The creaking whoosh of the trebuchet rotating was music to Justicar Hall’s ears, and he watched the first rock go flying through the air with anticipation. It missed, as he’d expected, but it was far closer to the target than it had any right to be. As the commander of the siege engine barked orders at his crew to re-target, Hall’s eyes turned to the forest behind the siege engines. His lines were particularly weak here, considering that most of his army was guarding the front lines. Of course, there was another reason for that as well.

One of his spies had finally managed to get in contact with Hall, and the man had been able to learn valuable information. Reinforcements were coming to try and pincer the Justicar’s army against Skythorn, led by both a young knight named Reva Lucien and the damnable golems that Lady Marith had warned him about after her surrender. She’d surrendered to Sir Lucien as well, if he recalled correctly, and that hadn’t been the only time he’d heard of the young man, either.

Reva Lucien had traveled to Morak, and had actually managed to win one of the warrior-nation’s famous sword tournaments. While all of Hall’s reports indicated that the young man hadn’t won by much and that it was also an amateur’s tournament, that was an impressive achievement. Hall knew that Morak tended to only have outsiders place in the top three of a tournament every few years, which meant that the elf was skilled. Still, that was only in a fair fight, and Hall had no intention of fighting fair.

Neither did the commander of Skythorn, Hall knew. The elves were desperate for time, not wanting to let his army into the lush fields surrounding Galthor, so when they’d realized that his siege engines weren’t as well defended as they should be, the commander had decided to send a group of commandos to try to destroy them. Unfortunately for the elves, Hall had learned of their plans, and the man smiled grimly, fingering his sword as he waited patiently for the coming attack. He hadn’t fought properly in far too long.

* * *

Watching another boulder go flying toward Skythorn, Captain Essan Torbyn swore under his breath as it hit one of the palisades around the southern keep. He only barely resisted the urge to order the attack immediately. The trebuchets were huge, each with a counterweight to launch the immense boulders they used as ammunition. The walls of the fortresses may have been made of ironwood, but there was only so much punishment they could take from weapons of that size.

Taking a few moments, Essan looked at the handful of posted soldiers guarding the flanks of the siege engines. They were more than enough to stop a handful of skirmishers, but not enough to stop a determined assault in overwhelming force, and Kelvanis seemed to believe that they had Sifaren’s army pinned behind the fortifications. Fortunately they were wrong, and Essan smiled thinly as he spotted a faint figure in crimson armor beside the first of the half dozen trebuchets. Only the Justicars of Kelvanis wore crimson armor, which made the man one of the highest authorities in all Kelvanis. Eliminating him would do wonders for morale, so Essan made a mental note to ensure that his own detachment went after the Justicar.

A night bird’s call broke the relative quiet of the evening, signaling that both companies were in position. He paused for a long moment, hesitant. But as yet another boulder went flying, he let out a breath and nodded, putting his whistle to his lips and blowing three times.

Rising with the rest of his command group, Essan moved forward as several groups of magi unleashed their spells, launching fireballs, lightning bolts, and showers of wooden spears at the guards just as his soldiers charged forward. The ground was broken and difficult, but just shy of two hundred elven soldiers rushed from the woods, the mages coming forward as smoke and debris rained from where the spells had fallen.

A savage grin on his lips, Essan moved as quickly as he could toward the enemy encampment, ready to exact vengeance of his own. They were almost halfway to the former lines when the dust began to clear, and Essan’s smile vanished. While craters and burning tents were scattered around the posts, there wasn’t a single body in sight. That was when the air shimmered, revealing three companies of Kelvanis’ soldiers between him and the trebuchets… and there wasn’t a damned thing he could do to stop at this point.

* * *

Watching the elven attack force stumble as the illusions his magi had laid down vanished was one of the most satisfying things Justicar Hall had seen in weeks, a grin playing across his face briefly. It had required a large expense of mana stones and some spell anchors, but they’d managed to hide all the defending soldiers from Sifaren’s scouts, and to lure them into having their magi bombard a group of illusions with their opening spells.

“Fire!” Hall heard one of the sergeants nearby bark out, and the sharp twang of dozens of crossbows firing echoed through the night, prompting screams of pain as his people focused on the enemy spellcasters. Elves cried out in pain as they fell, blood staining the ground as Hall watched unflinchingly.

Finally the Justicar stepped forward as he called out, “Advance!”

Almost as one, the front lines of his soldiers started forward, the moment punctuated by one of the trebuchets launching a boulder behind them.

* * *

All around Essan came screams of pain and despair, and he couldn’t do a damned thing. If they tried to retreat, their opponents would bring them down with a hail of crossbow bolts, and his magi had been devastated in the opening volley, leaving his command vulnerable to the enemy casters, as one retreating cluster of his soldiers had learned when a fireball descended on them.

Kelvanis’ soldiers were disciplined and well-prepared, while the morale of the elves had already been shattered, and they were armed and armored for hit and run tactics. This was very nearly the worst sort of confrontation for them, and the knowledge was like ashes in Essan’s mouth. They were all going to die or be captured, and he knew it.

He hoped it wouldn’t all be for nothing, though, for on the front lines he saw the crimson armor of the Justicar, wielding a longsword in both hands as he clashed with the vanguard of Essan’s company. The man was too far forward to be properly supported by his allies, and Essan rushed toward the man, desperate to at least take down one of Kelvanis’ high commanders before the last of his people fell.

The Justicar moved with the grace of a hunting panther as he dodged the attacks of two elven soldiers, his riposte dropping a woman with a groan. Essan just barely caught the smile on the man’s face, and the elven captain snarled as he lunged toward the human.

“The elven commander, I presume?” the human spoke almost conversationally as he parried Essan’s attack, grinning as he added, “I’m Justicar Ivan Hall.”

“Captain… Essan Torbyn, you butcher!” Essan retorted, dancing back to catch his breath for a moment, glaring at the human.

“I don’t kill without need. However, you all are in the way of my plans, so it’s necessary. Surrender, and you won’t die,” Ivan replied calmly over the clash of battle, his sword at the ready.

Glancing around, Essan saw the battle was going just as poorly as he’d feared, and no more than a handful of his people had gotten out so far. That solidified his resolve, and he replied by readying his sword, surprised that his opponent’s soldiers hadn’t closed in to deal with him yet.

“So be it,” Ivan murmured, and then he struck hard and fast.

The man was even faster than before, and Essan barely blocked the attack, his hands vibrating with the force of the blow. Dodging the follow up, Essan focused on parrying and trying to find an opening in the Justicar’s defenses. How could the big man be that fast?

Unleashing a furious series of attacks, Ivan steadily forced Essan back, pushing him harder and harder, until finally the Justicar showed the barest hint of an opening. Taking that split-second opportunity, Essan lunged at the human.

It felt like a sledgehammer hit him in the stomach, and Essan abruptly found himself on his side, wheezing as Ivan lowered his leg from where he’d kneed the elf. “Hmm. Not bad, but not good either. My apologies, but you’re too valuable to kill.”

The last thing Essan saw before losing consciousness was Ivan’s gauntleted fist, and another boulder hitting Skythorn in the distance.

* * *

Two days later, Justicar Hall stood in the wreckage of Skythorn. With the elven captain’s unwilling aid, he’d been able to get a small portion of his army through the barriers around Galthor and fully encircle Skythorn. The elves had fought to the last, all but a few at least, but with the trebuchets and the additional knowledge he’d dragged from Essan, the fortress had fallen.

His casualties had been considerable, though, Hall reflected, glancing at his army. He’d lost nearly three thousand soldiers to the fortress, if he included injuries, but it had been worth it. Now he just had to reach Galthor and wait for the young lordling to get them inside.

“Orders, sir?” his second in command asked.

“I want a thousand men to hold these ruins to keep from being trapped,” Hall replied calmly, turning to face the Colonel, then nodded toward the open, green valley that lay before them. “The rest of the army is to advance on Galthor. We’ve got a barony to take.”

“Yes, sir,” the Colonel acknowledged with a bow.

Giving a nod to his new shield bearer, Ivan headed back toward camp to help get things organized. Essan looked incensed, but followed along silently, unable to do anything to resist.