It was determined that Eledir would command the primary force of the allies’ army—appropriate, given that it was comprised mostly of elves from the Blue Dragon. The elves were primarily armed as archers, although they all bore wicked long swords for one-to-one battle. Falladay Finn and his dwarves were the most heavily armed, as they’d been at the Council at Paralon, with each of them bearing heavy axes, braces of short knives, and archery equipment of their own. Finn, along with Nemo, served as Eledir’s primary lieutenants, with Charys and the assembled creatures bringing up the rear. Jack, despite cautions from both Charys and the Elf King, had chosen to join in the battle alongside Nemo. Aven and Bert tried to dissuade him, but Jack would brook none of their concerns. His eyes were shining from the fire that blazed in his belly to see real combat. He didn’t understand that skirmishes aboard a ship, which were all he’d really experienced, were not the same as war, and further justified his choice by pointing out that he was at least as physically able as John, who’d been a soldier, and was more willing to boot. “I’ll be fine,” said Jack. “No one’s gotten killed so far, have they? And you know it yourself—I’ve proven myself to be braver and more resourceful than you thought I’d be. So don’t worry. I’m going to do things on this battlefield you’ll remember for the rest of your life.” Aven flashed a concerned look at Nemo, who indicated with a brief nod that he would try not to be separated from Jack during the battle. As she walked back to the beach for more torches, Aven wondered if of the two, she was actually concerned for the right one. Like a drowning man can drag down his rescuer, she hoped that Jack’s inexperience in combat would not similarly impair Nemo. She though of going back and saying something more, but she had other matters to attend to and soon forgot about her concerns. “We’re going to find the Winter King.” John said it matter-of-factly, but it sounded more ludicrous out loud than it had inside his head. He and Bert had reasoned that the Winter King would not engage in the actual battle—not if his goal was still to summon the dragons. John surmised that to make the attempt, the Winter King would move as far away from the battlefield as he could get—and that meant the rocky bluff to the west, which sharpened to a peak high above the roaring falls. “That’s where he’ll be, I’m sure of it,” said John. “And Artus and I will have to be there too.” “Why me?” asked Artus. “Shouldn’t I be on the field, with all the rest?” Bert took the young man by the shoulders and peered at him over the top of his glasses. “You should not,” he said with equal parts sternness and affection. “If John is right, then you may be the only one of us who is able to summon the dragons, and that means you are too valuable to risk putting in open combat. Go with John, and see what you discover. We’ll buy you as much time as we can.” The old Caretaker embraced the boy king in a brief hug, then turned and walked to the top of the hill, where Aven was waving a torch. The sun vanished, and a cry and hue rose up from the other side of the island. The battle was beginning. The enemy force was moving south with a slow, deliberate pace, but Eledir directed the elves to rush forward and establish a center line to hold as far into the shallow valley as possible. Against the greater force, they would eventually, inevitably lose ground and be driven back to their ships. Eledir wanted to make sure they had as much ground to lose as possible. Falladay Finn and the dwarves could not quite keep pace with the elves, so he instructed them to sheath their axes and pull out their bows and arrows. They would fire behind the enemy lines, then pick up their axes again to push forward when the elves were pressed to their first retreat. Charys and the centaurs had one mandate: to flank the rest, and make sure that none of their enemies were trying to outflank them. It was bound to happen at some point, as battles frequently spill past their prescribed boundaries, but with John and Artus heading to the west, and Charles and Tummeler heading east, it would be better to keep as much of the action corralled in the valley as possible. Nemo, for his part, was firing a weapon of his own manufacture, an air-propelled gun of some kind, which had greater range than anything in use by the other races, and he was augmenting his assistance to Eledir by taking out the Troll and Goblin commanders long-distance. From the hills behind, Bert watched and worried, too old to join in himself. It was not the battle ensuing that worried him, but the one still to come. The trolls and goblins had engaged them, but the hundreds of Wendigo, who were better fighters than the trolls, and more fearsome than the goblins, were still inexplicably clustered around the tents. He had also been scanning the encampment with Aven’s spyglass since the battle began, but still… …There was no sign of the Shadow-Born. Charles’s plan was for himself and Tummeler to skirt around the eastern shore of the island and come around behind the Winter King’s encampment, there to look for the kettle. They were dressed in dark leathers and would carry no torches, planning on Tummeler’s animal senses to guide them through the darkness. They were preparing to move down to the beach, when something in the torchlight caught Charles’s attention. He stopped and looked more closely, then his eyes widened in shock, and he dropped his supplies to go find Aven. “Master scowler?” said Tummeler. “Stay there,” said Charles. “I’ll be right back.” “Aven!” Charles said, finding her gathering more flammable materials from the Green Dragon. “Listen to me. Something is wrong! Something is wrong with Jack!” Aven started a curt retort, but bit it back. Something in Charles’s tone told her that this was not an unconsidered assessment. “What is it? What’s wrong with him?” Charles took her arm and pulled her closer. “I couldn’t put my finger on it until just now. For the last few days, he’s grown more and more brash, reckless even. I thought…” He blushed. “I thought he was just trying overhard to impress you.” “Since the moment we met,” said Aven. “What of it? He’s grown confident. He’s become a man—maybe even a warrior, although I’d cut out my own tongue before I let him hear me say that.” “I thought the same, but—” “But what, Charles?” Charles pointed to the rise twenty yards off where Jack was organizing several of the fauns and satyrs into a staggered line of archers. Aven was right: He was more confident. He did direct them with an authority that belied his youth, and he had proven himself in every battle they had joined. But Charles’s suspicions had manifested themselves in a form visible yet subtle, and Aven’s breath caught in her throat when she saw it. Jack had no shadow. The first engagement had gone badly. The elves, impressive as they were in battle, were not a match for the trolls, the smallest of which outweighed the largest, stockiest elf. It was only the quality of their elf-forged armor that saved them from being completely overrun, and they retreated to switch to bows and arrows. Unexpectedly, the dwarves fared better at hand-to-hand combat against the trolls, and they added to the attack a benefit for the Elven archers to the rear. The dwarves’ short stature meant that the huge trolls had to stoop to strike a blow, exposing the backs of their heads and shoulders to the arrows, while the dwarves whaled away at their legs and midriffs with the massive battle-axes. Still, the overwhelming might of the trolls was something to be held, and held only, not beaten back. As they’d feared, the goblins had attempted a flanking action, only to be forced back into line with the others by the centaurs. The goblin archers’ aim was deadly, but the centaurs shrugged off the arrows as if they were wasps. The other archers and pikemen gleaned from the mythbeasts and animals, led by Jack, came in behind the centaurs, and in moments the goblins were in full retreat. The trolls made another great push forward, then, amazingly, began to pull back as well.
