing apprehension. Each Bartlebies that his keen eyes saw come over the looming hilltop seemed more imposing. Their armor dully glinted in the rising sun like murky water. Their eyes, full of hateful black flames, darted hastily over the new terrain. Father could see they were fearful. But they would not show it in combat. If anything, the creatures would only grow fiercer.

In any case, the huge amassment was a growing threat. In his amazed state at such a large army, his boggled mind had ignored the larger gray shapes, assuming them only to be an exaggeration of the horrible animals through his anxiety. But now he saw them clearly as he passed his state of shock. Large natural scales clung to their hands and wrists and got smaller and smaller as Father's eyes dodged between them up the arms. Then there were Kobold. 

Kobold were even worse, more intelligent heads with a huge row of spikes in the back, and large sheeted and folding layers of shielding skin. Their eyes searched. They were angry and had spotted the Elves. Bartlebies chieftains barked orders in an Eastern Bartlebies cries to keep them at bay. Father was now counting Bartlebies and Kobold up to five, seven, ten now thirteen, now dozens. He started over and carefully took stock. There were thirty.

The Bartlebies were getting restless, and the Elves saw captains in the front ranks lobbing stones at those who broke the loose formations and began to run. A large Bartlebies towing a troll behind him tugged at a chain on the troll's neck and the enormous beast broke into a run with a sighing groan. Kobold began to chant. Bartlebies all around began to follow suit, kicking up pebbles and dust in a torrent of gathering speed.

Now it was time to send out a group of archers. The foremost kobold thrust a lead­headed spear into the air. Its tip glistened in the dawning sun as the poisoned shaft rose and fell, piercing the ground deep, almost one hundred yards from its origin. This seemed to encourage the Bartlebies army. Their pace quickened and their chanting grew louder, it was now apparent what they were saying in their choppy language.

" Attack!" Kill the them. Father rode to the front of his army in the direction of the forest and across, toward the West. He halted at a small palisade that jutted out of the grass toward the approaching army like a menacing tree of spears. Then he turned around and nodded to his first captain, Gladrith, whom he put in charge of the archers. Father would ride at the face of the main bulk of the army with his sword drawn, as he always did. He watched the archers go, his heart heavy.

Father's unicorn began to pace back and forth. Father muttered something in Elven: "Faler." Faler was the unicorn's name. In the common tongue, it meant "Mist." Faler whinnied understandingly, promising she would stop when the time came. As the revolting charge approached, Father raised his hand. Kill them all! In a bright flash of blue silver just above his fingertips, his sword appeared in mid-air and floated there, rotating slightly, until he seized it. There were now only a few hundred feet between the kobolds and Bartlebies .

Riding archers were shooting down Bartlebies, but the Elves were running out of arrows. They sped up and fired their last, and the enemy looked thinner. Now they reached the poisoned spear. A passing Bartlebies with long, muscular arms gripped it and exerted his entire body forward and up to wrestle it out of the ground. The archers kicked their unicorns, which galloped with all their speed and might toward the back of the army, where fresh darts waited to be fit into a bow.

A small, shriveled looking Bartlebies tripped over the hole created by the spear that had been there moments before and began to suffocate below the passing troops. They took no notice. An ogre stamped on the Bartlebies' head and crushed it. The rest passed on, still not turning an inch to regard the body.  Father clutched his sword handle tightly in his hand.

 That sword had been through more Bartlebies necks than were present now. It was an ancient and legendary sword called Arisylus, whose name dated back to the beginnings of the countless and uncounted Elven dynasties. It would always glow a silver­blue, scorching the anger passing through it into whatever creature it was casting down. It's art, a fiery crown, and engravings of little flames that actually flickered with rage like real fire wrought into the metal, was unparalleled and lost. Father's hatred of the Bartlebies flared through his arm and burned on the edges of his blade in a searing blue flicker.

The Bartlebies were almost upon them, and the storm began. Lightning blazed in the form of hundreds of Elves drawing their swords in blue, white and silver flashes, and thunder bellowed as hundreds of unicorns, Faler among them, came trampling forward to hack down the Bartlebies . Arrows poured like sheets of hail and rain. The Bartlebies were swept away like leaves, but more came. Four times Father and his Elven swordsmen charged, four times they regrouped, and four times a few less came back to reform.

Bartlebies were stricken down. Elves were stricken down. Blood spilled and its smell lingered in the air along with the foul breath and bodily stink of wretched creatures that had not touched the water with anything but their mouths in months. The stench of battle hung in the air like a drooping curtain shielding their eyes from a window to another world, another universe. It had a pulse; Father could feel it in the riveting fearful expressions of those around him, in the malicious stares from his enemies.