It was so cold even the breath from King Asharien's fine elven mouth was visible. He looked down on his troops gathered below, and he paused. He knew the Orc horde was only moments away, and he was sure his troops would hold. The first noise was that of an arrow thudding into the chest of an Orc lieutenant. Silently, and without fuss or hurry, the elves pulled into a tight battle formation.
The King then heard repeated ‘thunks’ from overhead, as his bolt throwers started throwing missile after missile into the emerging enemy ranks. The arms of his archers were a blur of activity, firing arrows in rapid succession. Many of his bowmen had planted their shields in the ground, granting easy access to the arrows attached to the inside. More had the shield strapped to their bow arm, taking advantage of the extra protection this afforded. The remaining few had their shields cantilevered up into a shoulder guard, granting them unlimited freedom of movement. All fired with regularity and accuracy, as you would expect from the lethal, well-trained martial elves.
To his left the ear-splitting crackle of powerful magic tore at the air, and an Orc shaman was blasted from the ground. The Orc wizards would be no match for Laraentha Silverbranch - he had no doubt of that.
Asharien’s saw his spearmen brace themselves for the onslaught. Perfectly still, all in formation, shields interlocked, spears presented to the front – they were ready. At the last moment the elves, in telepathic symmetry, moved. They lunged forth with their spears, the sharpened gemstones drilled in deep, passing through the armour and into Orc flesh with lethal result. Many an Orc fell from the first wave, but still they crashed full force into the shieldwall, and vicious hand-to-hand combat broke out. The King realised it was time for him to join the fray...
Prince Nuadalor looked on impassively. He could see the King and his standard bearer fighting alongside the massed ranks of spearmen, and saw the elf archers positioned to afford them the best angle to rain arrows down on their attackers – but still there was little respite. The Orc horde were too numerous and the Elves would have to fall back – but the prince still had one more move to make.
The Elves executed their tactical withdrawal with elegance. The final troops holding back the massed ranks of filthy Orc scum were the defenders, lines of spearmen backed up by the bowmen, arrows and spear tips extracting a heavy price for each yard given up.
Then, suddenly, a massive roar, a huge gout of flame – and back to silence. Prince Nuadalor’s plan was working. The Orcs had halted.
The Dragon’s Breath battery fired again, another blast of flame incinerated all before it, the flame magically served up from the dragons harnessed in the Elven kingdom many miles away. When the third volley licked the Orc flesh the battle was over. The enemy warriors threw down their weapons and ran. The elf archers used the Orc’s retreating backs as target practice until they were gone from the sight of any human eye. Even then an occasional scream could be heard as an arrow found its mark.