It was the ninth day of Kaleeng in Finnith. The desert sun burned fiercely, even this far north of the equator. The earth seemed to sizzle; the yellow sand danced like a strange vision as heat radiated violently. Even at the ocean side there was burning deserts; the fingers of sand grasping at a thin stretch of grass by the sea. There was a great delta here, where the desert dwellers found rich soil to grow crops.

It was here that they made the metropolis called Tpha, a vast and mighty citadel carved from the ancient sands. The walls reared like a monolith over the land surrounding it. It guarded the eastern-most marches of the Finnith with an iron fist; none had ever dared attack it, and its inhabitants were sure of its potency. The general population did not realize, however, that it was entirely vital to this area. Without the vast delta that the fortress guarded, thousands would starve. Cities would be abandoned and troops would not be supplied. A region two hundred miles across would have to be abandoned and given to the enemy, something the rulers would never allow.

Thus it was with great fear that they beheld tidings of the approach. The Nerallians were on the march again, sweeping the countryside and conquering all in their path. Their elephants could not be matched; great pachyderms plated with shining steel, before whom a steed could not stand. Great columns of armored paladins marched under the Northerner's banner, with great shields and mighty swords. Mightiest of all was their general, Adrian, the bane of all who fought, a powerful warrior, with an even more potent tongue; he rallied his men to victory in the most hopeless situations, driving them forward and crushing all before him. But they would surely prevail.

Kaiid, their king, their master, their emperor, had blessed Tpha with his very lips. The walls were wrought with more than stone; the dark magic held them together, and so they could never be taken down. Adrik, the lord of Tpha, had summoned his elders when the news sounded. He ordered the barracks emptied and all prepared for war. Word spread like a fire. Townspeople fled in fear from their homes, scraping together whatever supplies they could carry and crowded into the citadel.

It had been six days since the news was had reached the citadel. The entire delta was abandoned. The watch on the city walls was doubled. Even the famous wormherd Elessel was present, her cages full of colossal fiends ready to be opened. The armies were gathered within the walls, ready to repel the most daring invasion of that era.

Two young men sat on the walls at noon dressed in a light desert garb. They had hoods that shielded their faces from the desert blasts, and long sleeved clothing to protect from sunburned. One of larger girth was named Zephell, the other Tagra. They both kneeled on the walls, taking turns hold the spyglass as the other munched on rations. The sun only grew hotter as the day wore on, beating down fiercely on the city.

'Zephell, I'll take the spyglass,'� Tagra said as he swallowed the last of a fish sandwich. Zephell didn't need any convincing; he was hungry. Settling down with his elbows on the edge of the wall, he sighed and put his eye to the spyglass.

Far off in the North, to which direction he faced, he saw the desert stretching out before the walls. It sloped upward gradually until it peaked; on the other side was a lake, but it could not be seen from the city walls. Were they that far yet?

The battle horn sounded.

Zephell pulled the spyglass from his bag, looking north across the plain. Tagra stood for a moment, gazing toward the blast, then ran down the steps of the wall, sounding the alarm. He almost tripped on the way, shouting to the gate wardens to spread the news.

Warriors streamed from the barracks, ready for the call of war. Adrik, general of Tpha, gathered his company and saddled his horse. He looked back at his men, knowing they were ready, and nodded to them. Wheeling his horse about, he hastened to the portcullis. As he neared the gate, he saw ten thousand archers gathering on the wall. They bore no armor, and wielded but small bows, but hatred guides arrows to the mark!

Eighteen thousand infantry, armed with scimitars or great pikes, readied themselves inside the outer wall. Fifteen thousand knights donned their armor and hefted their great axes. Cavalry unnumbered prepared to fight. Adrik's company of desert assassins numbered fifty.

This is surely enough to repel them, he thought, In the name of Kaiid, I will repel them!

'Open the gates,'� he commanded, 'let us see our great foe.'�

Clink, chink, chink, clink. The great iron wall slowly rose, hefted by a hundred slaves. Adrik rode slowly out as the Nerallians came into view. A long line could be seen approaching slowly, broken by tall war elephants marching at the head of the ranks. Snatching up a spyglass from his attendant, he looked closer at the Northerners. Twenty elephants he saw, iron clad beasts with great tusks of ivory-ore, a selected mutation among the northern elephants. Each elephant was more than fifteen feet high from foot to back. And not an inch of leathery skin shown beneath that steel.

The great host approached ponderously for another hour, then halted.

'They are constructing catapults,'� alerted Zephell, eye to the spyglass.

'Then greet them with the mountain worm,'� cried Adrik, 'Andel! Command Elessel to release her pet!'�

Adrian, clad in great shining armors, lead the advance. His steed was a great elephant, Aranok. He raised an armored fist in the air and reigned his mount to a halt. His clear eyes gazed forward. He drew his sword.

'Men! Prepare your hearts,'� he cried ferociously as he advanced before the columns. Every head snapped to attention. Every shield locked into place. Every sword was drawn. 'This city, these walls, are ours! We will claim them with the blood of our foes, and our marching feet shall be its new anthem! Your swords are clean. Prepare them for blood! Your mouths are silent. Prepare to utter the eulogies of your enemies! Prepare to charge!'�

The catapults were locked back, their great spars bent to their utmost, ready to release hellfire. The elephant riders prepared to advance, each of them armed and armored with great spears and tall helms. The noon sun glinted like one great star on the mass of steel. All was tense.

Adrian dropped his arm, pointing his sword at the doomed citadel.


It was like a great heavy intake of breath. All was silent, except the wind's faint howling.

Even it seemed to stop as the desert people saw movement once again.

Adrik hastened out of his tent, his silver armor reflecting the sunrise.

'Arafa! Azek! Tezir! Arm your divisions,'� he cried to his sergeants as they emerged from the tent, 'Form up pikemen! The Nerallians are advancing!'� So doom approached his great city: with thundering hoof beats and stomping metal feet. The enemy was far outnumbered! His worms, his beasts, his men could bring them down. And if all else failed, the enemy would at least fail to crush the walls.

The portcullis rose slowly. Adrik strode out, followed by desert-garbed assassins. He held a scimitar at his side, a bow on his back as he challenged the Northerners with his gaze.

Tpha had never been taken.

Thousands of pikemen swarmed out of the gates, their tall weapons held high and their desert shrouds blowing in the wind as they rushed into position. About a bowshot from the walls they stopped. Ten sergeants, after the pikemen had amassed into formation, strode to the front of the files.

'Plant halberds,'� they bellowed as they drew their swords.

Each soldier planted their spear into the grassy soil at an angle, pointed them forward. Each spear measured eight feet in length, enough to spear a war elephant in the face.


The elephants were lumbering once again, each marching abreast of the other. Their great armored backs swayed to the left and right with each step.

Twenty of the great ironclad beasts approached Tpha. In the tradition of Nerrallian warfare, each was covered entirely by shining steel armor. Only flesh at the joints and eyes emerged from metal.

Atop each monstrous beast rode the Edraa, along with five Nerrallian crossbowman, who bore the Kazak-dra, the Nerrallian repeating crossbow.


'Send them a volley,'� ordered Adrik to the archers atop the walls.

Fifteen thousand arrows took flight from the mighty walls, a cloud surging to the Nerallians. Arrows were bent and mangled on the armor of the paladins; few brought death. Commands of the Nerrallian sergeants echoed faintly across the plain as shields were raised and swords were unsheathed. The elephant riders leveled their Kazak-dra.

The elephants charged first, their thunderous hooves beating the green grass to the ground.

Another volley of arrows soared toward the besiegers.


'Prepare to fire,'� ordered Jex, an Edraa, to his crossbowmen. The archers tensed, searching the veiled Finnitian faces for a target.

'Fire!'�

Darts spewed like angry hornets, sinking into flesh. Blood sprayed as projectiles speared vulnerable necks. The first row of pikes clattered to the red grass.

'Reload, and give them hell!'�


Impact. Pikemen were hurled headlong into the ranks behind them; some impaled on the tusks of war elephants, some impaled on the pikes of their brothers. Mighty heads swung, their tusks wiping the earth of the enemy and sweeping all aside. Some dropped their pikes and fled like madmen, others achieved success and speared an elephant's rider, only to be trampled by the enraged beast. The darts still spewed without pause, clearing the spikes out of the way for the elephant's rampage.

As the elephants fought, boulders by the hundreds arced overhead, hurled from mighty trebuchets. The fiery streams followed behind massive projectiles; it took several minutes before they made impact. By then, more had taken flight. The pounding inside the walls shook the ground beneath the battle.


Unlike the war elephants, the Nerrallian paladins marched rhythmically, their steps falling as one. Their armor was thick and heavy. Their pavises were broad. Their swords were long.

The knights halted as one a stone's throw from the desert warriors. Each man gazed at his foe across the field as moments passed. This would be a battle hard-fought, as all had foreseen. Man would face man, two equal forces pitted against each other, readying themselves for a confrontation only to be ended in the death of thousands. Hatred burned as blades were drawn.

Frenzied screams erupted from the desert warriors.

The Nerallians stood silent and firm.

Want to comment on this Short Stories? Sign up to Edit Red and you will be able to comment on Short Stories and get access to: Upload your own stories and poems, get readers and their feedback, promote your work...