126 Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Six – The Order of the Lion (1/2)

Fighting elves was a total pain in the ass in wooded terrain. Briggs almost laughed to himself.

He was okay as far as skulking went, but in the trees, if a lightly-armored elf didn't want to be seen, well, Treeslipping, 90% concealment, was a huge thing. Even he'd just see shadows flitting around now and then, stray gusts of wind moving the vegetation.

The trees also broke the battle lines of these armored troops, which forced them into open formations where two-on-ones were much easier to do, and the elves excelled in such flanking tactics.

Sure, they could have beat the raiders with a magic-heavy slugfest, but that wasted Valences that might be needed later. At most, the elves wanted to spend one Valence per enemy, giving them some reserves to fall back on... or the ability to coordinate for a big strike.

Mostly, it was a combination of sneak attacks, sudden strikes, and a lot of sniping as the Warp warriors were drawn out of position. Occasionally there'd be a crackle of magic, or the vegetation would come alive and tie a group down for precious seconds, while elves would melt out of the foliage to cut them to shreds, or just fill them full of arrows at point-blank range from just beyond their reach.

Minor illusion screens, the occasional flash of an Energy Fan swallowing a small group, and the skirl of steel and laughing singsong cries of the elves through the trees.

A net drawing tighter and tighter, as Sama had everything in the palm of her hand, cutting apart the fools, ringing them one by one, taking them down in the quiet, rolling down the length of the warband in flitting death.

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The commander of the warband, requisite horned helm equipped, realized what was happening, and horns of bone blew, signaling the withdrawal. Some heeded it, some didn't, and all of the latter died, only some of the former, chased by arrows as they realized belatedly that being twice the mass of your opponents didn't mean you were going to beat them.

Fewer then half of those who'd driven in after the elvish snipers, thirsting for blood, stumbled out of the forest, and rapidly withdrew beyond bow range, losing a few more of their number as they did so.

Their very irked commander glared at the forest, entertaining ideas of setting it all alight, and having some misgivings inside about the lethality of who they were facing. The elves had been much tougher to deal with then their appearances indicated.

Supernatural awareness turned his head around as his warriors drew themselves up once more, bloodied but yet ready to slaughter.

Strange, there was nothing behind him, what did –

There was a flicker of light, and an elf atop a stag was suddenly at the far end of his men's line, a silver sword coming down and point, faint lines of electricity gathering around it.

”Klaw!” he swore, kicking his horse and getting out of the way.

The bolt of lightning was only ten feet wide, but it was hundreds of feet long, chewing through the middle of his lines and sending his men flying, blasted and broken by the snarling, writhing blast of magic.

And as he was spinning his Warp-mutated horse around, the illusion behind him disappeared, and the edge of the Sound Bubble swept past him, momentarily substituting the screams of his men for the rumbling sound of many horses charging.

Fully two hundred armored human heavy cavalry were surging for the back of his unprotected line, less then a hundred feet away. They covered the distance in only a breath or two, and he could only stare in disbelief and raise his great axe as the lances came in!

They shouted a word as they came crashing in... the same word he'd heard the elves using.

”TREMBLE!”

And then they smashed into the back of his warband with steel and thunder, hurling his troops around, lances punching deep, and iron-shod hooves trampling them into the soil.

At the same time, streams of elves poured out of the forest in two wings, sweeping to the sides to insure the Warped couldn't run away.

His eyes were fixed on the hard, grim face of the commander who had driven a lance into his gut, lifting him completely off his horse. In his eyes, he noted a transcendental ecstasy, a confidence that he'd seen in the eyes of many of the elves who'd laughed and vanished into the green before him.

Like there was someone else behind those eyes, driving these men forwards...

Those were his last thoughts, as his dreams of power and slaughter for the glory of the God of Carnage burned away forever, and he heard the remorseless laughter of the Lord of the Gore Throne reaching out for him...

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The big brute was some champion, swinging around an Axe too big and spiked for anyone with sense. Briggs shook his head as he slammed Endure directly into it.