so far overhead. The very air seemed to distort and crack around the flying cart, a resonating, thunderous boom that shook the ground beneath Tos'un's feet. Alustriel's disorientation manifested itself to the watching drow through the erratic movements of the chariot, banking left and right, back and forth, even veering sharply so that it seemed as if it might skid out of control in the empty air.
Kaer'lic quickly cast a second spell, and a burst of conjured water intercepted Alustriel's shaky path.
The chariot dipped, its flight disturbed. For a moment, the flames on the magical horse team winked out, and down they all went.
"To the glory of Lolth," Tos'un said with a grin as the chariot plummeted.
The two anticipated a glorious wreckage, the enjoyable screams of horses and driver alike, and indeed, when the flying carriage first hit, they realized more disaster than even they could imagine.
But not in the manner they had expected.
The flames came alive again when Alustriel's chariot touched down, bursting from the carriage and horses alike, and leaping out in a fireball that swept out to the sides, then rolled up over the chariot as it charged along.
Both drow had their mouths hanging open as they watched the driver regain control, as her chariot - rolling along instead of flying - cut a swath of destruction and death through Proffit's ranks. Alustriel banked to the south, a wide sweep that both drow understood was intended to turn her around so that she could find her magical attackers.
"She should be dead," Kaer'lic said, and she licked her suddenly dry lips.
"But she's not," said Tos'un.
The chariot went up in the air, then continued its turn, completing a circuit. The dark elves heard the sound of a larger battle to the east, and the sound of horns and drums.
"She brought friends," said Kaer'lic.
"Many friends," Tos'un presumed. "We should leave."
The dark elves looked at each other and nodded.
"Get the prisoner," Kaer'lic instructed, and she didn't even wait as Tos'un moved off toward the small hole where they had concealed poor Fender.
The two dark elves and their captive started away quickly to the west, wanting to put as much ground as possible between themselves and the fierce woman in the flying chariot.
From the joyous cries among the line of dwarves and humans in the north, to the gathering sounds of a great battle erupting in the east, to the sheer power and control of the woman in the chariot up above, they knew that the end had come for Proffit.
Lady Alustriel and Silverymoon had come.
* * * * *
The Silver Guard of Silverymoon charged into the troll ranks in tight formation, spears leveled, bows firing flaming arrows from behind their ranks. Watching from the higher ground, Torgar could only think of the initial engagement as a wave washing over a beach, so fully did the Silver Guard seem to engulf the eastern end of the troll ranks.
But then that wave seemed to break apart on many large rocks. They were trolls, after all, strong and powerful and more physically resilient than any creature in all the world. The roar of the charge became the screams of the dying. The tight formations became a dance of smaller groups, pockets of warriors working hard to fend off the huge, ugly trolls.
Fireballs erupted beyond the leading edge of the Silver Guard, as Silvery-moon's battle wizards joined in the fray.
But the trolls did not break and run. They met the attack with savagery, plowing into the human ranks, crushing warriors to the ground and stomping them flat.
"Now, boys!" Torgar yelled to his dwarves. "They came to help us, and it's our turn to repay the favor!"
From on high came the dwarven charge, down the barren, rocky slope at full run. To their right, the west, came Galen and the humans, sweeping in behind the trolls as the monsters pressed eastward to do battle with the new threat.
Blood ran - troll, dwarf, and human. Troll roars, human screams, and dwarven grunts mingled in the air in a symphony of horror and pain. The drama played out, minute by minute, a hundred personal struggles within the greater overall conflict.
It was the end for so many that day, lives cut short on a bloody, rocky slope under a pre-dawn sky.
As the lines tightened, the wizards became less effective and it became a contest of steel against claw, of troll savagery against dwarf stubbornness.
In the end, it wasn't the weapons or the superior tactics that won the day for