Gods in the Lianreida - Part 9 of 15

Not even the most powerful of the mages could bypass the cost of their wizardry. Magelord Darkenoak had walked amongst them, sending some back to the elven city for recuperation and coordinating the arrival and incorporation of others until he, too, had been outranked and forced to return.

That had been just before the second attack on the walls.

Gods! Why hadn’t they made a secret entrance? Had it been too arrogant of them to think that the fort would never need to be retaken?

Tanalir shook the questions from his head, praying that the reinforcements would arrive with speed as the front rank of his troops met the winged horrors advancing towards them. He had thought these undead griffins banished, pursued by a unit of mounted riders and gone from the battle. He wondered what had happened to the pursuit until he saw how his fixed formations fell beneath the dark creatures’ claws, and noted a familiar tunic amongst the once-living mounted on the griffins’ backs.

How could he hope to keep his men alive, when the elite of Saran’s riders had already fallen? Hoping none of his men would realise they now fought those who had carried their hopes, Tanalir gave the only command that might let them live a little longer.

“Dance of Leaves!” he roared, his voice carried across the battlefield by the last piece of magic Magreilor had been able to give him.