Path of Dragons-Chapter 14Book 8: : The Outpost

“We wait,” said Katis, scratching her short, blonde beard. “Reinforcements should arrive shortly.”

Miguel frowned, though he didn’t argue with her order. In a vacuum, waiting seemed like a good plan, but he knew that there was a good chance it would backfire. After all, not three miles away, there was a significant stronghold manned by at least fifty dark elves. They didn’t look like the cream of the crop, but Miguel had seen enough to recognize the danger they posed.

Especially considering that they would be nestled within the fortified defenses, which would give the enemy a distinct advantage. That was why Katis had sent a messenger back to Ironshore with a request for reinforcements. Their group of twenty had no chance of taking a small fort. Even with subterfuge and surprise on their side, it would be a difficult task.

So, they’d been camping out for two days while they waited for a response.

Which left Miguel feeling more than a little antsy. He possessed plenty of patience, but with every passing minute, he expected to find a group of dark elves charging out of the surrounding forest. So far, they hadn’t been detected, but he knew just how quickly that could change. One little mistake from their sentries, and a curious scout would find them.

And if that happened, it wouldn’t be long before they were forced into battle against a superior force.

To distract himself, Miguel retreated to his tent and planted himself on the stump he’d been using as a seat. Once he was in place, he drew the Blade of the Green Warden and a cloth soaked in specially made oil he’d gotten from the Alchemist back in Ironshore, which he used to polish the weapon.

It wasn’t a wholly necessary act. The blade would remain sharp through just about any punishment he could inflict upon it. However, the process was calming and distracting, both of which were necessary at the moment.

After a few minutes, Isaak approached and sat beside him.

“Wish Artemis was here,” the young Sorcerer remarked. “She’d get into that fort and tear them to pieces.”

“She’d probably be caught,” Miguel replied, not looking up from his task. The cat was stealthy enough, but the dark elves assuredly had defenses in place to guard against infiltration. The most likely scenario was that Artemis would be detected the second she climbed their palisade wall, then subsequently killed.

“I don’t think so. She’s stronger than you think,” Isaak pointed out. “How long do you think it’ll be before our reinforcements arrive?”

Miguel shrugged. “Less than a day, if they don’t find any distractions along the way. The better question is who they’ll send,” he revealed. “And how many. We’ll need a numbers advantage if we want to take that fort with minimal casualties.”

Indeed, the outpost itself wasn’t anything special. Just a wooden wall encircling a glorified camp. However, even those defenses would provide a significant advantage. Once, Birk had told him that a defender on a wall was worth ten attackers, and while that wasn’t true with something as flimsy as the defenses surrounding the outpost, the adage did make it clear that attacking and winning wouldn’t come without a cost.

The better course of action was to simply leave them be and come back with a better plan and an overwhelming force. The problem with that was that the dark elves had already proven that they were hostile, and Ironshore would never be capable of fielding a force large enough to make such an assault entirely safe.

No – the outpost needed to go, and every dark elf inside needed to die. They would hit them hard and fast, shocking them with their ferocity and destroying their entire force.

Miguel sighed.

“What?” asked Isaak.

Shaking his head, Miguel answered, “I don’t know. Just realizing that I might have a little more pent-up anger from the last fight against the dark elves.”

Indeed, he’d carried it deep down, but his return to Ironshore – which had taken every ethereum he possessed, plus some donated by the city of Argos – had been characterized by extreme dread. If he’d been just a little later, people he loved might have died. The dark elves – or Illythiri, as they called themselves – had established themselves as irredeemable enemies in his eyes, making them so easy to hate.

That hatred was well ingrained and difficult to overcome, especially when the enemy continued to pose a very credible threat to everyone he held dear. Like his mother. Or Hope. Or a dozen other acquaintances he’d made since taking up residence in the city.

The first step to getting past that disdain was awareness, though Miguel wasn’t certain if he wanted to put in the effort. Fighting the enemy was so much easier when hatred was involved.

“I’ve been there,” Isaak said.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” the Sorcerer answered. He removed his glasses, and with a cloth he pulled from his pocket, began to clean them. “I’ve been fighting them for a while, you know. Just small groups spread out all around Argos. Artemis hunted them down, and I burned them alive. It’s too easy sometimes.”

He sighed, then replaced his glasses. When he had them settled in place, he went on, “They killed people. Mostly hunters and gatherers, but a few patrols, too. I knew a couple of those people, which was why I spent so much time going after them. For a while, I didn’t really sleep. I barely ate. I just went from one camp to the next, exterminating them like pests. And you know what happened?”

Miguel shrugged.

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“Everybody in Argos praised me for it. By any standard, I was…I am…a murderer. Those are people. Maybe they look different from us. Maybe they have a different culture. But they are people all the same.”

“I…I don’t want to see them like that.”

“I don’t either, but I think it’s necessary,” Isaak stated. “It makes it easier, doesn’t it? Just seeing them as the enemy.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” Miguel responded. “Like they’re just rabid beasts. Or obstacles that need to be overcome.”

But they were more than that. Miguel had experienced it during his frantic flight through the wilderness, when he’d been hounded by dozens of dark elf scouts intent on killing him. He’d fought them, killing more than he could easily count. In the moment, it was so easy. Nothing mattered but the battle itself, but the memories were characterized by all the horrible things that came with a fight to the death. The blood and guts, the smell of excrement and vomit, the gurgling sounds of a man whose lungs were filling with blood – it had all stuck with him.

He had ignored most of it, shunting it into a corner of his mind where it couldn’t really affect him. He hadn’t progressed his cultivation enough to mimic his uncle’s strategy of sealing it away in its own facet, but the human mind was already good enough at compartmentalization that he managed to forget all of that terribleness.

Most of the time.

He still remembered them in his dreams. He still smelled all those horrible smells when he let his mind wander. And each time he heard an errant sound in the forest, he felt himself flinching a little.

Even so, he didn’t let it affect him. A Warrior was meant to be stalwart and stoic – like Birk or Colt – not jumping at every errant sound.

Thankfully, his conversation with Isaak came to a sudden close when something rustled the nearby bushes. Miguel was on his feet in the space of an instant, with his sword out and ready for whatever was out there.

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Fortunately, no dark elves came pouring out of the forest. Instead, he saw a familiar face.

“Colt?” he asked. “What are you doing here?”

“Heard there was a battle comin’ up, and I didn’t want to miss it. How you doin’, kid?” the old samurai asked.

“Um…fine. How many did you bring?”

“Twenty-five. S’all we could spare.”

It wasn’t enough. Miguel knew that, and from his frown, Colt did as well. However, that couldn’t stop them from doing what they needed to do. The outcome of a battle was contingent on more than just numbers, after all. History was full of people who’d overcome long odds to achieve victory.

But there were far, far more stories of people who were incapable of overcoming the disadvantage of insufficient numbers. Those stories usually didn’t get told, except as cautionary tales meant to dissuade bad decision.

Miguel chose not to think about that.

Instead, he accompanied Colt – who was in charge of the troop of soldiers sent by Ironshore – to speak with Katis. Once there, they established a basic plan before setting out. They would have waited until nightfall, but Miguel pointed out that dark elves lived underground, which meant that their night vision was likely far superior to that of humans, dwarves, gnomes, and goblins.

In any case, it wasn’t long before the group had covered the distance between their camp and the outpost. Along the way, their scouts – and Miguel, who lacked an appropriate class, but had plenty of experience moving silently through the forest – took care of the enemy sentries, ensuring a surprise attack.

Once everyone was in position, they charged.

The plan was simple enough. The bulk of the force would attack the least protected flank in a lightning-quick maneuver meant to draw as much attention as possible. If the charge was successful, then they would surmount the walls and fall upon the elves inside. However, that wasn’t the primary purpose. Instead, it was supposed to be a distraction.

A small group of elite fighters – including Miguel and Colt, as well as Isaak – were charged with coming in from the opposite direction. Their movement would come a little after the other attack was underway, and hopefully, they would catch the dark elves unaware.

Miguel held back, his every muscle tense as he watched the fort erupt into a hive of activity. The dark elves who manned the crude towers lining the wall let loose with a flurry of arrows, but Katis had planned for just such a volley. Most of the attackers were armed with thick – if crude – shields carved from the local trees. In addition, the Warriors each erected barriers of ethera meant to protect their fellows. A few of the arrows made it through, slamming into the shields with enough force to make their bearers stumble.

But that was a minority occurrence, and most of the attackers reached the walls unscathed. However, when they leaped upon the palisade, they were met with fierce resistance.

That was when Colt signaled the second charge from the opposite direction.

Miguel – along with ten others – erupted from the forest and sprinted toward the outpost. Some dark elves had remained in position, but they simply didn’t have the numbers to properly defend attacks from both directions. One Warrior next to Miguel went down, but he couldn’t afford the attention necessary to determine if the woman was dead or merely injured.

In a second, he’d reached his destination. Utilizing his inflated attributes, he leaped, grabbed ahold of the top of the wall, then half-flipped, half-rolled over to the other side. His feet hit the ground on the other side, and he was off and running.

That was when he first met resistance, and in the form of an armored dark elf who looked vaguely important. The man shouted something, but by that point, Miguel’s blood was up, and he didn’t care to hear anything the elf had to say. Instead, he dashed in, leading the way with the Blade of the Green Warden. The elf parried desperately, fouling Miguel’s attack. However, doing so put him in a terrible position to defend against the next strike, which came in the form of a straight dagger that found its way into the dark elf’s side. Due to the protection afforded by the enemy’s armor, it was only a flesh wound, but that was fine. Enough of those could turn the tide of any battle.

The armored elf danced backward, regaining his footing.

Suddenly, blood sprayed from a dozen wounds, like he’d been hit with a flurry of invisible blades.

It only took Miguel a moment to recognize Colt’s handiwork. Moreover, he didn’t waste any time before dashing forward and aiming a horizontal strike at the elf’s neck. Distracted by the Samurai’s attack, the elf couldn’t muster a defense, and Miguel’s blade bit deep, stopping only when it hit the enemy’s spine.

Miguel jerked his sword free in a shower of blood, and the armored Illythiri fell to his knees, clutching his ruined neck. Miguel didn’t let him suffer long, and he ended it with a second sword stroke that decapitated the elf altogether.

Only then did he turn his attention to the wider battle.

The elves fought valiantly, but the simple two-pronged strike had taken them entirely unaware. That did not speak too highly of their commander, who Miguel suspected he’d just slain. Regardless, the next few minutes were characterized by extreme violence as the forces of Ironshore attempted to take the fort, both from within and without.

Miguel did his part, hacking his way through a couple of enemies, and Isaak showed his worth as well, burning through their most stalwart defenders’ shields. Curiously, they had no Sorcerers or Healers in evidence.

Unfortunately, they didn’t have the numbers to bar the elves’ retreat, and soon enough, the defeated Illythiri fighters broke ranks and fled into the tunnel behind the fort.

“We need to investigate,” said Colt, yanking his sword free of a fallen dark elf’s chest. “Make sure there ain’t an army waitin’ down there. That’s part of why I’m here.”

Katis nodded. “Figured as much. Them tunnels are pretty close. Can’t send the whole troop down there. Gather the best, includin’ at least a coupla scouts as know how to navigate tunnels,” she ordered. “We’ll set out after ‘em as soon as the injured get healin’.”