To Gareth’s surprise, the beholder whose gaze had affected him turns away. While its many eyestalks fire a barrage of rays, the creature floats steadily forward, as if with a specific objective. The same is true of the other beholders, each of which replicates the motion. Some of the mind-flayers move too, each of them flying through the air. But their focus is more obviously on destruction, as they unleash either spells or waves of mental force. Scores of defenders are torn apart, while the luckier ones simply drop their weapons and grab at their heads, stunned by the mind blasts. Others, struck by the beholders’ eye-rays, suffer myriad effects, ranging from simply collapsing in magical sleep to being petrified to being reduced to dust.
That’s it! Nameless shouts across the battlefield, “The gate! They’re after the gate!” An instant later, he casts a disintegrate of his own. Two hundred feet away, an unfortunate beholder roars in agony as the beam strikes, momentarily outlining it in green light, before rendering it to nothing.
“On it!” says Gareth. He extends the Endless Blade, which popped back into existence as the beholder’s anti-magic gaze left him, ahead of him and issues a mental command. With a telepathic shout of glee, the sword responds, driving itself through the air with the paladin behind it.
Its target, another beholder, quickly realizes the peril as Gareth’s form, garbed in gleaming dragonhide armor and glowing with the light of the Silver Flame, drives at it. The beholder pivots, eyestalks moving before the unwieldy body, and multiple magical beams strike Gareth. The first barely scorches him, his now innate resistance to energy absorbing the attack, and he shrugs the second’s attempt to render him asleep without an effort. Then the third beam hits, limning Gareth in a verdant glow for an instant. Skin disintegrates, but the paladin is far more resilient than Nameless’ target was, and a second later the glow fades, leaving him only lightly wounded. And right on top of the beholder before its central eye can affect him.
“For the Flame!” Gareth shouts, driving the Endless Blade deep into the beholder’s side. Silver fire leaps from the sword, incinerating the aberration from the inside, and it thrashes vainly in its death throes. Its central eyes close, the eyestalks droop, and the dead aberration floats limply in mid-air.
A short distance away, Korm—flapping more slowly aloft on his cloaker-wings—blasts two of the beholders with an arc of lightning. Neither of the badly wounded creatures falls, but they pause, thrashing in agony. Before they can recover and fly onwards, other defenders target them with spells and weapons, slaying both.
However, there is only so much that the Angels themselves can do, and there are still two beholders left. The other defenders individually cannot compare in power to the Angels, and the withering magical assault of the mind-flayers makes it difficult for them to combine their abilities to best effect. Both of the remaining beholders take damaging hits, but they float on through the air, swiftly coming within range of the central gate to the fortifications.
Immediately, each beholder fires a disintegrate rays at the huge portal. A desperate member of the Argent Guard near the gate throws himself forward, intercepting one of the beams with his own body. But the gallant sacrifice is in vain. The second ray strikes, instantly dissolving a ten foot cube in the very center of the gates, destroying both the wood and steel of the gates themselves and the central parts of the multiple iron bars which have held it closed against all external assaults thus far.
The sudden breach reveals a number of huge shapes outside, each wielding giant swords in its three arms, clearly waiting in expectation for the beholders to do their job. They roar and charge forward, shoving their way into the hole. The first of them staggers as multiple spears and arrows strike it, but it totters its way through the gate, propelled partly by sheer stubbornness and partly through the force of others smashing into it from the back. Bleeding profusely and swinging its swords in wild arcs, the athach totters into the first line of defenders, pushing them back even as it slowly collapses from their blows. As it falls, it is trampled under the feet of its allies, who inexorably push their way in, forcing the broken and weakened gates wider apart. In the space of only seconds, nearly a dozen athachs are inside the fortifications, pushing back the defense and creating a space for the other aberrations that follow close behind.
To confirm the danger, Nameless suddenly hears Six’s voice over the telepathic bond. From his vantage point high above, on the deck of a Lyrandar airship, Six transmits, “Nameless – their entire central force is moving in towards the gate. You’ve got to hold them there or be swamped!”
Mentally sending back a swift affirmative, Nameless shouts again, “Gareth, Korm – get the gates! We’ll take care of the mind-flayers. Just make sure they don’t get through!” The alienist pauses for an instant, as another telepathic message from Six comes in, and then turns to glance at the ocean. A harsh smile curves his lips for an instant, and then he turns his attention back to the battle, casting another spell. The stone around him trembles under the weight of the two creatures, like walking hills crudely carved into very roughly humanoid shapes, which appear before him. Without a word, Nameless points at the mind-flayers in the area and the earth elementals rumble away, raising their huge fists.
Meanwhile, Gareth rushes away without a word. Running as fast as he can, he barrels into the closest athach, those defenders who saw him coming hurriedly opening a path for the paladin. Gareth ignores the huge sword which rings off his armor with a force which would have broken a normal human being in half, and smites the giant aberration with all his might.
Argent flame shoots from his sword as it slashes through armor and the flesh beyond, utterly disemboweling the athach. Gareth’s target screams and totters drunkenly as he rips the Endless Blade free. “F*ck, yeah!” exults the sword, dripping with blood, “Now that’s what I’m talking about!” Despite the situation, the paladin can’t help chuckling at the sword’s response as he steps backwards from the collapsing athach. But his smile fades as he looks up, into the snarling gazes of two more of the monsters, who step forward, raising six swords above his head.
Then there is movement above the athachs and something plummets through the air above them. Having flapped his way above them, Korm’akhan has chosen a simple way to maximize the defenders’ ability to attack multiple foes. Instead of occupying a position in front of the advancing aberrations, he opts to simply drop right into the center of the athachs. As the Gatekeeper hits the ground, he shouts an orcish war-cry from the Shadow Marches and swings wildly about him, striking simultaneously at four athachs.
The meteoric blade slices deep into aberration flesh, spraying blood around the area and onto Korm. Though his lone effort, dispersed as it is among multiple enemies, does not bring down any of the athachs, it certainly draws their attention. Roaring with anger and pain, the wounded creatures focus on Korm, bringing down a hail of blows and expecting to crush this puny antagonist in an instant. But, to their befuddlement, the Gatekeeper keeps fighting, deflecting swords as large as his entire body with his smaller blade or letting them deflect off his preternaturally hard skin and magical defenses. But there are too many attackers and blows to block them all, and Korm is soon bleeding from multiple wounds.
What his suicidal assault does, however, is buy time for the other defenders. The athachs pause in their advance as they try to destroy the interloper. One of the two giants looming over Gareth turns away as its back is laid open by Korm, leaving the paladin facing only one. Leaping within its reach, Gareth slashes at it, and the emboldened defenders follow his lead, bringing it down in instants. Then they engage the other athachs, attempting to halt their advance.
For long minutes, the battle at the gate rages, more fiercely and closely contested than any element of the assault thus far. Not that the situation is peaceful elsewhere on the battlements. Nameless, aided by his elementals, and with Prine leaping back and forth with incredible speed at his side, engages the mind-flayers, helping the defenders take them down one by one. At the same time, aberrations are attempting to clamber to the top all along the wall, and the diminished numbers of the defense makes it much harder to stop them. While no aberration reaches the top—or, rather, survives doing so—within five hundred feet on either side of Nameless, elsewhere on the wall the situation is less secure. Far to the west, in at least two spots, aberrations establish a beachhead on the wall, with more and more climbing up to engage the Thranish warriors trying desperately to push them back.
Slowly, the battle at the gates also worsens for the defense. With the continuing assault, the actual gates now hang broken and demolished, in no shape to be closed even if the attackers could be pushed back out. The athachs—while unable to push forward as they hoped to—are incredibly durable and take a long time to go down, even with Gareth and Korm leading their opposition. Which, in turn, allows other aberrations to mass behind them and advance through the breach, pushing forward through sheer numbers.
Dolgrims in their hundreds swarm outside, firing crossbows indiscriminately through the gate, hitting allies as much as they do enemies. More dangerous are the runehounds that lope back and forth, breathing streams of acid with unerring accuracy. A few remaining cloakers swoop over the gate, disabling defenders with nausea and fear. Close behind them come a flight of gauths, eye-beams cutting a swathe through the warriors of Flamekeep.
A grey-haired warrior, fighting at Gareth’s side, grabs the paladin’s arm during a rare pause in the fighting. “This location is lost, Sir Gareth,” she says quickly. “If we stay here, everyone will die. Lead the remaining defenders back across the bridge and hold the enemy there. Or break it down, if need be.”
Gareth shakes his head, partly in disagreement and partly to get combined sweat and blood out of his eyes. “We cannot. The aberrations will cut everyone down before we can make it there.”
“No,” says the warrior, “We shall hold them here and buy you time.” She smiles grimly as she indicates the insignia on her helmet, displaying her rank and the snarling chimera-heads of the House she serves – and which Gareth comes from. “For duty and the honor of House Deneith!”
The paladin hesitates for a moment and then nods slowly, knowing that she is right and also that Nameless and Six had discussed this contingency. “Very well,” he says.
The woman smiles again and replies, “It has been an honor!” Then she turns and raises her sword, shouting, “House Deneith! To me! Prepare to form a defensive line!” As many of the defenders begin to move towards her, Gareth now notices that the entire Deneith contingent had followed him towards the gates. Perhaps only half of them remain, all bloodied and battered. Nevertheless, without a word, they move to obey their superior.
Gareth too raises his sword, opening his mouth to call for a retreat. But, as he does so, he hears screams of alarm from defenders ahead of him and on the battlements on either side of the gates. An instant later, half a dozen fireballs explode in the area around him, while a dozen more spells rip through the defense.
With all his sacred and magical resistances, Gareth is relatively unhurt, but the blasts momentarily disorient him. Shaking his head and attempting to see through the huge cloud of dust created by the explosions, the first thing he sees—lying at his feet—is the Deneith commander he was speaking to. Her glassy eyes stare up from a charred face, locked in an expression of surprise.
Ahead of Gareth, a heap of the dead and dying lie before the shattered gate. And through it advance half a dozen mind-flayers, while behind them crawl a dozen nagas, the combined source of the magical assault. The illithid in the lead floats through the air, a dragonshard-topped staff held in one hand, smaller dragonshards gleaming amidst its amputated tentacles. An aura of magical energy gleams around it and waves of fear flow outwards, causing even the dying defenders to moan weakly and attempt vainly to crawl aside.
Alone before it stands Korm. Already more wounded than Gareth was and lacking the paladin’s blessings from the Silver Flame, the Gatekeeper is horribly wounded, staying on his feet through sheer stubbornness as much as due to unnatural vitality. But he still snarls his defiance at the enemy.
“You cannot enter here,” says Korm, and the mind-flayer general pauses, perhaps in surprise. “Go back to the darkness! Go!”
The mind-flayer’s tentacles wave for a moment and then it says, in harshly sibilant tones, speaking in the tongue of the daelkyr, “Fool! This is our hour. Do you not know death when you see it? You shall fall and your city shall burn. Die now and curse in vain!” It lifts the staff and flames leap up around the dragonshard.
Korm doesn’t move, hefting his meteoric blade, cloaker-wings flapping in preparation for one last, doomed charge.
And in that very moment, suddenly, there is an explosion behind the mind-flayer, followed by screams of pained surprise. Far above, under cover of the rising smoke, Six has ordered the two airships to advance until they are directly above the enemy clustered around the gates. Now, Lyrandar sailors hurriedly push casks of alchemist’s fire and other heavy objects overboard, while others fire arrows down into the aberrations, even as the airships turn to retreat out of range. The ground in the area shakes under the powerful, if short-lived, aerial bombardment.
And then, as if in answer, there comes from far away another note. It rumbles loudly and long, like a blast of thunder, but instead of diminishing it slowly increases in volume instead. In the dark sides of Flamekeep’s cliffs it dimly echoes, over and over.
Luna has come at last!*
…
Six had seen it first, from his position on the deck of an airship floating above the spires of Flamekeep, a dark line near the horizon which advanced inexorably towards the land. He watches it carefully, wanting to make certain that it was the tidal wave, dividing his attention between it and the battle. The beholder attack temporarily distracts him, as does the athachs breaking in at the gates, but when he glances back to the wave he can see it is what he hoped, and he swiftly informs Nameless.
The warforged studies the battle a little longer and then decides that it will be too risky to count on the others holding the aberrations until the wave arrives. So he orders the two airships forward, but upward as well, so that there is less of a chance of the aberrations spotting them before they can interfere.
The Falcon and Blackjack soar majestically forward, propelled slowly by the bound elementals in their rotating rings. Their captains carefully use the smoke rising from the battlefield and the dust clouds now blanketing it, so that the aberrations do not glimpse the approaching airships.
While this slows down their approach, it is still only a few minutes before the airships arrive above the embattled fortifications outside the city. Six, studying the positions of the aberration forces through breaks in the smoke, asks the captains to shift them a little back and forth, before he is satisfied.
Then he turns to look out at the bay again. The tidal wave is now much closer, only a few miles off-shore. It describes a long, slightly curved line, stretching across dozens of miles, and Six can now see clearly that it is made up of multiple waves. The warforged notes in fascination that the wave seems to actually be increasing in height as it encounters shallower water, especially in the center. He also notes, right in the middle and some distance behind the front, the form of a large bird—rendered tiny at this distance—soaring in the wake of the wake of the giant wave.
“All right,” he says, turning to the airship sailors watching the wave with rapt attention, “We need to unload and retreat before any flying aberrations can attack us.” He glances back at the wave. Though I think they’ll be distracted.
…
Once they notice the oncoming wave, the aberration forces are thrown quickly into confusion. Those that spot it first shout warnings to others, those in the rear press forward to try and see what it is, those in front attempt to retreat from it, there is uncertainty about whether to press on with the attack or retreat, conflicting orders fly back and forth, and soon the attack is thoroughly stalled.
The mind-flayer general at the gate snarls in frustration and casts a spell, flying up and away, as do some of the others. Which leaves a significantly lessened number of aberrations, whose confusion at events is significantly heightened as Gareth and Korm lead a swift sortie, backed up by the remainder of the Deneith contingent and whoever else can follow them. In only a couple of minutes, the gate is free of attackers. And a moment later, is blocked by a wall of stone from Nameless, which the defenders quickly begin to build a barricade of rubble around.
Meanwhile, some sections of the aberration army, presumably those with better commanders present, attempt to retreat towards the west, away from the bay and the giant wave. But the sheer size of the invading force now hampers them, with far too many of their own allies in the way.
And soon, in minutes, it is far too late.
With an earth-shaking roar, the wave strikes the western edge of the bay of Scions Sound. Though the rocky cliffs that look out over the bay absorb some of the impact, they also cause the swells to surge sharply upwards and break over their lip, throwing up a giant sheet of spray. Thousands of tons of water smash into the rocks and over, the crest of the breaking wave shooting up and over the edge of the cliffs – and onto the aberrations beyond.
The eastern portion of the aberration army is decimated by the wave, which smashes them off their feet and into each other, breaking bones and crushing flesh. Many hundreds are slain outright, and those who are not are left battered and bruised – for the few remaining moments that they have. The water sweeps on in a gigantic semi-circle, slowing gradually, until it reaches a full quarter-mile in from the cliff-edge. And then, with a loud sucking sound it pulls back, gradually building up speed. Many of the aberrations who were staggering back to their feet are pulled off it again – if they are lucky. Most of those closer to the cliff-edge are drawn back with the retreating water, until they disappear into the bay beyond.
The entire process takes only a few minutes, but its results are just as devastating as the Guardian Angels had hoped. When the wave clears, what it leaves is a gigantic area covered in fallen aberrations and strewn with debris, most from the victims but much of it also brought by the water. The attacking army is utterly dismantled, quickly reduced from a deadly force to heaps of dead or dying. Among them stagger the stunned survivors, wailing with confusion and horror. While a substantial part of the huge army extended beyond the area the wave covered or—in rare cases—managed to flee from it, they too stand and stare in shock, milling back and forth aimlessly.
The defensive forces of Flamekeep—who had no idea about the Guardian Angels’ plan—are equally shocked, but essentially untouched, safe behind the defensive walls of the fortifications. They too stand and watch for a few seconds, before raising a ragged cheer. The cries are taken up by those watching far beyond, on the walls of Flamekeep, and they echo back and forth, slowly shifting in register from relief to triumph.
Nameless, looking forth over the scene, allows himself a thin smile too, as he transmits, “Six, it looks like the wave did its job, but you have a better view than me. Situation?”
Six responds, “They’re in bad shape. The wave killed thousands, and the remaining bunch seems totally confused.” He carefully studies some flying figures hovering above the battlefield and adds, “I think some of their leaders managed to fly above the wave and are trying to gather their remaining troops. It doesn’t seem to be working, but this would be the time to lead a sortie against them.”
“Yes,” another voice joins in over the link, “That’s a good idea. And we’re on the way.”
The voice is clearly Cedric’s and, from his vantage, Six looks east towards its source. What looks, at this distance, like a giant crescent moon of silver is advancing towards the far edge of the remaining aberration forces. Cedric’s cavalry contingent, three thousand strong, moves swiftly over the fields of Thrane, the sound of their galloping hooves carrying even to the distant city. The aberrations closest to them either try to flee or put themselves in some sort of defensive posture, but it is clear they are in no shape to withstand the assault.
Gareth and Korm stride over to join Nameless, followed closely by a small group of Thranish warriors. In the lead is Knight Commander Malik Otherro, who had been leading the defense on the far flank from the Angels, wanting to ensure that it didn’t buckle while the center held. The general’s armor is broken and bloodied, but he smiles broadly. “Your work, I presume? When you told me you had a few surprises I had … no idea!”
“We try to please,” Nameless rasps. “Is there any chance we can organize an attack? Cedric is hitting them, and if we do the same too, we can utterly smash them.” He glances out at the aberrations. “What’s left of them.”
“Certainly,” says Otherro. He points at the bridge leading to the city, along which troops can be seen moving. “I see some of our reserves are on the way too.” He frowns, but then shakes his head and chuckles. “I didn’t order it, but I can’t complain. It’ll help, since I’d rather send fresher troops out from the wall while we continue to hold it.”
Korm, badly bloodied as he is, chuckles grimly, “Speak for yourself. I haven’t killed nearly enough aberrations today!”
“Yeah! Me neither!” shouts Gareth’s sword, causing the paladin to roll his eyes. Gareth considers shushing the sword, but then shrugs. “For once, I’ll agree with the Blade.”
“We are agreed then,” says Nameless. “We need to….” He pauses suddenly and then turns quickly to look at the battlefield. “Wait, we forgot about the….”
Before he can complete the sentence, Six forestalls him with another message, “Nameless, I just realized – the Worm is gone! I can’t get a good view of the spot where it was from here, but I think it burrowed underground just before the wave hit.”
“Damn,” says Nameless, “It could be any….”
Again, the sentence goes uncompleted. “Nameless!” says the calm but urgent voice, clearly that of Jaela, “The Silver Flame is under attack! Join me in its chamber!”
* That’s probably my favorite passage from The Lord of the Rings, and it seemed fitting.
