53. Harper
53
HARPER
D awn—and battle—arrived too soon for comfort. The dwarven host, uncharacteristically silent, stood in unbroken lines threading through the trees above the cleared land before Afnirheim where the battle-dead still lay. A stench wafted across the valley—of death and the scourge of goblins—further turning Harper’s stomach. Already, she trembled, unable to contain her nervous energy, not even with Brand’s reassuring presence beside her. The goblins’ shrieks still echoed across the valley though, with the rising sun, many retreated into Afnirheim in disorder, trickling back into the dark halls.
Dwarven horns rang out—rich, strong, and fierce—and with that summons, their forces charged. It was a slow build of pace as the line of Korrin’s army, all infantry, swept forward as they descended upon the valley floor, roaring their attack. The melee was upon them all in short order as the shrieking goblins, caught off guard by the sudden and unexpected attack, met the charge, spilling forth from Afnirheim with haste and urgency. They emerged in greater numbers until the valley before the dwarven city was full of bodies, din, and a stench that made Harper’s eyes water.
Behind the dwarven king, who led the charge, and the front ranks of Konig Korrin’s strongest warriors, Harper and her companions surged forward, meeting the goblin defence as the front lines married and the first of both sides fell. Brand’s great blade emerged, sweeping away all before him, whilst Erika’s twin blades were a blur, soon spewing black blood into the air as she felled those who dared come close to her. Aedon’s own blade darted out like a serpent with each strike. Between the scything dwarven axes, they crunched and squelched in fleshy targets.
Harper stood between them all, wielding her own blade where needed, charging it with magic that burned and sizzled her targets as she struck, sending them either squealing to the ground or falling back in retreat—saved by desperation and luck, rather than skill. In the midst of battle, there was neither time nor energy to waste on fear, for every step brought a fresh challenge. That terror was lightning through every vein as she moved at speed to evade death.
Harper soon lost herself in an uncharacteristic haze, somehow finding all her senses overloaded, but having a clarity of mind and rhythm in her limbs that seemed a strange, deadly dance. Somehow, all her training seemed to come to some kind of fruition. She tried not to think that the goblins were hardly an organised opponent, and their disarray aided her far more than her paltry skills. Rather instead, that she had enough grace, skill, and nerve to attack and defend with a semblance of competence, enhancing her attacks with magic that bit into the onslaught of goblins.
The ground ran slick and muddy with red and black blood, until the host of dwarves had no choice but to clamber and stumble over the corpses. It made for a difficult advance, but Korrin’s banners called them all forward as he progressed the dwarven battalion upon the fallen city. Their assault was inexorable, pushing back the goblins, who hated the growing daylight that made their vision barely passable, just as Korrin had said. Still, goblins spewed from the mouth of Afnirheim, and Harper found herself wondering when the horde would end… if the horde would end.
She sensed a turn in the tide when she could see the back of more goblins than their fronts. They stumbled into the dark halls under the growing light and dwarven attacks. Korrin’s forces advanced upon the mountain, their triumph buoying their pace. However, the fortunes of battle changed once more. Storm clouds grew until the sky darkened to a dim gloom. The shrieks of the goblins cacophonied anew, for the darkness was their domain, and they flourished within it.
Once more, they poured forth from Afnirheim with such force that the dwarven lines were halted, then rebuffed, and suddenly, the goblins had the advantage on the slightly higher ground, the chaos of the battlefield behind the dwarves providing no sure footing or place to form effective ranks. Now, the dwarves no longer seemed strong and inexorable, no matter their weapons, armour, and order. The feral goblins, as slippery as smoke, held the advantage, moving easily over the carnage. As the dwarven lines thinned, Harper once more felt true fear carve into her when she saw the gaps begin to widen as dwarves were forced to retreat under the onslaught and regroup—or try to—behind the muddy, bloody battlefield.
She acted upon instinct—the true benefit of Brand’s, Aedon’s, and Erika’s training becoming apparent—the ingrained movements saving her neck on several occasions. Despite her fear, it gave her joy to know that she was no longer helpless, and she revelled in the feeling, channelling her fear and energy into magic and battle. She used every part of it to hold the goblins back. Fire and lightning flew at them, charged upon her blade. It sent them fleeing, shrieking and smoking. She drifted farther along the line, leaving her companions behind as she sought out targets.
Korrin’s horns sounded just as the dwarven lines fractured under the seemingly endless onslaught. Retreat! Retreat! The dwarves fell back, across the quagmire of the dead, to the far slopes of the valley, where they would once more hold the advantage.
Harper continued to move with a knot of dwarves, barely registering that she could no longer see Erika’s whirling blades, or Brand’s wide wings, or Aedon’s darting form. During a lull, she looked up to view the battlefield. No matter that the valley piled high with twisted goblin bodies covered in black blood and grime, far higher in numbers than the fallen dwarves, the goblins kept coming, flooding in a constant torrent from Afnirheim’s fractured gates.
She did not see the goblin until it was too late. He fell upon her with speed, brandishing a cruel, jagged blade in his claws, teeth bared. There was no time to raise her blade. Prophecy be damned, she was as good as dead.
Thunk .