Short Story: Stand Your Ground

The forests endure...

That was what the village elders always told them. But would they endure against that...?

The Dominion dreadnought sat heavy on the horizon, its nose pointed directly at the heart of her village, always coming steadily closer. Every so often, streaks of light flared from either side of the airship as raking rocket fire was directed into the forests below, leaving slowly drifting contrails that looked like infernal wings against its bloated metal body. The fires from their impacts were spreading in the wake of the dreadnought's passing.

Faren stood in the treetop watch post, gazing at the oncoming monster. Her aether-stave was held lightly in her cold fingers, waiting for her master to call upon its powers and unleash its potential against the invaders. However, if that happened, Faren knew she might well be in her last moments on Elyrion. She was not a fighter, she was a spiritual guide and protector. She had been trained in combat since she was a child – every child of the forest had. Surviving the wild predators and harsh environments was necessary, but she could only expect to be able to counter one or two foes at most. That thing would be packed with thrall soldiers, vampire elites, and demons the like of which made the Verdant itself shudder...

“An ugly thing, is it not?” said a voice from behind her. She didn't need to turn to know who stood at her back; his wizened voice and wry tone gave him away as her old mentor and lifelong friend, Munir.

“As ugly as the land it comes from,” agreed Faren. She sighed heavily. “How can one village stand against that...?”

The village elder placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“It isn't just one village. It's every village. The whole forest stands against that monstrosity.”

And the forests endure...

“We should go down...” said Faren. “They will be here soon.”

But her feet didn't seem to want to carry her. It took her mentor's steering hand and gentle urging to get her moving towards the steps leading to the lower levels of the tree and the concealed Sylvan village held aloft above the forest floor.

The warning chimes had been striking their silvery notes since noon, from the moment the Valrathian dreadnought had been spotted, and ever since, the village had been a hive of frantic activity. Faren could still hear their silvery tones above the villagers' hubbub, as they passed backwards and forwards, preparing for battle, or evacuating those that could not fight. She passed among them, heading through the buildings held aloft in the trees, making for the forest floor.

As Faren stepped onto the grass and leaves of solid ground, Ilyia, the captain of the Elorhain, rode up on her tarragon steed and dismounted in front of her. She carried a lance-halberd weapon with an aetherite core encased within. The core pulsed a glowing blue in the centre of the cross of its axe blade and spear point as if eager for the coming battle. In her hands it would be a devastating weapon, both on the charge while on her tarragon mount, and when wielded as a hand-to-hand weapon on foot. Faren had seen the captain's skill with her own eyes when she had effortlessly bested all challengers in the village's annual contests, only the week before.

But there was only one of her. She had sent the rest of her unit on a more important mission, only staying behind due to a special dispensation from her commanders. This was the village she had grown up in before joining the elite guard. She wanted to protect it, or to die trying...

“Malan has taken the archers into the forest to blunt their advance, I will join them shortly. Are the trainees ready?” Ilyia asked Faren.

“As ready as they'll ever be,” replied the forest shaman. “They're posted in the trees, ready for ambush."

"But they won't last long against the Valrathian horde," put in Munir. "Is it too late to divert these monsters?”

“Have you ever tried to divert a Valrathian dreadnought from its path? You might as well try to move a vale oak with your bare hands...”

A trainee ran up and dropped to one knee before the trio in charge of the village's defence, her short blade held ready in a reverse grip behind her back. There was a deep cut on her arm that was oozing blood down her bicep.

“The enemy are on our roots, they will be here within moments. Malan sent me back to inform you of the archers' failure to turn their advance and his decision to fall back to the village.”

Malan, head of the village's archers, was no doubt contesting heavy fighting. Faren looked to the captain, deferring to her tactical knowledge.

“Very well,” replied Ilyia. “See to your wounds, then help with the evacuation.”

“My apologies, mistress Ilyia, but there is no time for that any more.”

As she spoke, the archers flooded back into the village bounds, taking up positions to rain fire on their pursuers. But there were pitifully few of them. Even with the village militia, the trainees and the support of the Elorhain captain, Faren didn't think they stood even the slightest chance of holding the tide of vampires and monsters back.

Faren looked up, fear tightening its grip on her innards. With a static roar of suspensor field power, the prow of the dreadnought appeared over the treetops and swept overhead, blotting out the sky of the village clearing with its sheer bulk. Moments later her world was torn apart by fire.

⁂

When Faren roused – whether moments or minutes later she had no idea – the village was ablaze. Munir's still body lay nearby, but she couldn't tell if he was alive or dead, nor did she have time to check. All she could hear were moans of pain, screams of fear, and the chatter of gunfire and clash of blades.

Her whole body hurt, but she couldn't find any actual injury. There was blood on her, but it didn't seem to be hers. She spotted her aether-stave lying on the ground several feet away and crawled painfully to it. There was no sign of the Elorhain captain nor the trainee that had reported to them just before the attack, but through the drifting smoke, Faren could make out the shapes of many different people in the cover of the forest beyond the treeline surrounding the village clearing, most of whom wore the distinctive and bulky armour of Valrathian shock troops...

There was gunfire, shouting and explosions. The village wasn't lost quite yet, then.

Faren struggled to her feet, leaning heavily on the aether-stave as more explosions rocked the forest, though more distantly this time. The dreadnought had passed on, it seemed, leaving the Valrathian ground forces to sweep up the mess it had made. They were advancing through the trees, weapons spitting at whoever of the archers and trainees still remained. As Faren limped forward, intent on providing anyaid she could, a monstrous shape lunged out of the smoke towards her, a beast that might once have been human, but which was grossly twisted and bulked out of all proportion: a demon of Valrath's twisted laboratory experiments. It leapt at her, claws seeking her face and she raised her stave by instinct alone, certain she was in her last moments –

– and the creature fell backwards, its head severed in a single whispering cut.

Faren blinked.

The blade that had struck the demon down was curved, silver-bright, a polearm wielded with utmost skill and precision. Its owner landed lightly atop the felled creature, long tail flicking and fox ears twitching. Amber eyes swept the clearing for further prey.

“Kitsune...” Faren breathed.

As if summoned by the word, more shapes flowed from the forest. Dozens of them. Blade maidens wearing lacquered duelling vambraces and armed with naginata blades. Their movements were like a dance... their effect, a slaughter. Blades flashing, they fell upon the Valrathians, shattering the advancing formations, quickly turning their enemy's march into a rout.

The lead maiden glanced toward Faren and inclined her head briefly, a warrior's greeting. “Forest-daughter,” she called, her voice clear even amid the din. “Stand your ground. The blade court heard your chimes. We answer.”

Hope surged through Faren so fiercely her knees almost buckled.

The forests endure...

She watched as the tide was quickly turned. The kitsune were everywhere, scampering along logs, vaulting off tree trunks and somersaulting over their foes. Their blades flashed everywhere, and sprays of blood followed. The vampire soldiers and demonic beasts were thrown into utter disarray by their assault.

Some kind of harsh siren sounded, high above the treetops, and the Valrathians began to retreat. The dreadnought must have turned back, judging by their direction of flight. They dragged their wounded with them, firing wildly as they withdrew into the deeper forest. Where the blade maidens caught them, they were slaughtered mercilessly.

“They flee. Cowards.”

Faren looked around and found the lead kitsune standing nearby.

"You defeated them," breathed Faren, but the kitsune shook her head.

"They will be back. Such losses mean nothing to those for whom life has so little meaning."

As the Valrathians retreated, slowly, blessedly, the sounds of battle faded to nothing. Faren turned and staggered back towards the clearing and Munir, dread coiling around her heart with every step. He lay where she had last seen him, his body half buried beneath fallen debris from the treetop village above.

She knelt at his side, holding her hands and aether-stave above him. The staff glowed as she poured what little aether she could into his broken body.

"Munir," she breathed. "Stay with me... please..."

Munir's eyes fluttered open. He smiled a weak smile as she placed a hand on his chest.

"You're hurt," she said, "but we can... when the healers get here..."

He shook his head, his own hand closing gently around hers.

"No. My roots have run... deep enough. Yours... must grow further."

Ilyia returned, the body of the young trainee held in her arms, limp. There were gashes on the captain's skin and rents in her armour. Her tarragon mount slinked into the clearing after her, scales streaked with blood, and lowered itself to the ground to lick its wounds. Beyond, the kitsune were already vanishing back into the trees, even as more wounded villagers returned.

"Is she dead?" Faren asked the woman as she lowered the trainee to the grass. Ilyia shook her head.

"No, she lives yet. This one is strong." She placed a hand upon the young girl's brow, then looked towards the elder. "Munir?" she asked.

Tears began to roll down Faren's face and she could not answer.

"Do not grieve, Faren," he murmured, his gaze drifting upward to the canopy and the open sky beyond. "I am merely returning to the Verdant. The forests... the forests, you see..."

His breath stilled and his gaze became fixed. She closed his eyes and lowered her head to his chest, her sobs wracking her slight form.

"The forests endure..." the captain finished for him.