The reports of Latrian troops encountering elves had been terrifying.  They seemed less battles and more encounters with an unstoppable force that blazed through like wildfire.  Captain Alberto read them again, but there really wasn’t much tactically to go on, just that areas where battles had taken place were obviously scarred by some kind of pyrotechnics, so presumably elven magic.  On the one hand, lack of information made an intelligence officer like himself more valuable, but on the other hand, he’d prefer all the data was available and he could just analyze it, better predict what would happen when their forces inevitably met with the enemy.

It would have been nice to at least been able to request more records, but if the kingdom of Latria had any secret data on the Elsiran forces, it was unlikely that he’d get it.  The nobles built everything off of family ties and blood oaths, so it was only out of desperation that they had hired mercenaries from Nura.  Still, Alberto would need to report what little he’d found out to Major Pasquale.  Hopefully one of his scouts would return before then with some news they could use.  He was a bit worried about them, if the elves were as dangerous as it seemed, even his more experienced men would be in grave danger.

It had been quite a twisted road that had led Alberto to being in the mercenary units of the Nuran Republic.  He’d gone from living in the slums to scoring top marks on the provincial exams being able to study diplomacy and linguistics.  Naive dreams of being a diplomat were quickly dashed as it became apparent that any posts required significant connections, either family or personal, of which he had neither.  Joining the mercenaries had seemed about the only way out of his position, and he’d done surprisingly well, his promotion to Major was almost guaranteed, assuming he survived this assignment.

“Captain, Sergeant Bonetti has news!” The voice of his Lieutenant rang out.

“Send him in.”

A somewhat heavyset man entered the tent and gave a smart salute.  “Sir, Sergeant Bonetti reports!” Alberto stood to his considerable height and returned the salute.  “Let’s have your report.”

“Theres a series of Elsiran supply wagons enroute about 12 miles South West.  They’re heading up the river sir.”

“How many wagons?  How well defended are they?”

“At least 12 sir, there’s some calvary around them, about a platoon’s worth at each one.”

“Excellent job Sergeant, go get yourself and your men a rest.”

The two men exchanged salutes, and Alberto was alone in his tent again.  He turned to his map of Latria, studying the location described.  They’d end up reaching the inland sea eventually, but likely they would break off to join the main forces before then.  Looking at the terrain there, there were only a few spots where it would make sense to move supply wagons.  He scratched at his short brown hair, a bad habit from his humble beginnings; it seemed he’d be able to give the Major a decent brief after all.

—

The meeting had been short, this information needed to be acted on quickly to be of any use.  Major Pasquale had decided against sending the entire mercenary troupe to deal with the supply wagons, the local lord was nervous enough as it was with them shoring up the main defensive line, leaving was not an option.  Instead a significant force of landships and troops would be deployed to strike the supplies and return as soon as possible.  Alberto and his men were joining along as the principle navigation.

It was almost dusk, the biggest hindrance in their travel was also their greatest advantage, the landships.  The large war machines were self propelled armored chariots with powerful cannons, one of the reasons that Nura was able to both defend itself and rent out mercenaries despite the relatively small size of it’s armies.  Alberto’s men were keenly aware of the limitations of landship mobility and had picked a route that should cut off the supply wagons in time.  As the reached the overlook near the expected path, a sense of excitement and dread washed over the detachment, soon it would be time to encounter the mysterious forces of Elsira.

The scouts had more or less done their part of the job, Alberto checked ranks to make sure everyone’s bows were ready.  He looked over at his colleague Captain Marte, his muscular frame hidden in flexible leather armor, prepping his regular calvary for the charge.  Alberto turned to his sergeants.  “Alright everyone, we don’t know much about these elves, it’s likely they have powerful mages, so don’t assume you’re safe in the rearguard.  Let’s make sure the calvary is protected.  This isn’t just a battle for a client, this is for our pride as humans.”  A few of the troops let out a shout of agreement, and then, they waited.

The timing had been impeccable, within the hour the supply wagons began rounding the corner of a cliff.  There was an invisible sense of stillness in the air as the mercenaries waited, waited.  Surges of adrenaline being held back by discipline and training, like a pack of wolves bound by a ribbon.  Finally, all twelve of the wagons were within range.  A flash lit up the night sky as a bolt shot out and struck the rear wagon, not a moment later it was joined by a hail of similar bolts, bombarding the supply line and kicking up dust and smoke.

“Fire!” The scouts let loose their arrows, there was no aiming involved, the smoke made visibility impossible, but hopefully some would find their way into an elven heart.  “Repeat!”  Another salvo was launched, despite his ear plugs, Alberto could dimly hear the excited shouts of the calvary as they rushed into the smoke.  It was playing out like every battle he had been a part of.

And then the elven magic began.

Lightning rained down upon the landships, and within seconds the smoke that had been obscuring their view of the battlefield now surrounded them.  Some of the scouts had the presence of mind to drop their bows and take out their short swords, others simply dropped to the ground.  Alberto tried to duck down to see more clearly, but it was useless.  His scouts began helping the landship crew out of the smoking vessels, but something else was bothering him.  Despite the earplugs dampening sound, he should have been hearing some kind of melee confrontation from below, but he heard nothing.  All stood silently, the eerie silence only broken by a few sobs from shocked soldiers.  And then, ever so subtly, the atmosphere changed.

The smoke seemed thicker, heavier than it had before.  There was something else wrong, the landscape, it was...

“Merciful gods!”

A huge wall of brown leather crashed down in front of them, any semblance of discipline evaporated as they scrambled away from it.  Unnatural crunches rang out all around them, and soon more gigantic pillars of leather began surrounding them.

Alberto’s heart skipped a beat as he felt himself lifting into the air, it was hard to gauge how high he was going due to the smoke, but a fall would probably be fatal.  His arms and legs desperately flailed about to grab hold of something, anything, but it was useless.  A large glass tunnel broke through the smoke, and he soon found himself tumbling down into what seemed almost like a gigantic bottle, several of his troupe were already inside.  He crouched down, trying to get his wits about him, more of his men began falling into the glass chamber.  Trying his best to look strong for their sakes, he stood up and looked out at the glass walls, there was something looming beyond them, but it was still too unclear to make out.  He weakly drew his sword, prompting the others to do the same.  Whatever it was, they would need to be ready for...

Several of them dropped their weapons.

There, glaring into their prison, like the visage of a vengeful god,

was the massive face of an elf.