Swords Over Fireshore by Pati Nagle Read Free Book Online Page A

wood.
    To Rephanin it seemed even the trees watched. Their slow, dull, constant khi—the foundation of the forest—was more alert than usual. All living things awaited the outcome of this conflict.
    Among the ælven west of the river, those engaged in fighting the kobalen, the reaction to Ehranan’s command was anticipation, hope. If all went well, their ordeal would soon be over.
    Forward.
    Ã†lven warriors poured from the wood, streaming across the ford, thigh-deep in water that was cold and fouled with kobalen dead. The army had taken no water from the river since the battle began.
    Reaching the western bank they spread across the valley, silent and swift. If any kobalen saw them they raised no alarm.
    Swords to the fore, archers behind. Prepare to loose a volley on my signal.
    The warriors crossed the river. Ehranan’s voice in thought rang out with the force of every ælven’s will.
    Now!
    Arrows vaulted through the air, a chorus of high-pitched voices singing doom to those below. They rose over the heads of the waiting sword-bearers, sailed in a high arc across the battle-littered ground, then fell with deadly effect among the kobalen, who shrieked and turned to see the new threat behind them.
    Again! Loose!
    A second volley rose and fell, scattering the mass of kobalen. They were fewer than they had been when they had first crossed the mountains, though they still outnumbered the ælven.
    Loose!
    With the third wave of arrows, kobalen broke from the fight and began to swarm up the steep mountainsides to the west. Some ran into the river and were swept away by the deeper waters below the ford. Some ran north toward their attackers, shrieking their anger, fitting darts to their throwing sticks as they ran.
    Charge!
    A cry rose from all the ælven as swords were raised and the line of warriors moved to meet the foe. Rephanin had a fleeting sense of his hand gripping a sword hilt, felt an echo of Ehranan’s racing heartbeat as he advanced with his army.
    Bright sparks of pain or surprise or bewilderment lit across the field as ælven were struck by kobalen weapons, wounded or killed. Rephanin tried to hold himself apart from them, tried to let the points of anguish fade against the greater glow of elation from the ælven armies.
    The trap had worked; the kobalen were broken. All that remained was to hunt them down or drive them west into the cold winter grip of the Ebons.
    Midrange Pass lay to the north of the northern army, out of the kobalen’s reach now, and in any case it was blocked with snow. A cold death would be the fate of kobalen who ran westward and tried to struggle across the unforgiving mountains to their homeland.
    Many did so. Many others tried the river. The few that managed to reach the eastern shore were picked off by ælven archers.
    A few hundred maddened kobalen persisted in fighting, besieged north and south by the ælven. They fought ferociously, eager to cost the ælven as dearly as they might. A group of them broke through the northern army and scattered, some running across the ford, some escaping into the pass.
    They would have to be hunted down, Rephanin agreed with Ehranan’s fleeting thought. Highstone, Alpinon’s chief city, was less than a day’s ride to the north. The folk there were aware of the kobalen threat—indeed, some of the warriors on this field were from Alpinon’s Guard—but it would be better to prevent any kobalen from reaching them.
    The fighting dwindled as the last few kobalen on the field were slain. Rephanin drifted, waiting for Ehranan to give more commands. As fear and tension drained away, a great weariness overcame him.
    Captains to me. Where is Phaniron?
    On the field, some warriors began to tend the ælven dead and wounded, seeking out fallen friends and comrades, while the rest gathered around Ehranan. The army made no cry of triumph.
    Rephanin let commands of a more mundane nature wash through