Over the years, a number of attempts had been made to take the valley, but all had failed. No one could imagine it would be different now, not with the added strength of the warships and their weapons.
But then, no one would have thought that Arishaig could be taken, either.
The Straken Lord’s winged scouts, sweeping down through the valley in quick bursts, seemingly heedless of the missiles whizzing past them as they went, took full measure of the Elven defenders and their defenses. They flew as if oblivious to the flits that darted at them, easily avoiding their efforts to bring them down. They defecated on the defensive positions as they passed—a taunting that brought howls of rage and dismay from those hidden in the brush and trees and rocks.
“Can you put a stop to that?” Sian Aresh snapped at Seersha from within their concealment near the head of the pass.
The Druid shook her head. “I could, but that’s what they are hoping for. They want to know if you have the use of magic. Do you have anyone standing with you who has the same powers Khyber Elessedil did?” She gave him a look. “It would be best if we let him wonder for a while.”
Eventually, the flying creatures lost interest and flew away. Not one had even been injured.
The day dragged on after that in a desultory, anticipatory slog, tension heightening steadily as the enemy army drew closer, as it widened and deepened like a tidal wave and increasingly assumed definition. It was one thing to be brave in the face of something nebulous and distant. It was another entirely to maintain that postion when you could see the sorts of things that were coming for you—creatures with twisted limbs and crooked backs, teeth and claws that could rend you in a single swipe, and faces so gnarled and misshapen they resembled your worst nightmares fully realized.
It took the army all day to reach the mouth of the pass, and there they massed, widening out to either side of the mountain walls north and south for miles, and eastward until their end could not be seen. Dust filled the air and drifted over the Elves, clogging their breathing and obscuring their vision. The stench of enemy bodies spread in a sickening wave and left some defenders gagging and retching. There seemed to be no leaders, only beasts herded to this place like animals, brought to a halt and unable to do more than mill about.
Sunset was almost upon the Elves—their tempers frayed to the point of breaking—when the dragon flew out of the encroaching dusk. It came in a rush, its huge plated body rust and crimson beneath layers of shadow, its wings spread wide as it glided on the wind. Astride its neck, armored head-to-foot, was a creature no Elf had ever seen before. It was as black as moonless night, heavily muscled and ridged with spikes that poked through gaps in the armor that had been cut apart to afford them space and then chained back together with links. A huge scepter was clasped in one hand, its jagged head glowing a wicked green.
The Straken Lord raised his arms as he passed over the dark swell of his army, and a million throats roared out his name. He might have been the sum of all things from the greeting he was given, and he acknowledged it as if it were his due. He let the dragon take him past his army and into the mouth of the pass, still high enough that no missile could reach him and big enough that no flit dared approach. He was showing himself to his intended victims—a clear indication he would be the last thing they ever saw in this life.
Just before wheeling away and flying back into the night, bearing its black rider with it, the dragon opened its huge maw and exhaled sudden gouts of fire.
“I don’t like that,” Sian Aresh observed.
“No wonder Arishaig was at risk,” Seersha replied.
“This changes my thinking about the value of our airships. That dragon is much more maneuverable than anything we have. Do you think there are any more?”
Seersha shook her head. “I’m sure we’ll find out.”
They waited patiently to see if there would be any others, but the Straken Lord did not return, and the creatures of his army began to settle down on the open flats, curling up in the manner of animals and dropping off to sleep. If there were guards or a sentry line, the Druid couldn’t find them. No precautions seemed to have been taken against a surprise attack. For a moment, Seersha considered the advisability of mounting one—of not waiting for the inevitable, but of striking first. She almost said something to Aresh.
But there were a million creatures out there—many times the number of Elves that might be thrown against them—and in the end she abandoned the idea. Better they hold their ground and let the enemy come to them.