Sacrifices (Book Three of The Pawn's Game)

SACRIFICES

By Victor Nox

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2017

Chapter 1

Benjamin Franklin once wrote, Sell not virtue to purchase wealth, nor liberty to purchase power. How true, Poor Richard. The Conclave sold their virtue for wealth. Many a sorry soul sold their liberty to the Conclave for protection. I wish that I could sit on my high horse and condemn them for their corruption and greed. I can’t. I sold my humanity for the power to save myself and my friends, and I have to say, it has served me well. The powers granted to me by the Brimstone kept me alive, until I foolishly negated them in the Fountain of Bimini. I was mortal again; no supernatural healing ability, no blazing blow-torch hands, and no chance of winning a toe-to-toe fight with the legendary foes invading my planet. If I was to finish my mission and close the remaining portals, I would have to make more bargains like the one that saved me many months ago. My name is Jed Morehouse, and I am for sale.

All in all, there were worse places to hang out my shingle than in Avalon. The long heralded and hidden homeland of the elves was gorgeous in the way that divine beings of lust are gorgeous. I should know, having met one. The trees were greener, the animals were healthier, and the people were happier than anywhere in the human world. From the flora to the fauna, everything was lush and bursting with life. Humans have a distinct knack for ruthless survival, but we have forgotten what it is like to live with nature rather than lord over it. Avalon, more than any other place I’ve traveled, showed me the impact of that mistake.

The landscape was meticulously molded to the tastes of its inhabitants, reflecting their intimate connection with all things nature. The elves were graceful, delicate, and as androgynous as a metro-sexual commune. Any recognizable gender characteristics had long since been weeded out of their gene pool through selective breeding. I was often in the awkward position of wondering if I should refer to an elf as Madam or Sir. Brian Cook, my long time tutor and friend had warned me about being rude to our hosts, but it wasn't easy for a human who was used to the telltale clues of beards, breasts, and curves. Ai Yamada, a freelance Hunter and the newest addition to our cadre, was not fairing much better. The women scorned her as vulgar for having a modest but apparent bosom, and the men pitied her as an invalid for being so human. Brian was getting along better than we were. He stood about as tall as the average elf, four or five inches above me, and his long connection with one of their own by the name of McCarthy kept him in good standing. Al, the old curmudgeon of our little group, was not exactly well liked by the natives, but he was well respected and that was more important to him. Needless to say, none of us left our tents in the war camp very often.

The shadow of war had been looming over Avalon for weeks. We had arrived shortly after sightings of the enemy were confirmed. None of us had planned to get involved. Even McCarthy, who held a high position among the Fae, had not willingly returned to his homeland. He and Al were forced to seek out Avalon as a refuge from the Conclave’s interim leader when their connection to me was discovered. That’s me all over, stumbling into deadly situations and dragging my friends along with me where ever I go.

The enemy went by the name of Balor, and we were conscripted to fight it in exchange for our safe harbor. I didn’t know what a Balor was precisely, having never spent as much time in the Conclave library as I should have. The descriptions that Al was kind enough to translate from the elfish and Gaelic records had labeled Balor as giant-kin; an old bloodline hailing from before recorded history. The giant-kin were the bestial and monstrous bloodline that the Fae had warred with for centuries. Specifically, he or it was one of the Fomori, the most ferocious and elf-like of the giant-kin. In truth they are cousins of the elves as are humans, our family trees and genetic paths having diverged many eons ago. Scientists and Anthropologists before the portals had theorized that there were not just Neanderthals and Homo-Sapiens wandering the planet at the same time, but rather a whole menagerie of humanoid derivatives. I guess they were right.

I had a good several weeks to kill while the plans and fortifications were readied for Balor and his army. I spent most of that time in the archives. McCarthy had provided me with a few books to help with the translations. I thought that since I was no longer able to fight something like a Fomori straight up, I would be best able to help my friends by learning as much as I could about my new enemies. The research which I had always avoided, considering it a boring and ultimately unproductive pastime, was now my best chance at survival. So, I studied the detailed histories of the elves and their overgrown relatives looking for weaknesses and habits that I could exploit. The histories didn’t provide much in that way, but they were a wealth of information on how the Elves, Fomori, and even the humans came to be and, more importantly, what they were fighting about.

Sometime during the last major ice age, the species split and their biological traits began to distinguish themselves. The Elves grew tall, lean, and genderless. The Fomori grew into larger and deformed versions of their ancestors. This is where a lot of Western Europe’s tales of enormous ogres, murderous orcs, and great tusked trolls came from. The humans became more clannish and largely retained the appearance and traits of our forebearers, but with a more collective bend than their counterparts. The dwarfs and other little people branched off from the humans sometime later. Then the humans, as was our nature, starting conquering and killing anything that wasn’t us.

The short version of Avalon’s embattled history is as follows. The Elves were the first to call Avalon home. Then their genetic cousins, the Fomori, came to conquer them. They failed. Then the humans came. They were more successful due to their numbers and organization, but even they couldn’t conquer Avalon before the Elves escaped into hiding.

That would have been the end of it. Humans ran the outside world and the Elves were quite content to let them have it. That was, until the Conclave opened portals to the other side, releasing the seal on Avalon and bringing the Fomori back. Welcome to the great humanoid wars, round three. Elves versus Fomori, with me and my friends smack dab in the middle.

We were living in the placid calm before the storm. It is, in my opinion, by far the best part of a war. I am no stranger to blood and violence and have never been afraid to get my hands dirty. I am human, after all, and a Hunter by trade. However, just then I had time; time to enjoy the beauty of what was around me. I wanted to soak it in, to hold it, and never let it go. We would get our fill of mud, screams, and death in the coming days. There was no reason to dwell on those things in this brief term of peace.

I blocked all thoughts of what loomed before us out of my mind as I walked through the little hamlet that neighbored our outpost. It reminded me of an idyllic scene out of a fantasy novel. The slate-shingled roofs of the town shops glistened gently as the morning rain reflected the warm sun. The local tavern was my destination. It was too early for them to serve the barley brew for which they were famous, but that was fine. I had eggs and sausages on my mind.

I was heading toward the weekly meeting of our little crew. Brian, Al, Ai and I would meet up for breakfast every week to lay out our plans and discuss events. I didn’t have much to report, not being privy to the tactics and strategies that our betters were formulating. But, Brian and Al were in the loop and they related to us what they knew. I looked forward to it every week, not only because I was left to eat porridge most mornings, but also because it was the only time I could reconnect with my friends. They were so busy in their official capacities that I was left to my own devices, meager as they were. Even Ai had the pleasure of being at Brian’s side all day every day, as she learned her trade from him.

The tavern was positioned along the main thoroughfare in the center of town. It was the hub around which the wheels of social life and commerce spun. Even though I did not know the town very well, nor did I wander its streets aside from our weekly meetings, I could always find it under the shadow of the town’s peculiar four armed clock tower. The clock tower stood more than a story above any other building, stabbing into the blameless sky like a painted dagger. It cast its shadow across town in all directions during the day, but in the mornings, that shadow landed squarely on my destination. It was in that shadow that I came upon my three friends standing before the tavern’s blockaded front entrance, waiting for me.

Good morning guys, I said, smiling at the sight of them.

Brian and Al met my eye with cold looks of their own. Ai insisted on staring at her own feet. I could guess what today’s news would be.

Jed. It’s time, Brian said.

Oh, I see. Well, that explains why the tavern is boarded up.

The looks I was receiving from Brian and Al, along with Ai’s determined shoe-gazing, were because I was most likely going to be dead before dusk. Before the day I came to Avalon, I could have held my own alongside my powerful friends, but no longer. Up until then I had been traveling with a pair of witches. They were women who could call down the forces of nature to smite those who would oppose them. Sarah and Darla Sedgwick were their names. The first commanded fire, and the later commanded wind. They had decided that fighting for a world that hunted and hated them was a fool’s errand, and they escaped to the forgotten city of Bimini, tricking me into helping them do it. That was bad enough, being betrayed by people I had once thought of as allies. What was worse was that during the establishment of their new promised land, I had made the mistake of drinking from Bimini’s famed fountain of youth. Although, Drinking doesn’t do it justice. I dove into the damn thing. The waters in the Bimini fountain would extend my natural life but at the expense of the supernatural powers I relied on to preserve it.

I was a pure mortal human after that, and not even a very good example of one. I had enough scars from my travels to impress the most jaded barracks barmaid, and I had lost an eye to boot. With the Brimstone that once coursed through my veins negated by those Gaia-blessed waters, I was no more capable of surviving the upcoming battle than any other Berkshire born mountain boy. That is to say that the odds were against me, but it wasn't completely hopeless. I still had my wits, and my stubbornness. However, compared to the weapons that Ai and Brian wielded, I may as well have been walking into a firefight armed with a slingshot.

Al would not be on the front lines. He would be in one of the command tents, organizing his troops from a safe distance. His age and bum leg would not allow him to enter the fray directly. Brian was one of the best trained killers on the planet and had decades of experience going up against the worst that the other-world had to offer. Ai had youth on her side and both she and Brian had a trick that they learned from her grandmother. They could augment their physical speed and strength by several factors, making them both formidable forces in any melee. I had no such advantages.

I put on a brave smile and said, So why the long faces? We signed up for this and now it’s time to pay the check. Cheer up guys. We have been through worse.

This drew a smirk from my old tutor and he said, Still as cocky as ever.

I threw my head back, Damn right I am, Teach. Besides, I’ll be with you and Ms. Yamada, right? I can hide behind you guys the whole time.

Ai scowled at my general direction but still would not look directly at me. Brian closed his eyes and shook his head, but maintained his smirk. That was good. Things were getting back to normal, at least a little bit.

I pointed at the tavern and said, So, I take it that breakfast is off the menu then?

Al relaxed slightly at Brian’s change in mood and said, The town has been evacuated. The front line of the battle is expected to be a few miles from here, so all of the civilians have left, heading toward the central city. The only people left are us four and the soldiers at the war camp. I don’t think anyone is going to see a hot breakfast until this mess is over.

I shrugged, Ok, then. So what is the game plan? What can we expect?

Brian answered, Let’s walk and talk. There is no point in hanging around this ghost town. We will be needed back at camp soon anyway. We’ll fill you in as we go.

Brian explained, with a few corrections from Al and not a word spoken from Ai, that the Fomori had been planning this assault for a very long time. The resurrection of Balor alone took several decades to complete. Ever since their last battle they had been gathering their strength for a second assault. Now, several centuries later, they were launching it.

The Fomori were formidable on the battlefield but were never credited with being very bright. They were brutes of the purest and most dangerous kind. They showed no hesitation in following their primal destructive instincts; killing, raping, and pillaging without even the concept of remorse. What made them the most dangerous, however, was the combination of their tribal structure and their complete disregard for self preservation. Like a swarm of eight-foot tall army ants encased in armor and weaponry, they would swarm onto a battlefield; a steel-clad tidal wave willing to sacrifice their own without hesitation to win any conflict. Fomori could not be threatened, frightened, or bartered with. They would come, they would fight, and they would conquer unless we stopped them.

As Brian explained, the elves would confront the main force of the Fomori army on the battle field. They would be the ones to face down the assembled hoard who threatened to overrun the peace and tranquility of Avalon. We had a different task; one more suited to our particular skill set. Brian, Ai, and I would form a strike team with one goal in mind. We would be hunting the cyclopean titan Balor himself. The military leaders of the Elves believed that if Balor could be brought down, the Fomori would be scattered and confused. Without their god directing their movements on the field, the enemy would devolve into the primal beasts that they were. Thus making them a far easier foe to dispatch with a trained army, even one so severely outnumbered.

That was one more thing our foes had in their favor. Fomori breed like rabbits. Without war to thin their numbers, they would multiply, and they had. The best estimates from the Elf generals were that they numbered in the tens of thousands. The Elves only had fifteen thousand trained soldiers at their disposal. This made it all the more critical that we succeeded. The Elves were far better trained than the Fomori and with a full military structure backing them they had the tools to defeat a much larger force. However, the Fomori numbered several times what the Elves could handle. The battle would go on and our hosts would fight to the last man, but in the end, attrition would be their downfall. The head of this swarming beast must be cut off and Balor was that head.

They would come from the east, across the sea to the white limestone shores of Avalon. They would not bother with boats or a traditional naval assault. They would come on foot, so to speak, swimming in mass from their staging grounds at the site of the portal-stone in western Ireland. Their armor and weapons would be of little hindrance with their bestial strength.

The portal stone was the inter-dimensional doorstop that kept the path from their reality to ours open. Above it was no doubt a swirling tempest of greasy purple light that marked the corresponding tear in existence. It was by this path that the Fomori had returned, and it was around this stone that they assemble before coming at us.

The Elves had called out to their historic allies as well as the sea god Manannan to aid them in this fight. None answered. No one seemed to even know if Manannan had come back to earth along with the rest. If he had, he remained silent and unwilling to get involved. The Conclave, having completed their initial deal with the Elves, promptly turned their back on them when the time came to assist their supposed ally. They would not be coming to help. Thank Manannan for small favors. I was still number one on the Conclave’s ten most wanted dead list.

As we walked, I scanned the coastal cliffs that marked the boundary of Avalon. They were high, rising several stories up from the scant beach below. The Fomori had to be as dangerous as the stories said if they intended to swim several miles, then climb a sheer cliff face, before starting a pitched battle. But, we were talking about creatures of legend here. There was no reason to doubt their ability, and frankly, given what I had already seen, I wouldn’t be surprised. One question did occur to me, though.

How are they going to fit all of their troops up here? I mean, it’s a pretty big space between the cliffs and our camp, but not forty thousand soldiers big, I asked.

Al answered, That is part of the plan. The Elves have built their defenses here exactly for that reason. If given the chance, the Fomori would love to fight on a larger plain where they could surround their enemy. Here, there is no way for their full number to stand as one. They will have to come at us in waves.

So they’re planning to pull a Thermopylae? I said.

In a way, yes, though on a much larger scale. The Spartans of Thermopylae were on a suicide mission to stall the invading Persians. The Elves have no intention of losing this battle. The base strategies are the same, but imagine if Leonidas had three thousand Spartans instead of three hundred. They could have actually won, he said.

I follow. But, how are we supposed to strike at Balor if the entire battle is going to be crammed into this one area? We would have to wade through the enemy army to reach him.

Oh, we have a plan. Brian and Ai have been briefed on the basics, but you will all have a chance to hear the particulars in a few minutes. We’re almost there.

Chapter 2

The war camp was massive, sprawling out with tents and stables in all directions. It dwarfed the little town that was its neighbor, and could have housed the little hamlet’s population in one wing of their barracks. It was the home to one third of the force assembled to counter the Fomori siege. The five thousand or so soldiers that lived in our camp, along with the same number in two other main camps, made a semi-circle along the approachable eastern shore. This would be the levee onto which the Fomori wave would break. That was the plan, anyway.

We passed the outlying tents and the alert guards who watched over the main road without a problem. They knew us well, as we were the only humans on the island at that time, and for many centuries before. Unless, of course, you count the Conclave representatives who had come with promises and lies. I don’t. The guards stood dressed in their elfish battle armor, of the same make and quality that was worn by their infantry. The polished and lacquered wood glowed in the morning light, refracting and reflecting the sun as if the Ash wood was metal. Their weapons too were made of wood, along with pretty much everything else the elves crafted.

When Man and Fomori were learning the secrets of steel, the Elves were learning how to take a soft wood and treat it with alchemy and magic to make it harder than titanium and as sharp as a razor. I was skeptical when I first saw that they intended to fight with wooden sticks, until one of the younger recruits, a male of only three hundred summers, cut the buttons off of my shirt as a demonstration. The movement was so quick and the cut so clean, you would think he was wielding a four-foot scalpel rather than a modified tree branch.

Their chosen armaments had another important advantage, they would bend. The biggest problem with steel weapons like swords is that the more you temper the blade, the sharper edge you can achieve, but the more brittle and prone to shattering you make the weapon. This can be seen in comparing an English long sword with a Katana. The katana has a much sharper edge that can cut easily and cleanly, however they are very prone to chipping and breaking. The softer steel of the long sword is duller but will sustain blows much better. This is why a master of the Katana will never use it to block a strike.

The Elves, having combined the cutting edge of fine steel with the suppleness of wood had crafted a superior weapon. Their armor smiths had followed the same logic. As hard as full plate and as giving as stiff Kevlar, their armor would take blows that would sunder most typical medieval protection. Every elf in this camp was equipped in much the same way. I hoped that I could get my hands on some before the fighting began.

The command had setup in the center of this canvas city and that was the direction in which we headed. Our destination was not the command tent itself, but a much smaller structure next to it, where the Elf Special Forces were issued their assignments. The man we would be seeing was named Filorgian. He sat somewhere between middle management and the mailroom in their military hierarchy. Because of his relatively low station, he was assigned as our handler. None of the higher ranking members would have lowered themselves to handing out instructions to humans, let alone a rag-tag bunch like us.

Filorgian, or Filo as we normally called him, was fluent in the English language. He had spent many years on the British Isles in his younger days, around the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. It was one of the reasons he held the position he did. Spending that much time off of Avalon and among humans had tainted him in the eyes of his superiors. It was hell on his career, but good for us. His time with humans had softened his view of us and made him much easier to get along with than the rank and file.

We arrived at Filo’s tent and were waved through by the bored looking guard at its door. The inside was modest but comfortable, very much like our own accommodations. A lone cot was positioned along one wall, next to a washing basin, with enough bedding to handle the mild local climate. The main area of the tent was taken up by a large round table where Filo sat for his work, his meals, and anything else that didn’t require him to leave his office. It was a lucky thing that elves had no need to shave as to my knowledge Filo had not left this tent in over a week. He looked haggard and stressed when he turned around to greet us, but still managed a small smile.

Ah, good. I was expecting you, he said by way of greeting.

The battle is almost upon us. It is time to lay out the instructions for everyone, Al said back, neither man very keen to indulge in pleasantries.

Yes, of course, Filo said and took his seat at the center table, gesturing us to gather around.

It is a rather direct strategy, he began as he unfolded a map of our location, As you know, the main battle will be along the coastline, here. We expect the Fomori force to simply scale the cliffs and attack directly. The only alternative would be for them to travel several dozen miles north or south of our position to reach a more level beach. That is not their style, as the modern saying goes.

Ok, that part is clear enough. What we need to know is how we are going to reach Balor without having to wade through the army. If the enemy follows your expectations, they would be standing directly in our path, Brian said.

Filo said with a glint of mischief in his eyes, Yes, they would be. If you were still on the ground, that is.

My eyebrows rose at this, So, what? Do you have an airplane hidden around here somewhere? How are we supposed to avoid being on the ground?

Airplane… airplane, he said, mulling the word over, Oh, those large metal flying contraptions. No, we don’t have any of those. We have something similar though and that was what I was going to tell you. We have crafted some gliders. They are creations of our woodland brethren to the south, on the mainland. They do not fly so much as fall at a very slow rate and over long distances.

So, a hang-glider, I offered.

Oh no, you do not hang from it. You will be strapped in. There is a release that will undo the bindings once you are over your target, he said.

Brian, Ai, and I all looked at Filo worriedly. Then Ai spoke for the first time that day, So, what you’re saying is we are to fly over a full on battle in order to reach a god of pestilence and death, and then drop right onto his head?

That is the basic principal, yes, Filo said, looking her straight in the eyes.

I was hoping for something a bit sneakier. Maybe some way we could kill him from a distance? Ai said.

That was considered, but we do not have the means. We have no navy to speak of, so attacking from the sea is not a viable option. Anything that approaches too close to Balor’s front will be subject to the gaze of his eye. Which, as we all know, is a good way to die. We cannot defend the beach, it is too thin and our soldiers would be caught between the Fomori and a stone cliff. They would be slaughtered. The elves, biologically speaking, are a most advanced people madam Ai, but we are not as strong or athletic as Fomori. The only approach, you see, is from above, Filo explained.

The way he explained it, there did not seem to be much of a choice. I couldn’t argue with the reasoning, but that didn’t make me like the plan any more so. We still didn’t know exactly what Balor was. No elf or human had seen the creature in over a thousand years. Even elves do not live that long. What we knew for sure was contained in the records of the Tuatha De Danann. The half-divine ancestors of the Celts had killed Balor the first time, and they had not returned like the Fomori had. Much of what they left did not make sense to me. According to the texts that I was allowed access to, Balor was a creature so huge that it took servants to lift his eyelids, of which he had seven. Beyond his size he also had his magical eye that would cause droughts, plagues, and devastation according to how many of his lids were lifted. The descriptions sounded to me more like a doomsday weapon one of James Bond’s villains would think up rather than a creature of primitive legend.

This doesn’t sound promising, I mumbled.

You were not conscripted for promising situations, Mr. Morehouse. You were conscripted to fight. We have held you in secret for quite some time now. We have held our end of the bargain. It is time for you to do the same, Filo said, a soft edge creeping into his voice.

I know. And, we will. But, does that mean I have to like how we go about it? I answered back.

As I have explained, there is no other option. This mission is crucial if we are to defend our homeland. Balor must be destroyed. You call yourselves Hunters. This is what you do, is it not? the edge in his voice taking on a sharper property.

Brian stepped in, Yes it is. When do we leave?

Filo looked at Brian with much more respect than he showed me and returned to his normal candor, Within the hour. The gliders are ready and waiting for you on the forested hilltop to the west. Our scouts have seen the Fomori leave Eire. They are on their way. Given the tides, we expect them to arrive in four to five hours at their current pace.

Holy crap! I exclaimed.

You have your orders, Filo said, The rest will be up to you. We trust that between the three of you, you will be able to handle killing one monster while we handle thousands.

At that point a youngish messenger ran into the tent panting and slinging a rapid avalanche of words in the elf language. Filo suddenly looked grim. Al looked afraid. I looked for someone to explain what